I think I may have been a little too harsh with last night's feverish and emotional post. But hey, sometimes you gotta just capitalize on the creativity that springs from anger, passion, happiness.
I still need to get out of suburbia.
That is all.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
catastrophic calamity, world wars, or just too much red bull?
Okay so. I promised myself when I first created this blog that I wouldn't use it as a soapbox for means of proto-typical non-conformist policital purposes, but I think that having my own blog, by right, enables me to break this guideline.
So here goes.
Tonight, I went to cover an environmental commission meeting for one of the towns that I cover. The meeting was actually going to be a viewing of the documentary "The End of Suburbia: the demise of oil and the collapse of the American dream" by Jeffrey Greene, followed by a discussion. YAY. As I headed into the community center where the film was to take place, I first made a quick detour to the store to grab a sans-sugar Red Bull. I wasn't quite sure how engaging this was going to be, and after a deadline day at the office ridden with last minute state Supreme Court decisions (turned into an article in record time I'll have you know) I wasn't about to be messin.'
So into the community center I head. Mystified all the while by the television-less end of the room that lay beforth us. (I
seriously sat there for like 5 minutes trying to figure out where we were going to watch the movie without a television until I saw the projector sitting on a desk in front of the blank, white wall.)
But I digress, and the documentary started. And from the moment that it did, I was transfixed. In case you couldn't guess, the basic premise was pretty much about the end of life as we know it, (because we are so deeply and horribly addicted to oil and natural gas, and the likes) and what that's going to mean for life as we know it in the future.
And let me tell you, I really think that viewing this documentary could make a pessimist out of the most optomisitic of the glass-half-full people out there. And with just cause. This is seriously alarming. I mean, pretty much in 20, hell, 15, hell maybe even 10 years life as we know it will not be the same.
The film asked the average consumer to imagine a day when the mass suburbs of America become slums-and there is massive regression of the human race. The film projected that there will be such massive regression that it is not your choice to do so, but this is rather dependent on our survival.
Which, within itself is a very interesting thought. We, as 21st-century humans really don't have a good grasp on what survival entails, which is quite frightening to me. I'll admit, if I couldn't get into my car (okay, or get on my bicycle) and go to the local supermarket in the middle of the winter in Central NJ I wouldn't know how to get food. Think about that for a second: what if the commodity chain was virtually haulted to a stop indefinetly? Think of the competition, the violence, the scramble that would ensue over a quart of milk or a loaf of bread? Scary to think. Even scarier to think that that may be something that I will have to worry about over the next 50 years of my life. What's even worse is that at this point, my parents, pretty much the entire Baby-Boomer generation that basically has feed off of this suburbia model all of their lives stand to lose alot-if not all of the capital that have worked so hard for all of their lives for, and perhaps too feable to acquiesce.
What really worries me the most over this whole thought of the end of suburbia (not that I was really enjoying all that much to begin with-though my current economic state doesn't really permit me to live in a city on my own--but I am working very hard to change that situation shortly) is that people-myself included-like to believe that there is no immediate problem. Or that if there is, there is a highly-organized team of professionals with doctorate degrees toiling away in some laboratory somewhere combating the problem while I comfortably sleep each night. Or that people of an older generation actually DO realize the calamity-and that my generation is too busy being obsessed with what kind of sleek and sexy gadget Apple is spitting out to really grasp the issue at hand. (And I am one of these people too!!!)
One thing was crystal clear after viewing this documentary tonight: that being dramatic and deploying desperate attempts such as shocking the American public with information that makes them uncomfortable is, in my opinion, necessary.
I know that it's currently trendy to be "green," but I think that this mass-distribution of ideas needs to expodentially increase with a depth that undercuts the current constant desire for what's bigger, shinier, and faster.
It's weird because growing up I'd heard people say to me that they wanted to move out of the United States when they grew old enough, and that they couldn't be associated with a system that just seems to be built on a retro-fantasy of post WWII utopia.
I wish I could say that Canada, hell, even Europe has the answer, but unfortunatley, I don't think it's that simple.....
So am I totally hating on America, or our economy, or in going to the mall on Saturday afternoons? Certainly not. I happen to love New Jersey, (okay you out-of-staters, hold your jokes) this area of the country is where I live and where my loved ones live. I happen to stimulate the economy alot, (once again, slow your roll on the jokes here too please) whether it be shopping locally or going to a chain store. I also agree with the documentary that with times of great stress comes great inguinuity. Maybe we'll get through the peak and fall of fossil fuels just fine.
What I do know for sure is that this documentary has inspired me to want to be, myself, faster, stronger, and more educated about not misleading ourselves to negligent means to an end. To keep one eye fixated ahead on the future, while being mindful of what you're doing right this second to conserve and protect. And to involve others in simple local inniciatives to develop a stronger local economy, and most of all to foster a healthy social environment that I feel we are in DESPERATE need of in America.
And what now know with absolute certainty?
I am moving out of the suburbs as soon as I possibly can.
So here goes.
Tonight, I went to cover an environmental commission meeting for one of the towns that I cover. The meeting was actually going to be a viewing of the documentary "The End of Suburbia: the demise of oil and the collapse of the American dream" by Jeffrey Greene, followed by a discussion. YAY. As I headed into the community center where the film was to take place, I first made a quick detour to the store to grab a sans-sugar Red Bull. I wasn't quite sure how engaging this was going to be, and after a deadline day at the office ridden with last minute state Supreme Court decisions (turned into an article in record time I'll have you know) I wasn't about to be messin.'
So into the community center I head. Mystified all the while by the television-less end of the room that lay beforth us. (I
seriously sat there for like 5 minutes trying to figure out where we were going to watch the movie without a television until I saw the projector sitting on a desk in front of the blank, white wall.)
But I digress, and the documentary started. And from the moment that it did, I was transfixed. In case you couldn't guess, the basic premise was pretty much about the end of life as we know it, (because we are so deeply and horribly addicted to oil and natural gas, and the likes) and what that's going to mean for life as we know it in the future.
And let me tell you, I really think that viewing this documentary could make a pessimist out of the most optomisitic of the glass-half-full people out there. And with just cause. This is seriously alarming. I mean, pretty much in 20, hell, 15, hell maybe even 10 years life as we know it will not be the same.
The film asked the average consumer to imagine a day when the mass suburbs of America become slums-and there is massive regression of the human race. The film projected that there will be such massive regression that it is not your choice to do so, but this is rather dependent on our survival.
Which, within itself is a very interesting thought. We, as 21st-century humans really don't have a good grasp on what survival entails, which is quite frightening to me. I'll admit, if I couldn't get into my car (okay, or get on my bicycle) and go to the local supermarket in the middle of the winter in Central NJ I wouldn't know how to get food. Think about that for a second: what if the commodity chain was virtually haulted to a stop indefinetly? Think of the competition, the violence, the scramble that would ensue over a quart of milk or a loaf of bread? Scary to think. Even scarier to think that that may be something that I will have to worry about over the next 50 years of my life. What's even worse is that at this point, my parents, pretty much the entire Baby-Boomer generation that basically has feed off of this suburbia model all of their lives stand to lose alot-if not all of the capital that have worked so hard for all of their lives for, and perhaps too feable to acquiesce.
What really worries me the most over this whole thought of the end of suburbia (not that I was really enjoying all that much to begin with-though my current economic state doesn't really permit me to live in a city on my own--but I am working very hard to change that situation shortly) is that people-myself included-like to believe that there is no immediate problem. Or that if there is, there is a highly-organized team of professionals with doctorate degrees toiling away in some laboratory somewhere combating the problem while I comfortably sleep each night. Or that people of an older generation actually DO realize the calamity-and that my generation is too busy being obsessed with what kind of sleek and sexy gadget Apple is spitting out to really grasp the issue at hand. (And I am one of these people too!!!)
One thing was crystal clear after viewing this documentary tonight: that being dramatic and deploying desperate attempts such as shocking the American public with information that makes them uncomfortable is, in my opinion, necessary.
I know that it's currently trendy to be "green," but I think that this mass-distribution of ideas needs to expodentially increase with a depth that undercuts the current constant desire for what's bigger, shinier, and faster.
It's weird because growing up I'd heard people say to me that they wanted to move out of the United States when they grew old enough, and that they couldn't be associated with a system that just seems to be built on a retro-fantasy of post WWII utopia.
I wish I could say that Canada, hell, even Europe has the answer, but unfortunatley, I don't think it's that simple.....
So am I totally hating on America, or our economy, or in going to the mall on Saturday afternoons? Certainly not. I happen to love New Jersey, (okay you out-of-staters, hold your jokes) this area of the country is where I live and where my loved ones live. I happen to stimulate the economy alot, (once again, slow your roll on the jokes here too please) whether it be shopping locally or going to a chain store. I also agree with the documentary that with times of great stress comes great inguinuity. Maybe we'll get through the peak and fall of fossil fuels just fine.
What I do know for sure is that this documentary has inspired me to want to be, myself, faster, stronger, and more educated about not misleading ourselves to negligent means to an end. To keep one eye fixated ahead on the future, while being mindful of what you're doing right this second to conserve and protect. And to involve others in simple local inniciatives to develop a stronger local economy, and most of all to foster a healthy social environment that I feel we are in DESPERATE need of in America.
And what now know with absolute certainty?
I am moving out of the suburbs as soon as I possibly can.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
LAST walking tour day!!!
So we started out the last walking tour day with a little round-about excusion around to the other side of the bay that we had spent the previous night on.
The last day was alot of road walking, which I'm not going to lie, was okay with me. Although, we did get very efficient at our "CAR!" chant which would send us marching like soilders single file along side of the road every few minutes.
Sometime around lunch we decided that we would stop for a quick "map check" stop which turned into a very impromptu lunch that Pam, Kyle, Tim, Sarah and I shared, which I may add was very enjoyable.
Back on the road again, we talked of many things. Often times mundane, the conversation would turn to a gossip session, which would morph into a debate, which would yield to varying degrees of heavier topics. Honestly, the content of the conversations wasn't really what mattered. I mean, we could have been talking about beef jerky for pete's sake.
(Okay, editoral note: I'm just warning you, I'm going to get sappy for a second.)
Walking with these people that (for some of them have been my friends since freshman year of college) it gave me a very strong, positive feeling. This little jaunt that we went on wasn't for the light hearted. It wasn't for the pampered. It was for people who are into creating their own, positive and active experiences with one another, all while taking in the breathtaking scenery that Ireland had to offer. It was such a feeling of total acceptance, (and yes, after a week of being out on the road and peeing in some very bazaar places may have fostered all of the bonding) and knowing that this was something that we will truely remember for the rest of our lives.
Okay, so no more cheese. But as we climbed that last ascent that we had climbed the very first night (to go down to take a peek at Tralee Bay) and as the pub loomed closer and closer, I knew one thing for sure....that there was a Bulmers (possible with a shot of Jameson?) with my name on it inside.
As I retired to the bedroom of the Finglas House Bed and Breakfast, (the one that we had stayed in a week prior when we began the tour, I had a dream of Dublin in my mind, and a taste of the whiskey from our victory shot on my breath.....
The last day was alot of road walking, which I'm not going to lie, was okay with me. Although, we did get very efficient at our "CAR!" chant which would send us marching like soilders single file along side of the road every few minutes.
Sometime around lunch we decided that we would stop for a quick "map check" stop which turned into a very impromptu lunch that Pam, Kyle, Tim, Sarah and I shared, which I may add was very enjoyable.
Back on the road again, we talked of many things. Often times mundane, the conversation would turn to a gossip session, which would morph into a debate, which would yield to varying degrees of heavier topics. Honestly, the content of the conversations wasn't really what mattered. I mean, we could have been talking about beef jerky for pete's sake.
(Okay, editoral note: I'm just warning you, I'm going to get sappy for a second.)
Walking with these people that (for some of them have been my friends since freshman year of college) it gave me a very strong, positive feeling. This little jaunt that we went on wasn't for the light hearted. It wasn't for the pampered. It was for people who are into creating their own, positive and active experiences with one another, all while taking in the breathtaking scenery that Ireland had to offer. It was such a feeling of total acceptance, (and yes, after a week of being out on the road and peeing in some very bazaar places may have fostered all of the bonding) and knowing that this was something that we will truely remember for the rest of our lives.
Okay, so no more cheese. But as we climbed that last ascent that we had climbed the very first night (to go down to take a peek at Tralee Bay) and as the pub loomed closer and closer, I knew one thing for sure....that there was a Bulmers (possible with a shot of Jameson?) with my name on it inside.
As I retired to the bedroom of the Finglas House Bed and Breakfast, (the one that we had stayed in a week prior when we began the tour, I had a dream of Dublin in my mind, and a taste of the whiskey from our victory shot on my breath.....
Cloghane, if i'm spelling that right
So we just got to Cloghane and all I can say is cool deal. Although I think today we traversed the most ground, in terms of ascent and all that, (I believe it was 2,450 feet) and had a fairly memorable decent, which was the probably the coolest thing I've done in the last 10 years of my life.
There we were, staring down at a mountain's clevage getting a serious high from the feeling of climbing the thing when we soon realized, (after a few steps down) that this was going to be a bit more tricky than we thought. Aside from the steep steeping down, (let's just say my quadracepts still burn) there was mud, well, not just mud, but bogs. Yes, bogs! A word that quickly entered our venacular via curses, screams, and the occasional call of "I lost my shoe to it!"
But I suppose I should back track a bit. The acsent was a bit slow going at times, but Kevin, the ever patient leader was really cool with helping out Melissa, Pam, Sarah and I (Tim took a really long solo tract and Beth, Jenn and Kyle got a taxi ride to the next village) up the mountain, always offering words of encouragement, and willing to keep up with our pace.
At certain points, the cloud cover was rolling in above us, and it mad a very dense like fog, which made it hard to see a literal 5 feet in front of your face. This looked particularly hardcore if you turned around to see if the person behind you was still with you, and for a second, you couldn't see them. They were lost in the dense, cloud-like fog. I spun around once, to see if Pam heard what I had said, and I couldn't see her. Quickly I turned around again, and Kevin and Melissa had gone too far and were too out of my visibility.
When we reached the top peak, we were in awe the view (see aformentioned mountain clevage) and went right ahead on down with our descent.
After we got to sealevel, (or something like that) we still had a bit of ground to travel over. But that was all good, as now the sun was out, and it was pretty warm. We rolled into Cloghane tired and VERY thirsty, muddy (mud literally was sloshing in my hiking boots for the last 5 miles) and dehydrated (okay I may have been a little confused when the owner of our B&B asked me a simple question,) but satisfied.
Although, I have to say...I did feel a perceptive shift in everyone's attitude that night at dinner. Everyone's nerves seemed to be a bit shorter, and little jokes weren't as quickly met with a laugh, and more often an exasperated expletative. (Okay we weren't totally hating on one another, but still) It was apparent that the proximity that we all had been inhabiting over the past week was getting a little too close for comfort. Now I love all of my friends dearly, (and enjoyed Jenn, Sarah, and Beth) but everyone needs their alone time.
So that night I stayed in, and the B&B we stayed at that night had a really awesome sitting room, were Sarah and I brought one another up to speed on our lives.
Then, it was to bed I head (ed.)
There we were, staring down at a mountain's clevage getting a serious high from the feeling of climbing the thing when we soon realized, (after a few steps down) that this was going to be a bit more tricky than we thought. Aside from the steep steeping down, (let's just say my quadracepts still burn) there was mud, well, not just mud, but bogs. Yes, bogs! A word that quickly entered our venacular via curses, screams, and the occasional call of "I lost my shoe to it!"
But I suppose I should back track a bit. The acsent was a bit slow going at times, but Kevin, the ever patient leader was really cool with helping out Melissa, Pam, Sarah and I (Tim took a really long solo tract and Beth, Jenn and Kyle got a taxi ride to the next village) up the mountain, always offering words of encouragement, and willing to keep up with our pace.
At certain points, the cloud cover was rolling in above us, and it mad a very dense like fog, which made it hard to see a literal 5 feet in front of your face. This looked particularly hardcore if you turned around to see if the person behind you was still with you, and for a second, you couldn't see them. They were lost in the dense, cloud-like fog. I spun around once, to see if Pam heard what I had said, and I couldn't see her. Quickly I turned around again, and Kevin and Melissa had gone too far and were too out of my visibility.
When we reached the top peak, we were in awe the view (see aformentioned mountain clevage) and went right ahead on down with our descent.
After we got to sealevel, (or something like that) we still had a bit of ground to travel over. But that was all good, as now the sun was out, and it was pretty warm. We rolled into Cloghane tired and VERY thirsty, muddy (mud literally was sloshing in my hiking boots for the last 5 miles) and dehydrated (okay I may have been a little confused when the owner of our B&B asked me a simple question,) but satisfied.
Although, I have to say...I did feel a perceptive shift in everyone's attitude that night at dinner. Everyone's nerves seemed to be a bit shorter, and little jokes weren't as quickly met with a laugh, and more often an exasperated expletative. (Okay we weren't totally hating on one another, but still) It was apparent that the proximity that we all had been inhabiting over the past week was getting a little too close for comfort. Now I love all of my friends dearly, (and enjoyed Jenn, Sarah, and Beth) but everyone needs their alone time.
So that night I stayed in, and the B&B we stayed at that night had a really awesome sitting room, were Sarah and I brought one another up to speed on our lives.
Then, it was to bed I head (ed.)
pause on the mountain day
So we paused for a bit for a bit of fruit, cheese, and tublerone on the side of the big-butt mountain that we're about the climb. Kinda cool. All you can see in front of you (well, that is when you crane your neck up) is a diminishing line of posted arrow signs.
See ya at the top
See ya at the top
woah there ballydavid
THEY CLOSED THE TOWN BECAUSE THEY RAN OUT OF FOOD??!!!!
Starting to learn some of subtle differences between the sticks of America and the sticks of the Irish countryside. That first sentence is definetely an absoulte that we were not only in a small town, but that after a very rainy hike along the shore (which honestly, I kind of enjoyed) that we were going to have to be crafty getting to a pub of some kind.
Today was the shortest day of our trek, with an estimated 12K down (I think), although the weather did get rainy. Walking along the shoreline in the constant rain was rather enjoyable, actually, and I think that I may do it soon in the states shortly after returning.
And oh, I should probably take this moment to interject taht the town that we are staying in tonight, which is called Ballydavid, is not actually out of food, but according to our (superbly nice) hostess, that's what happenned last week here.
So Pam and I were drying out our skivies, (amoung our sweatshirts, socks and shoes) when our hostess said that the nearest pub was about 4 miles down the road. Now, normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal, (and lord knows the walk back would be much, much easier after a few libiations) but...not necessarily the thing you want to hear on day 5 of a walking trek. You kinda want to just be able to meander a few blocks at most and drink and eat to the heart's content.
Currently, I am sitting in the (very red) sitting room of our bed and breakfast sipping on tea and listening to another guest, talk about how he's been around the world. He told us lively tales of getting in fights in Toronto and stealing formula's and then going to Spain with them. Sounds kinda cool, and I was really digging it until Pam told me to take a shower. Alright.
So our wonderfully super-gracious hostess agreed to drive us to the pub, (and the guys, who were staying in a B&B down the road also did the same) and we joined up for some pub grub and some drinky drinks.
Reader, it is time for me to tell you about the ever-bazaar experience of riding in a car that operates in the exact opposite way that you expect it to. Taking tight turns at like 50km/h....35mph may not seem like an incredible feat, but when it's on the opposite side of your expectations, it's bound to make anyone squirm while rounding a hairpin curve.
Starting to learn some of subtle differences between the sticks of America and the sticks of the Irish countryside. That first sentence is definetely an absoulte that we were not only in a small town, but that after a very rainy hike along the shore (which honestly, I kind of enjoyed) that we were going to have to be crafty getting to a pub of some kind.
Today was the shortest day of our trek, with an estimated 12K down (I think), although the weather did get rainy. Walking along the shoreline in the constant rain was rather enjoyable, actually, and I think that I may do it soon in the states shortly after returning.
And oh, I should probably take this moment to interject taht the town that we are staying in tonight, which is called Ballydavid, is not actually out of food, but according to our (superbly nice) hostess, that's what happenned last week here.
So Pam and I were drying out our skivies, (amoung our sweatshirts, socks and shoes) when our hostess said that the nearest pub was about 4 miles down the road. Now, normally, this wouldn't be a huge deal, (and lord knows the walk back would be much, much easier after a few libiations) but...not necessarily the thing you want to hear on day 5 of a walking trek. You kinda want to just be able to meander a few blocks at most and drink and eat to the heart's content.
Currently, I am sitting in the (very red) sitting room of our bed and breakfast sipping on tea and listening to another guest, talk about how he's been around the world. He told us lively tales of getting in fights in Toronto and stealing formula's and then going to Spain with them. Sounds kinda cool, and I was really digging it until Pam told me to take a shower. Alright.
So our wonderfully super-gracious hostess agreed to drive us to the pub, (and the guys, who were staying in a B&B down the road also did the same) and we joined up for some pub grub and some drinky drinks.
Reader, it is time for me to tell you about the ever-bazaar experience of riding in a car that operates in the exact opposite way that you expect it to. Taking tight turns at like 50km/h....35mph may not seem like an incredible feat, but when it's on the opposite side of your expectations, it's bound to make anyone squirm while rounding a hairpin curve.
PARADISE: VENTRY BEACH
Ahh the water. The very COLD water. Hilarity ensued after some amusing (and I should say very "European") pictures were taken.
And for all you prudes out there, that means that several (male) friends decided to show their respective rear ends to the camera!
After the beach we treked through a laberynth of foliage, and then came across the first vertical choice..either take a shorter route or take a longer path and climb into the clouds of a mountain option.
Melissa, Pam, Sarah, and I all elected to take the shorter route, while the boys and Jenn (yeah Jenn!) decided that no incline would be too great, no climb on-top of a climb would be too steep for them. So, we parted ways, and the former group took a rather gradual incline while the latter group took on a big grade of land.
Now I should insert the scenic asthetics, just so you, the reader, can get a sense of the crazy beauty. First off, we were hiking on the most soft green, green grass, (you know, the emerald color that people living in suburbs spend like $500 a month pumping god-knows what kind of toxic fertilizers to keep up with the Jones') and my was it soft! I would have totally taken off my hiking boots if there had not been tons of shit...literally, sheep shit was everywhere. Oh well....
A glance to the left revealed nothing but miles and miles of sapphire Atlantic waters that were a probably a good quarter mile below us. Seaward, jagged boulders casually lay in the ocean, as though they were pebbles dropped in a dark shallow puddle. (Only you know the water was a wee bit deeper.)
Seriously incredible. Audibly, it all was quiet, and if you were the first person in the single-file line in which we were hiking, you had to strain to hear the person who was (loudly) speaking either directly in front of in back of you.
At one point, we hiked around the half-perimeter of a land mass that can best be described as a crater (and appropriatly so, because Ireland was indeed formed by volcanic activity some millenia ago) and saw a hodge-podge of little stone masses on the side of the hill. According to our tour literature, they were the remains of an (8th?) (7th?) (old as hell?) monk territory that demarked their properties.
I was feeling pretty zen-like when suddenly my allergies decided to flare up. Now, normally I don't necessarily worry too much about a little sneeze here and there, but suddently my nose went from a little sniffle to a full-fledged faucet. Now I know that some of you that know me know that I can talk about my nasal excrements for hours, but I'll spare you the full details-let me just summarize by saying it was BAD. And then, to add insult to injury, my eyes started watering up and itching, and I ran out of water a little too early.
The four of us finally decended a VERY STEEP hill to a road way, and found ourselves coming into a little town of a handful of colorful buildings built into the afformentioned part of the crater we had just hiked down. Ah!! I thought, we must be nearing our lodging, and we pushed on.
Soon though, the little village was sinking smaller behind us, and rather in front was...a road. A rather long road, with not a whole heck of a lot of room to hike on the edge of. So, we pressed on. And according to our tour literature, we had 5K to go. 5k! No biggie! 3.1 miles, cool deal.
Then....we crossed the ocean.
Well, okay, not literally, but this is where my travel journal has a crude drawling of what I can only describe as some sort of tide eddy, (sp?) or something like that. So, we crossed. And then, a hill lie ahead of us. So we followed the little hiking man upwards. (okay, editorial note: I was NOT hallucinating, yet anyway. All along the self-guided tour we took, there were posts every few miles of so, detailing where our next twist or turn was. The symbol was a little hiking man with hiking polls, below an arrow).
Then, we really just kinda bottomed out. I'm not trying to sound dramatic here, but this was by far, in my opinion the most extreme day for moi. Running out of water sucks, being attacked by a 5-hour perpetual allergy attack is worse, but being at the foot of one, final, steep hill just plain old SUCKED at this particular moment. But what are you going to do besides keep going? And that's what we did, until we hiked up the mountain about a mile and realized that we were lost. So we did what any normal hiking caravan would do when lost in another country...we knocked, okay, pounded, alright, seriously prayed with everything left in us that someone would be home to guide us in the right direction back to our bed and breakfast.
A half an hour later I was in the shower, and taking lots and lots of anti-histomines.
We went to dinner.
And then bed.
And for all you prudes out there, that means that several (male) friends decided to show their respective rear ends to the camera!
After the beach we treked through a laberynth of foliage, and then came across the first vertical choice..either take a shorter route or take a longer path and climb into the clouds of a mountain option.
Melissa, Pam, Sarah, and I all elected to take the shorter route, while the boys and Jenn (yeah Jenn!) decided that no incline would be too great, no climb on-top of a climb would be too steep for them. So, we parted ways, and the former group took a rather gradual incline while the latter group took on a big grade of land.
Now I should insert the scenic asthetics, just so you, the reader, can get a sense of the crazy beauty. First off, we were hiking on the most soft green, green grass, (you know, the emerald color that people living in suburbs spend like $500 a month pumping god-knows what kind of toxic fertilizers to keep up with the Jones') and my was it soft! I would have totally taken off my hiking boots if there had not been tons of shit...literally, sheep shit was everywhere. Oh well....
A glance to the left revealed nothing but miles and miles of sapphire Atlantic waters that were a probably a good quarter mile below us. Seaward, jagged boulders casually lay in the ocean, as though they were pebbles dropped in a dark shallow puddle. (Only you know the water was a wee bit deeper.)
Seriously incredible. Audibly, it all was quiet, and if you were the first person in the single-file line in which we were hiking, you had to strain to hear the person who was (loudly) speaking either directly in front of in back of you.
At one point, we hiked around the half-perimeter of a land mass that can best be described as a crater (and appropriatly so, because Ireland was indeed formed by volcanic activity some millenia ago) and saw a hodge-podge of little stone masses on the side of the hill. According to our tour literature, they were the remains of an (8th?) (7th?) (old as hell?) monk territory that demarked their properties.
I was feeling pretty zen-like when suddenly my allergies decided to flare up. Now, normally I don't necessarily worry too much about a little sneeze here and there, but suddently my nose went from a little sniffle to a full-fledged faucet. Now I know that some of you that know me know that I can talk about my nasal excrements for hours, but I'll spare you the full details-let me just summarize by saying it was BAD. And then, to add insult to injury, my eyes started watering up and itching, and I ran out of water a little too early.
The four of us finally decended a VERY STEEP hill to a road way, and found ourselves coming into a little town of a handful of colorful buildings built into the afformentioned part of the crater we had just hiked down. Ah!! I thought, we must be nearing our lodging, and we pushed on.
Soon though, the little village was sinking smaller behind us, and rather in front was...a road. A rather long road, with not a whole heck of a lot of room to hike on the edge of. So, we pressed on. And according to our tour literature, we had 5K to go. 5k! No biggie! 3.1 miles, cool deal.
Then....we crossed the ocean.
Well, okay, not literally, but this is where my travel journal has a crude drawling of what I can only describe as some sort of tide eddy, (sp?) or something like that. So, we crossed. And then, a hill lie ahead of us. So we followed the little hiking man upwards. (okay, editorial note: I was NOT hallucinating, yet anyway. All along the self-guided tour we took, there were posts every few miles of so, detailing where our next twist or turn was. The symbol was a little hiking man with hiking polls, below an arrow).
Then, we really just kinda bottomed out. I'm not trying to sound dramatic here, but this was by far, in my opinion the most extreme day for moi. Running out of water sucks, being attacked by a 5-hour perpetual allergy attack is worse, but being at the foot of one, final, steep hill just plain old SUCKED at this particular moment. But what are you going to do besides keep going? And that's what we did, until we hiked up the mountain about a mile and realized that we were lost. So we did what any normal hiking caravan would do when lost in another country...we knocked, okay, pounded, alright, seriously prayed with everything left in us that someone would be home to guide us in the right direction back to our bed and breakfast.
A half an hour later I was in the shower, and taking lots and lots of anti-histomines.
We went to dinner.
And then bed.
Getting Prepped for Day 3
Currently we are preparing for Day 3. Slumber came easily last night, which is a good thing, considering my body is like, all "wtf mate? Running 3 miles at a time on flat NJ land did not prepare me for this" but it's all gravy.
Standing first thing in the morning was a bit difficult, but the sun's a shining, so it's apt to be a brillant day. I believe there's an optional mountain bit this morning, but I think our group is pretty much ambivilent right now as to if we're actually going to do that part.
Yours until Donegal...
Standing first thing in the morning was a bit difficult, but the sun's a shining, so it's apt to be a brillant day. I believe there's an optional mountain bit this morning, but I think our group is pretty much ambivilent right now as to if we're actually going to do that part.
Yours until Donegal...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)