A Week in Kerry - Part 1

 I don't even know how to begin my series of blog posts on my time in County Kerry. For one thing, there are literally over 500 photos to wade through. I guess I'll just work my way through chronologically, and stop whenever the post seems to be getting too long!

Where our story really begins and ends is with Liz, the owner of The Anvil Bar - the BnB and restaurant/pub I stayed at for the week. When the staff worked out that I was alone and without a car, she basically adopted me for the week and personally took me all around the county. I learned so much about the history of Kerry and Irish culture, and had such a fun time with her. If you ever find yourself in southwest Ireland, head outside of Castlemaine to find The Anvil and say hi to Liz for me! 

I know I said I'd go in order, and this is already out of order, but here's the lovely Liz herself!

Now onto a more linear narrative:

I knew I wanted to travel by train as much as possible during my brief stint in Europe, so rather than take a quick puddle jumper from Dublin to Kerry, I opted for a leisurely train ride instead. It was such a low key and simple way to travel - no worrying about security lines and weight limits and minuscule seats, just plenty of space to move around and lots of scenery to watch. I was feeling a little edgy when I started, as I find I generally am on travel days, but I pulled up Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone on my Kindle and the accompanying movie soundtrack on my phone, and boy if that didn't just whip me right into a good frame of mind. Going between reading and staring at the rolling green fields while Hedwig's Theme played, even if I was technically in the wrong country, just felt so fitting and like I was on an adventure and maybe even on the right path. 

Scenes from the train

The windows were evidently tinted blue!

Everything was surprisingly ambiguously signed, but I made my transfer correctly and upon alighting in Tralee I found the taxi stand - though it took about half an hour for a taxi to show up (there was one leaving right when I arrived, so I wasn't just standing around optimistically, I promise). My taxi driver gave me my favorite weather forecast I think I've ever heard: 

"If you can see the mountains, it's going to rain. If you can't see them, it's raining."

The Anvil is on a quiet road out in the countryside - the only stretch with sidewalks has the Anvil, another bar called Murphy's Bar, a sewing shop, a church, and a tax advisor. There is also a hiking loop that starts right behind the bar, but it was apparently closed for renovations, so I never tried it out. The pub itself was exactly what it should be - dark wood and amber lighting and a good crowd of regulars. And SPECTACULAR food. If you ever stop by (and you should!), try the grilled goat cheese. My taste buds swooned. 

Working dinner in the pub

Monday morning I took it nice and slow - but was actually awake during the morning! Jet lag is finally over! I enjoyed my lovely room and the views of the rolling hills I could see from my many windows, and rescued a butterfly that somehow got inside my skylight:

And I went for a little walk around the stretch of neighborhood that I could reach. It was very peaceful, and since I was in the countryside and did not need to block out city weirdos, I did not have headphones in, which is how I discovered that I was walking past a burbling brook:

Returning to the Anvil, I came across the owner's son who works the bar, and he figured out pretty quickly that I didn't have a car, and told me about the shuttle buses. During the summer they are available for the guests in the high season, but during the winter they actually function as school buses. But that means that they make runs into Tralee and Killarney each day for a few hours (and for the full day if I wanted to go with them for the morning run at 7:30am, which I decidedly did not). "Just let them know at the bar, and they'll let the drivers know." 

And then later that night, I met Liz. She popped by my table as I sat enjoying another fine meal in the pub to give me a handwritten schedule of the bus for the rest of the week, and we got to chatting. Soon enough, she had brought me a brochure of County Kerry and all of the places the school bus could drop me off for a few hours. When we were done talking and she left me to the rest of my meal, I experienced one of those odd moments that happen only when I'm traveling, where I have an actual physical feeling of overwhelming joy and like the whole universe aligned to create this singular moment. Running off to the Irish countryside was such a random, spontaneous decision on my part. Choosing this particular BnB was a complete whim, and the whole thing came together in a matter of minutes. I didn't do enough research to realize that I couldn't walk anywhere from the BnB, I had no idea what even was in the area to see, and it just generally could have been such a dud of a week. And instead, I was sitting in a picture-perfect pub with music playing and rugby on the TV in the background and that warm glowing lighting, eating a warm meal and getting ready to adventure around the Dingle Peninsula for the week, making friends, and it just felt amazing. All of those days and stretched where traveling is so much harder than just living at home, where I don't feel adventurous just overwhelmed, where I wonder what on earth I am thinking doing this with my life - this was one of those moments where it all pays off. 

I'll take you through the adventures and wanderings that ensued in the next post. For now, I leave you with one more out-of-order photo, just because I like it:

Having a WONDERFUL time on my impromptu Kerry trip

An Evening in Dublin

 First, an exciting announcement: I appear to be FINALLY over my jet lag. *knock on wood* This means I can actually spend the middle of the day out enjoying where I am, instead of sleeping until I start work in the afternoon, then hanging out awake all through the wee hours of the morning with nothing to do but play around on my computer, and I didn't need to cross continents to do that!

I left Dublin by train this morning, and as referenced above and in my last post, between the sleep schedule and the work schedule I didn't get out and about to see much. But last night I was determined to venture out into the city before I left, so I booked an evening walking tour through the AirBnB "Experiences." 

It. Was. Spectacular. 

Daniel O'Connell, The Liberator

It was chock full of the history and culture of Ireland in general and Dublin in particular, ancient and modern. We started at The Spire on O'Connell Street, and learned all about it's namesake (that's him at the top of the statue there), wandered down the River Liffey and into the Temple Bar district, which included a surprising amount of rock n' roll history.

This is one of my favorite travel photos I've ever taken

A nice small group of friendly people on the tour with me!

I learned the background of the phrase "beyond the pale," and why milkmaids are traditionally understood to be gorgeous (it has to do with nutrition and immunization, of all things). I learned that Van Morrison is Irish, and still alive. And I learned that apparently there is an Irish superstition that Christmas decorations not taken down by January 8th must then be left up all year. Last year because of the lockdowns, the Temple Bar couldn't get enough workers to take down the giant Christmas tree you see pictured above, and so it's actually been there all year long. The whole city is starting to get done up for Christmas now, so it wasn't out of place to us, but apparently Jack the tour guide has had to explain it to people all year long!

It was such a fun night - I just wish I'd managed it a bit earlier in the trip so I could go back to a few places. After the tour, two members of our party had to split right away to make a dinner reservation, but the tour guide and the French girl Stephanie and I all hung around at a pub for well over an hour, talking Celtic culture and language and the French's obsession with food and all manner of things, and when we finally called it a night Jack was nice enough to escort me back to my neighborhood, even paying for my bus fare. 

It was an absolutely excellent evening, and I'm so very glad I got myself out to do it. 

Road Trip 2012: Sunny Southern California, Part I

It's Monday. Chances are, we get home on Wednesday. What??? For some reason, unless I'm thinking of it directly like that, I feel right now like I have more time than I did a week ago when were were traveling to Arizona. Who knows.

Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

At Lake Havasu City the night before

We were up reasonably early in Lake Havasu City (apparently pronounced "HAA-vaa-su" rather than "ha-VA-su" as we had been doing), grabbed breakfast at Dennys (now cruelly without their chocolate peanut butter menu items), and hit the road. The morning started out looking like most mornings have:

But after not too long, started to look like this!

And then this happened:

Oh, yes. California at last. Not that we hadn't utterly enjoyed our time in the Southwest- that was kind of the point of the road trip. But how can you have a road trip without hitting California?? As an added bonus, California meant four straight days of not having to pay for a hotel: our first night was spent in Oceanside with my family, the second in Mission Viejo with Katie's family, and the third and fourth in a hotel my mother procured for us in the heart of downtown San Francisco.

But first we had to get there. It wasn't a horribly long drive to Oceanside- maybe five hours? We hit town around the dinner hour. But we did have some unexpected adventures along the way. The more enjoyable of them came about as we stopped for gas. We were desperately low, and pulled off the highway when we saw a gas station in Chiriaco, CA. I vaguely noted a sign for a museum, but was more focused on the impending water bottles for purchase. But then we came around a bend and saw a barbed wire fence, with a field full of tanks stretching out behind them. And I do mean tanks:

Boom

The George Patton Memorial Museum of Chiriaco, California! Thus located because of the Desert Training Camp he used to prepare soldiers for the desert fighting to drive the Nazis out of North Africa in World War II. I announced to Katie that we had to stop there, assuming the entrance fee was $20 or less. A quick search on my phone yielded up the entry fee: a suggested donation of $5. Sold!

We restocked on gas and vittles, then trundled across the road to the museum. Out front, they had the "West Coast Vietnam Memorial," what looked to be an unofficial monument to the locals who were lost. A little further down, they also had one for local 9/11 victims and those lost in the ensuing battles.

Inside the museum, there was a 26 minute video on Patton's career, and memorabilia galore. I learned quite a few things that were new to me. To start, I didn't realize that significant fighting had even occurred in Northern Africa. Bad history major! *slaps own hand*

As it turns out, the day we visited was also the anniversary of D-Day. Aren't we clever? While Patton was not part of the invading force on D-Day, that same force was not able to break out of Normandy. Fresh off of his victories in Africa, Patton and his troops were called up a month after D-Day, and successfully pushed the Allied forces into the rest of France and then on into Germany. Later in the war, he was also called up to help end and win the Battle of the Bulge.

And then, of course, we had to go look at the tanks!

Duck tank

Soviet fire-fighting tank... with giant spikes at the front

Back to the road, where we ran into the bane of Katie's existence: California drivers. The quality of language in the car plummeted through the floor boards and started burrowing to China almost immediately. Though we have lightened up on the rule now that we are in Northern California, once we hit Oceanside I banned her from driving for the rest of California, and she happily accepted. (Apparently this story has spread like wildfire among all sides of her family.)

Speaking of which, Oceanside!

My beloved Oceanside. I get here every chance I get. We drove straight to the harbor, ate dinner at the little Italian place there- new to me, and quite good- and then bounced over to the beach. I ran straight into the water. Katie chose not to follow, assuming quite correctly that the water would be very cold.

Usually, I stay a few miles to the left of the harbor (my dad is probably gasping in shock and pain right now- is it south?), so I had never explored the beach to the right (north?) of it. We wandered along it, dodging an untold number of groups of teenagers (we suspected, and later had confirmed, that school had gotten out that very day). We passed many seagulls, and this batch of Seussical palm trees:

We hung around a bit longer and enjoyed the sunset, then wound our way to our resting spot of the night: Tim's. I can never get a solid answer from anyone, Google included, on what exactly I call my mother's cousins, but whatever they are, he is one of them.

Tim and his wife Denise were truly superb hosts. On top of having a gorgeous home and a very fluffy dog, upon our arrival, Tim reparked my car (parking and I don't get along), then made us both a bowl of ice cream, with nuts and banana on the top. I can't figure out why, but it was hands down the tastiest banana of my life. The four of us hung about in their living room for about an hour, chatting on a whole host of things. I remained carefully neutral about my plans for DC in the fall- I could tell from the number of books written by Glen Beck and/or on Reagan to glean that we probably fall on different sides of the political spectrum. Which just goes to show you that we all need to stop demonizing the "other side" as being horrible people, because they were wonderful people!  Katie and I each got our own room, and the password to the Wifi, and retired to bed.

The next morning, each of us were independently awakened by a knock at our door. Venturing a cautious bedhead out into the hallway, we were greeted by a tray of freshly made breakfast: scrambled eggs, toast, and a sectioned orange. The bearer of such treats? None other than Tim and Denise's 17 year old son Morgan, who the previous night had been entirely taciturn and typically 17. Of course, that may have been because introductions were made while he was neck deep in a video game, and not inclined to be distracted by a couple of wandering vagrants.

We enjoyed the afternoon at their pool, and then Morgan again impressed with a spread of Trader Joe's finest- chips, salsa, and hummus; Ritz and brie (a surprisingly good combination); organic soda; fine chocolate. All plated and displayed very snazzily. Apparently that's his thing: he loves to prepare and display food. I think he will go far in life. Our final hours were spent watching the first two episodes of The Walking Dead, which Denise had sold us on the night before. She made us cookies, and Morgan made us popcorn, and all four of us settled in for the zombie goodness. Denise is clearly used to feeding large packs of teenage boys- the cookies and popcorn just kept coming! Katie and I did our level best, but we barely made a dent.

At 4pm, we hit the road to go to see Katie's grandparents in Mission Viejo.

I feel that this post has gone on quite long enough, so I'll leave Katie's family and The Long, Long Drive to San Francisco for the next one. Ciao ciao, and parents, I will see you soon!

Crew team coming in for the evening

Remember back when I was in Iceland?

So here's a thoroughly random, out-of-sync post. I just came across a video I made for the blog on my first day in Iceland last year, but somehow never actually posted. It's actually in two parts, because the first one I made randomly stopped recording after about a minute and a half.

Part One

                      Part Two                      

Paris Revisited: Day 2- Strolling the Seine

After sleeping in for quite a while, and lazing around for several more hours, I decided it was finally time to get out and see more of Paris. I grabbed the local Metro (the 8 ligne) and took it to one of its Seine stops- Place de la Concorde. Up to this point, I had seen only parts of Paris that were new to me (with the exception of the Gare de Nord, which I am quite familiar with, but doesn't really count for our purposes). So it was exciting and new, but it wasn't Paris. That all changed when I emerged from the Concorde Metro stop at sunset:

Now that looks familiar!

 It looked like Paris again! My Paris. I spent many happy hours strolling along this area of the Seine at twilight, and here I was again. My goal was to be at the Eiffel Tower by 7pm, in case it was dark enough that they would start the sparkling. But I had a little over an hour, so I took the opportunity to meander....

Through the Tuileries...

View of the Place de la Concorde from the Tuileries, all the way down the Champs-Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe

Down to the Louvre....

Then over to the Seine!

Discovered a new bridge...

And walked into the sunset to get to the Eiffel Tower

Got my crepe at the base of Trocadero

No sparkling until 8 (which I couldn't stay for), but all lit up and pretty nonetheless!

Fountains at Trocadero

The day rounded out with a dinner at Laura's in-laws. We spoke French most of the time, and it was comforting to know that most of my hard-earned semi-fluency from last year has remained intact. I've lost some random phrases, but I could fearlessly trundle ahead with less-than-perfect, yet still understandable, French. They also served a really excellent Speculoos cheesecake for dessert!

I spent the rest of my evening babysitting Nootka and Skypeing avec ma mere, then lying in bed until 4am because I forgot to take my sleeping pills. So I slept in past noon today. But I am determined to be up and about earlier tomorrow! You will see.