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After leaving Kilkenny I spent my last day and a half in Ireland in the odd little beach town of Tramore. I was headed to Waterford, but I couldn’t find a place to stay so I took a local bus to the next town over with a hostel — Tramore. There wasn’t much to do in town so I hiked out to the Sand dunes just beyond the beach on the recommendation of a poster in the hostel. Apparently even the sand dunes in Ireland are covered in green grass and I chuckled to myself at how fitting that was. Back at the hostel I was cooking spaghetti for myself when I met a German girl named Leena and after chatting for a bit we met Corey, a Canadian who was doing pretty much the same thing as me. We all took it easy and talked about our trips and travels before getting a quiet pint at a local pub. And thus my last night in Ireland passed on without incident.
The next morning I made my way past Wexford and into Rosslare harbor where I found my ferry, which looked more like a small cruise-liner. I checked into my cabin which was about the size of a closet and laid my things down before watching them load all of the cars (including semi-trucks) into the boat and pull away from the harbor.
After two weeks of being grouped in the same room with 6-8 other people it was worth the little extra price for a cabin to myself. I spent most of the time wandering the deck of the ship enjoying the view and just being on the ocean in general. The moon was full and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
After pulling into port in Roscoff, I had no idea where I was staying so I went straight to the information office. A friend had recommended a place called Saint Malo and it was on the way to Paris so I decided to make that my first stop. Once I arrived there by train I couldn’t find the tourism office, so I asked a person working at the train station where it was. He told me that it was about a 10 minute walk… it was 20. Normally that’s no problem at all, but it was particularly hot that day and I had my full pack to carry. Once I lugged everything to the office I found a campsite that I could walk to and overlooked the harbor… another 30 minutes away. The walk was worth it, though, because I got to see the city center as I passed by. The entire original area of the city is surrounded by 50ft high ramparts and a gothic church spire in the center towers over everything. Old forts are built on surrounding islands that can only be walked to in low tide when the sun sets over this city… it is a sight that will never leave your mind. Without doubt one the most beautiful cities I have encountered up to this point.
I got to the campsite and paid for my little pitch area before setting my tent up. Afterwards I set out for a walk to find a place to use the internet since I had been out of contact for a few days while I traveled. The walk led me miles back to and around the city center and further down the coast to an internet shop. I didn’t get back to the campsite until midnight since I had arrived in the city so late. My first night in the tiny tent proved fairly sleepless. Using a shirt for a pillow wasn’t helping the situation, either. I don’t mind camping, but the problem is that it slims your chances of meeting people to hang out with by about 99%. I spent 3 restless days in St. Malo and all of them alone. There was enough to see to keep me busy, so it was still great nonetheless. After the 3rd day I pressed on to Paris unknowing of what was in store for me there.
-Tyler
Guiness in Galway, France on Friday.
I am physically exhausted, I’m low on sleep, it has rained at least some every single day I’ve been here, my last shower had no hot water and I am more happy now than I can remember being in a very long time. I have been on the road now for a week and one day, but it feels more like a month. I have seen and done more in the past 7 days than the entire 3 months I was at home. I have met more good people and had more fun than I have in some whole years. This trip is already more than I expected… and I’ve only been gone a single week.
After leaving Doolin I set my sights on the city of Galway a bit to the north. And what a city it is. I arrived by bus around lunch time and walked to the Sleepzone hostel that I had booked only that morning. I walked in and found this particular hostel to be buzzing with people of all ages and nationalities. Older couples traveling on the cheap and even families with smaller children were staying here (and quite enjoying it, I must say). It seemed more like an odd type of hotel where some rooms have 3 sets of bunk beds instead of twins. I checked into my room and found that I was the first to arrive, so I put down my things and went for a walk.
Once you breach the main city center the streets are cobbled and bustling with foot traffic. There is a vast array of colorful street performers doing there respective acts and on this particular day I was greeted with one playing a beautiful rendition of Yesterday by The Beatles on his saxaphone. Shortly thereafter, though, it began to pour rain. I stumbled upon a small electronics shop and bought a working power adapter and headed back for then. While sitting back in the room the next traveler popped in and set his things down. We greeted each other and had a good chat. He was a german by the name of Cornelius and he had some food with him so, after a bit we decided to head up to the kitchen and cook it for dinner. It was simple spaghetti, just noodles and sauce and whatever we could find to add to it. As we stumbled around the communal kitchen cooking this embarrassingly simple dish, there was a group of about 6 French hostelers buzzing around us, tossing spices and basting thighs of chicken for roasting. A genuine feast and it smelled of it as well. The conversation over the spaghetti made up for its lack of taste, though.
After dinner Cornelius and I headed back out into the town to see what kind of happenings were going on after dark. It seems Galway undergoes a bit of a transformation from day to night. The streets were just as packed with people, but the shoppers had turned to revelers, the sax players to fire-throwers, the coffee and tea to limitless mugs of Guiness.
(On the subject of guiness, I feel I should take a moment here to say that I will never drink it in the states again. The difference is so startling that it is like comparing wine to grape that has been rotting in the sun for two weeks. Maybe that’s a little extreme, but make no mistake: it is vast. The head on the Guiness here is less like foam and more like a fine cream. The care they take in pouring it and letting it settle for a certain amount of time before serving it is awe inspiring. And it actually tastes good.) This was just a Wednesday, by the way. We made our way through a few pubs and headed back for the night. Cornelius left the next morning, but I decided to stay an extra day. I went out and explored more of the daytime version of the city and got to know it a little better.
Afterward I sat down in Eyre square to relax for a bit. I was approached by a Japanese guy about my age who asked if he could interview me about learning English. His name was Norio and he was living in Ireland on his gap-year and trying to improve his english by interviewing 100 people and having conversations with them (which is a fantastic way to do it). I was number 77. I answered his questions and we talked about Japan for a bit. One of his questions was “What is your favorite word?” my answer was “Shenanigans”… which I had a hard time defining for him. One of his last questions was to write down my definition of creativity and to show him my creativity on the same piece of paper. …It was a hard interview. “Creativity is one’s ability realize the imagined”, I wrote after some thought. I did a quick stylized sketch of a nearby guitar player and handed him the paper before signing his shirt along with the 76 others he had interviewed and I wished him luck as he moved on. It started to rain. I smiled.
Back at the hostel before dinner I was alone in the room once more. I had a bit of deja vu when another traveler entered, put his things down, had a good chat and we decided to cook dinner. He was a British guy named Adam. As we walked to the grocery store for food the plan was breaded fish fillets served over fresh vegetables. We came back with a bag of mixed frozen vegetables and fish sticks. Again, as we threw this hodgepodge dinner together a different group of French, though much younger this time, were whipping up a huge batch of fresh spaghetti carbonara. Perhaps out of pitty for our burnt fish sticks they offered us each a small plate of the spaghetti… which was incredible. Especially since it was made by a 13 year old. I think I could cook eggs when I was 13…
Much like the night before, Adam and I headed out into the city and found things just getting started around 11pm. We wandered into an incredible pub called The Quay and stayed there for the rest of the night because the band that was playing was so good. The pub itself though really stood out. When you first walk in, it looks like a normal crowded bar, but when you push past the first wave of people you find stairs that lead down into an open area with another bar and a balcony overhead where the band plays over the crowd. It had the look of an old renovated church and the atmosphere was incredible. The band was cheered to an encore. By then it was about 1:30am so I headed back to the room while Adam decided stay out for a while.
The next morning I decided to head south again for the small town of Lisdoonvarna to explore the Burren and Adam decided to do the same so we traveled down together. The first day there was a total wash out, it rained nonstop and I couldn’t get to the heart of the Burren without a car or hiring a taxi or biking 30 miles. Adam took a bus to the Cliffs since he hadn’t seen them yet and I walked into town for lunch. I stopped at a place called The Roadside Tavern on the recommendation of the hostel staff. As I walked inside I found an old Irish lady in a wheelchair singing in Gaelic (beautifully) to a crowd of about 15 Chinese tourists. They were the only people there and it looked to be a totally spontaneous thing. I just sat down and watched it all unfold as I ate my chicken sandwich. It was really cool, but in an eerie sort of way. Like I had just stepped into a dream. After lingering for a bit I payed I exited back out into the rain and reality to continue on. I walked around the town a bit and down the road, but there wasn’t anything to do so I headed back to the hostel and used the time to catch up on emails.
Once Adam got back from the cliffs he, I and another American named Andrew all went out for dinner. Once the time came to pay, we realized that they didn’t take credit… it was at this time that we were informed that the nearest ATM was 9km away. We scraped every last bit of Euros we all had together and paid for the dinner… thus the Search for Cash was underway. I was able to change the little bit of US currency I had left (not including my emergency stash) into Euros, but it wasn’t enough to sustain me for long and Adam had nothing. The next morning we were supposed to go biking around the Burren area, but due to the situation we were forced to leave around 10:30am to get to the cash machine at the Cliffs of Moher instead. Bus schedules didn’t allow us to get back to the hostel to rent the bikes until 2pm. Once we did finally get to the bikes we had to fix the breaks ourselves before heading out around 3pm. It was all worth it, of course, because the Burren was some of the most incredible country I have ever seen.
We took the bikes down to the Ballyvaughn Coast Road which leads right along the rugged Burren coast line. I didn’t realize how out of shape my legs were until we hit the first up hill stretch of road leading to the coast. With a little walking, I made it though and soon enough we hit a long downhill stretch coasting passed ruined castles and farmland. This was only a small precursor of what was to come though. Once you pass the sign that reads “The Burren national protected area” and round a corner you wonder if you’ve somehow stumbled into a Lord of the Rings movie. Waves crash into the tattered rocky coast and worn boulders and rock walls criss-cross the fields of limestone and wild flowers. Truly a haunting land that you would only expect to find in fantasy.
We parked the bikes and hiked around the area for a good while before continuing on down the coast. After a while I was too exhausted to carry myself further since I knew I already had to go all the way back up the coast and the long hill we coasted down, so decided to turn back as Adam continued down the coast determined to find a beach that he could swim at. On the way back I stopped a few more times to take in the scenery before leaving the Burren and tackling the hill back toward the hostel.
I ended up walking the bike most of the way back up the hill because I was just so tired. You never realize how long a hill is when you’re headed down it, but going back up really brings things back into focus. About half way up I finished off the last of my water and my thighs began to cramp. I smiled. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
The next day Adam and I parted ways at Ennis as I headed down to Cork and he toward Dublin to catch his ferry back to England in a few days. Cork proved less exciting than my previous adventures. I wasn’t too fond of the city as I explored around it and decided to use the time to catch up on my writing and going through all of my pictures. Later, back at the hostel I met an American fiddle player named Jeff who had been down in the far southwest playing gigs around the local pubs for 3 months. We hung out for a bit that night before turning in early. We went to breakfast the next morning after I decided to stay one extra day there because I couldn’t figure out exactly where to go next. We ate at a place overlooking the English Market and while I was waiting for my food, who should I see pass below us other than Peter, Diza, Gliza and Hannah! I rushed down to meet them and we had a quick chat before I got back to breakfast and they got on their way to Dublin to catch a flight back to Vienna. Such a small world we live in. Or perhaps just the country. Jeff left for the airport in Cork after breakfast and I went back out to explore a bit more. Just before lunch I found an incredible place called St. Fin Barr’s Cathedral. I spent a good part of that day photographing it and making my way back through town in the rain.
The next morning I left for Kilkenny, where I now sit. I feel that it is time to move on, so I have booked an overnight ferry from Wexford, Ireland into Roscoff, France. Much to my dismay I am skipping the United Kingdom for now. 2 Pounds Sterling = 1 US Dollar and I can’t afford to be paying double for everything even for a few days, so as much as I don’t want to, I’ve made the decision to pass it by. The ferry leaves at 5pm on Friday and I have a room onboard to sleep as it doesn’t arrive until 11am Saturday morning. From there my plans once again disappear as the rest of Europe comes into my reach.
-Tyler
Of An Angry Irish Farmer
I may have made a mistake by coming to Ireland first… I just don’t know how anything I will come across could ever top what I did today. I hiked the Cliffs of Moher.
I woke up around 7am and dozed until about 9:30. As I got up and began getting dressed for my hike, I noticed that it was quite dreary and raining. But, this is what I got rain gear for so I finished getting ready and headed out. I started from my hostel in Doolin. I had talked with the manager the day before about walking to the cliffs and he explained the route to me. The main viewing area of the cliffs is a very very touristy area. There is an entrance fee and throngs of people. Buses continually drop off loads of people who flock to the site. There is another way, however, a treacherous back route that not too many know about.
It is not a marked trail, in fact there is a point where the “trail” disappears entirely and you have to wander across a field and really search to find it again (only to realize that it ascends so steeply up a grassy slope that you have to use your hands just as much as your feet to make it up… and that below this ascent lies no barrier from the edge of the cliff. Don’t slip). It is on private land and requires a lot of fence hopping (barbed and electric), creek (long)jumping, climbing, and most common of all, walking mere inches from the cliff’s edge. It was, in all honesty, dangerous in every sense of the word, but worth every risk for I haven’t the words to describe what I saw along the way.
About a third of the way through the hike, where the trail disappears, I stopped to get my bearings when a couple (about my age and the only others I had seen since I started down the trail) came up from behind. We greeted eachother and I said with a shrug: “I’m not sure where to go…” We all figured it out and continued on with the hike together. They were Austrians named Peter and Diza . We talked and got to know each other a bit as we pushed on through the rain, fences, mud and awe-inspiring cliff sides.
Eventually we did reach the touristy area at the end of our hike and we were on the outside of the protective railing, so we hopped over. Amongst the crowd we were greeted by an old Irish farmer in a yellow poncho, clearly angry. He smacked the sign with his cane as he ranted on about how we weren’t allowed on his land and how we should read the sign (saying that we weren’t allowed on his land). We explained that there were no signs coming from the other direction (there weren’t) and exited stage left, with haste.
Afterward, Peter and Diza invited me for a drink later and we swapped emails to send each other the pictures we took. They split off to find Diza’s sister(Gliza) and her friend(Hannah), who were already at the cliffs and I went about finding a way back to Doolin, because we all agreed that hiking back the way we came just wasn’t an option. We had just missed the last bus so I checked to see about a taxi. Peter and the others ran into me again and we decided to share it. We waited outside in the chilly rain for the taxi as we talked more. Once the taxi came, the five of us stuffed into the four seater and headed back to Doolin. There I was greeted with the best shower I have ever had. Normally it wouldn’t have been anything special, but after this walk it was like heaven.
We all met again later that night at O’Conners Pub for drinks and bite to eat. Afterward we listened to the Pub band crank out some traditional Irish tunes and they taught me some German as we played Uno. Later, we said our goodbyes and they insisted that I email them if I made it to Vienna so they could show me around. I intend to take them up on it. As I go to sleep tonight, I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping tomorrow… and I’m oddly comfortable with that. Nevertheless I’m leaving for Galway in the morning. Pictures to be added a little later… I need to find a new converter to charge my laptop first. And some wifi.
-Tyler
Turning the Page
It’s about 3am in the morning and this trip that has been brewing in my head for over a year will begin in about 4 hours. I’ve never been able to sleep before big trips and this is by far the biggest I’ve ever undertaken… so here I am. In this odd pre-trip purgatory between night and morning I will be nervous, anxious, worried, frantic, awe struck that this time has come so quickly, my mind will race circles around itself going over every detail, and I will be terrified. It happens every time, but by the morning I will be ready.
At 7am I will leave for the Atlanta airport where my first flight leaves at 3pm. After a few layovers I will eventually find myself alone in Shannon, Ireland the next morning. Many people have asked me “How did you choose Ireland for your first stop?” The answer is embarrassingly simple: It was the cheapest place in Europe to fly to. However, after acquiring my ticket a few months ago, I began reading and researching Ireland and found myself more and more grateful to chance that this should be my first stop. It is to the point now that I can’t believe I was thinking of not going there. From Shannon, I take the bus to the Aille River Hostel in the small town of Doolin (situated conveniently near the Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher) and this is where my “plan” ends. Exactly where I go from there is a mystery even to me. It may come down to a coin toss, but that’s the way I want it. That’s the very heart of this trip: true and complete freedom.
Many of my friends joke that I may never come back, but really it’s not too hard to imagine. If I find a place that I can belong and a way to stay there… I just may. And I have to admit that in the back of my mind, I hope I do because there is nothing really keeping me here anymore. Everyone I know is so used to me being gone that my leaving again is hardly a deal at all. If anything it is a return to what is now normal for them. I don’t really have a place here anymore, it doesn’t feel like home. But neither does anywhere else. Its an odd feeling… and not a pleasant one, I must say. So, off I go. Out into the world in search of something I can’t name. If I find it, I’ll let you know.
In the meantime I will be taking pictures every step of the way in hopes of building a solid portfolio while I’m on the road to shop around when I get back (or maybe also as I go. high-five, internet). Hopefully that works out. I figure life is too short not to follow your dreams and do what you love, so I’m going to try.
And so this is where things switch up a bit… This page is now moving into “Travel Journal” mode and will be used primarily to document my more notable adventures(/misadventures) throughout the course of my wandering. Pictures will, of course, be included.
Change is coming. I can see it on the horizon and I welcome it with open arms.
“These things you keep You’d better throw them away You wanna turn your back On your soulless days Once you were tethered But, now you are free That was the river And this is the sea.”
-The Waterboys
Its time to go. Wish me luck.
-Tyler