Standing With A Sign At The Crossroads - Ireland

I awoke in my tent next to a river just outside a hostel in Doolin and made an executive decision to catch the 11:45 bus to Galway instead of the 8:45. Not a bad plan but I was unaware that the tourist season in Ireland ended precisely on August 27. The 11:45 was no longer an option so I’d have to wait until 1:45. It was 10 am and I was ready to go.

I found an empty cereal box, tore it apart and barrowed a marker from the hostel. I then headed out to a crossroads with a sign saying “Galway” to see what would happen. There were four options for getting to Galway from Doolin. Three different roads and a boat via the Aran Islands. I really didn’t have much of plan except that I thought it would be a good idea to go to Galway.

I stood with sign held in hand as people passed me by. Most gave me an apologetic expression. One exceptionally apologetic looking passerby stopped a bit far ahead and rolled back in reverse. With a thick Polish accent he said, “I can give you a ride to the next village where you will get a ride no problem”. The next village was just a few miles away. I noticed his checkered chef pants and assumed he was a breakfast chef/cook for a local B&B. Sure enough he was.

I never caught the name of my new Polish friend but he was extremely helpful and friendly. Aside of a thick accent his English was quite good. When he immigrated to Ireland 8 years ago he couldn’t speak a word of English. All of his jobs were working whatever in kitchens where everyone else was polish. About two years ago he took a job at a Fish and chips stand where not a single person spoke Polish. He was forced to adapt and I can vouch that his English is now quite good. Like other Pols I’ve met he was very helpful, friendly, full of life and seemingly very happy to living and working in Ireland. He dropped me in the village of Lisdoonvarna and strongly recommended I come back in a week for the Match Making Festival.

I stood next to the road displaying my sign for Galway with a smile for nearly an hour. I was getting cold in the cloudy wind and needed a toilet so I walked a short distance into to town, found a restroom and checked on a backup plan, a bus schedule. I then returned to the road with my sign.

A friendly old farmer stopped and offered a ride a few miles down the road between towns but I turned it down thinking I could get stuck and might miss my backup plan. Not much longer another vehicle stopped.

The car that stopped was actually a small delivery van. He told me to throw my pack in the back. When I opened the back door I realized it was refrigerated and full of fresh goat cheese. Instead I threw my pack in the front and made enough room for comfort.

The delivery drivers name is Liam. He’s been delivering one of the few fine Goat Cheeses of Ireland for 3 years. He keeps his work interesting by picking up hitch hikers. Mainly foreign backpackers. Liam informed me that I was the first American backpacker he had ever met during his time delivering cheese.

Liam said he was passing through Galway and he could drop me right in the center. He then went on to tell me he had a long day and was going beyond Galway into Connemara. The roads he would be driving are no longer served by busses since it was past August 27 so I asked if I could continue further up along his route. “Absolutely”, he cheerfully replied.

So, all afternoon Liam and I talked about Ireland as he pointed out things along the way. We also talked about the economic crisis that is facing Ireland and he told me stories how people would go to the bank asking for 50,000 Euros. A usual response from the bank, with no hesitation, was that they would not loan them 50,000 but they could loan them 100,000. In other words the banks were making people barrow more than they wanted.

Before the delivery job Liam was making really good money in the construction trade doing tile work but he had enough horse sense to foresee the economic bubble about to burst. He started looking for something else and took his current job making considerably less money. His friends thought he was crazy. Six months later his friends were asking him if he knew they could find a job.

Up into Connemara we drove as Liam made stops at restaurants, delis, and shops along the way. He has his route down and is very efficient about it. Leenane was as far north as Liam was going and my “Lost Planet” guidebook said there was a hostel there. I got out and he handed me a big package of fresh garlic, honey, thyme goat cheese. I greatly thanked him as he quickly hopped back in his van and drove off.

There’s not much in Lenaane so I went to the store next to a pub and asked where the hostel was. The shop girl told me it was four miles back and a mile up a side road. It was 6 pm, raining, and kind of cold. I just figured I’d hang out at the shop and ask people for a ride. After standing there for a short while and asking a couple of folks the pub manager approached me and said, “Hostel? Ok, Come on”. I threw my pack in the back seat of his car and he drove me right to where I wanted to go.

The Sleepzone hostel is in the middle of nowhere Connemara. Aside of the fact that the area is absolutely beautiful it seemed like an odd location. The building is relatively newish, modern, and somewhat institutional. Kind of like a retreat center or something. All of the staff are French. Their eyes lit up when I walked in with Goat Cheese. The first thing they asked was if it was fresh. “Yep, made this morning”.

I put the cheese on a plate and broke out some bread I bought at the store next to the pub. The French were quite pleased with the cheese so a couple of them invited me to join them for dinner which was great because all I had was bread and goat cheese.

The hostel did not sell food but they did sell beer and wine. I got a Guinness and a lovely French woman got a bottle of wine. She was backpacking and hiking around Ireland by herself. That day she had packed a chicken from some village on the other side of some mountain along with some vegetables and lettuce for dinner.

Needless to say the dinner came out wonderfully. The French have a way with food. So there I was sitting and chatting with a somewhat young yet very attractive single backpacking hiking French lady after a day of easy travel and fresh goat cheese at a hostel in the middle of beautiful Connemara, Ireland. Just enjoying the conversation. “Oh, I see, you’re a firefighter. But your training to be a nurse, ohh, hmm, ahhh?” Then she tells me she’s Gay.

You never know where standing at a crossroads with a sign will lead you.