Two days before Christmas, between Glin and Tarbert, Western Ireland 2007
Knight's Haven B&B:
They say we travel far in order to find ourselves, so it should not surprise one when the journey never ends. For, like a bottomless ocean, each layer gently unravels and the discoveries spill. We may glimpse a representation of ourselves--whether in the morning's first fresh light as it pours over an emerald field, the sight of a black cow lolling, an eye toward Shannon...a mile to Glin, indicated on a stone marker, castles clotting my path as I walk in this wondrous, stormy wrought-from-a-storybook meld of old and new, Celtic pleasures, boisterous humour and simple joys.
I met John Barrett, proprietor of JC Barrett's, a.k.a. "The Real McCoy" today--such a generous and kind man, who offered to drive me up the road to look at a castle (one can only assume a pretty younger lady in town for a spell might provide an extra sparkle to his day.)
I drank two delicious Irish Coffees there -- the best ever! and the second was bought for me by a cute, blue-eyed pig farmer, who told me he lives with his girlfriend in the "new" house up the road. Earlier, John the innkeeper here, indicated too that something was at the "new" house and pointed down the long green road where it stood against the Tara-like sky and I would later pass, stepping lightly past cows, whom I feared a bit, yet walked cagily by en route to Glin.
And this handsome pig farmer, also a smoker, made my day (in another way than John Barrett) ...of course I was somewhat disappointed that he's taken, but realised a pig farmer across the pond isn't exactly what I've had in mind.
And so it goes. I'm tucked in bed, spending 10 Euros to have a heater in my room, dining only on the groceries left here -- some chicken meat, fruit and chocolates. Oh, well. This time tomorrow night - ahhh! I'll have le Croque Monsieur or Salade Niçoise en Paris, eh? I'll find a wonderful restaurant tomorrow night and treat myself!
They say we travel far in order to find ourselves, so it should not surprise one when the journey never ends. For, like a bottomless ocean, each layer gently unravels and the discoveries spill. We may glimpse a representation of ourselves--whether in the morning's first fresh light as it pours over an emerald field, the sight of a black cow lolling, an eye toward Shannon...a mile to Glin, indicated on a stone marker, castles clotting my path as I walk in this wondrous, stormy wrought-from-a-storybook meld of old and new, Celtic pleasures, boisterous humour and simple joys.
I met John Barrett, proprietor of JC Barrett's, a.k.a. "The Real McCoy" today--such a generous and kind man, who offered to drive me up the road to look at a castle (one can only assume a pretty younger lady in town for a spell might provide an extra sparkle to his day.)
I drank two delicious Irish Coffees there -- the best ever! and the second was bought for me by a cute, blue-eyed pig farmer, who told me he lives with his girlfriend in the "new" house up the road. Earlier, John the innkeeper here, indicated too that something was at the "new" house and pointed down the long green road where it stood against the Tara-like sky and I would later pass, stepping lightly past cows, whom I feared a bit, yet walked cagily by en route to Glin.
And this handsome pig farmer, also a smoker, made my day (in another way than John Barrett) ...of course I was somewhat disappointed that he's taken, but realised a pig farmer across the pond isn't exactly what I've had in mind.
And so it goes. I'm tucked in bed, spending 10 Euros to have a heater in my room, dining only on the groceries left here -- some chicken meat, fruit and chocolates. Oh, well. This time tomorrow night - ahhh! I'll have le Croque Monsieur or Salade Niçoise en Paris, eh? I'll find a wonderful restaurant tomorrow night and treat myself!
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