August 31, 2011
Ireland - Relaxing Carefree Travel
Ireland has got to be one of the easiest and most carefree places I’ve ever traveled. The people are nice, getting around is simple to figure out, and the countryside is lovely. It’s a very relaxing and low stress place to roam. The only thing I’ve been told to be wary of are late night drunks in Dublin. Well, that’s a common sense no brainer.
From Killarney I took a Bus to Dingle where I stayed three nights. While there I climbed yet another peak, Brandon Mountain, in mist, fog and rain, combined with a long bike ride around the sea cliffs of Slea head. The following day I hiked the hills and valleys around Connor pass under mostly sunny skies. The landscapes full of green intermingled with gray, red, and black stone while being bathed in the constantly changing light of variable clouds makes the Irish countryside very easy on the eyes.
I stayed at the “Hideout Hostel” in Dingle right across from the small village Movie Theater. My roommate was a mid 50’s Moroccan man who teaches economics in Paris. It's not often that I meet a Moroccan backpacker. His name is Elmostafa and we tossed back a couple of pints while talking about travel, politics, and the Moroccan desert. It’s not often that I get to engage in good conversation with backpackers from a Muslim culture. Elmostafa and I talked about cultural differences and how when you get right down to it everyone wants the same thing. To have a home, to feel safe with family and friends and to a have good job. To simply be happy. At the base level this is what anyone and everyone wants. No question about it. Unfortunately there are a small few who like to stir up a hornets’ nest into a furry of emotion and misunderstandings that lead to negative outcomes. Live and let live, do no harm. That’s my mind set. Go ahead and worship purple monkeys if you want to. I really don’t care as long as it's not causing harm to anyone else. Elmostafa proved to be a great roommate. He left with an invitation to visit him in Paris and to trek in the Morroccon desert.
After three nights at the hostel in Dingle I debated what to do next. I already had an idea of where I wanted to go but wasn’t too interested in paying 11 Euros for a short bus ride to Tralee. A young German woman by the name of Larissa was thinking the way I was so we decided to hitch hike to Tralee. We had both been hearing good reports of nothing but normal people happy to giving backpackers lifts. I very rarely if ever hitch hike anywhere because I usually don’t think it’s a good idea but in the rural areas of Ireland, where people are accustomed to tourism, it’s about as safe as it gets.
There are two ways out of Dingle to get to Tralee. We tried the busiest way first and gave up after 45 minutes. We then walked about 15 minutes to the other more scenic less traveled route and got a ride in 15 minutes. The couple that picked us up could have been our parents. They were retired farmers whose first language is Gaelic. Their English is spoken with a thick accent that was hard for Larissa to understand but understandable to me as long as I listened closely. Ireland has changed enormously over the last 30 years. From when everyone was emigrating to the UK or America. To the Big Boom. To now, the big Bust.
The old Ireland of traveling gypsies, struggling farmers, and plain poverty was left behind as the country was catapulted into the 21’st century via the same economic boom seen throughout the rest of Europe and the USA during the 1990's. The problem is that most of the boom was a product of greed, imagination, and hype drawn up on Power Point presentations, TV financial shows and printed media. On the way up Ireland saw more blue sky than it probably ever will again. With loose foreign trade regulations and banks loaning money to anyone with a pulse, the limit was beyond the sky. Abandoned cottages sold for hundreds of thousands of Euros and construction demands reached an all time high. Some got rich, some lost it all. Well, the sky did turn gray and the clouds were the limit. In the end Ireland is a very different country. In many ways for the better but in other ways? We'll see. Thanks to the European Union and robust tourism coupled with legitimate businesses Ireland will be fine but in the meantime many are staring down a bottomless pint of thousand if not millions of dollars of debt. Real estate values have fallen, on average, 50% from where they were at the height of the boom. Everyone and no one has the solution.
The downside to Ireland’s boom and bust is that it’s one of the most expensive places to travel in Europe. Everything got so grossly inflated. Fortunately, prices are on their way down as things naturally and slowly correct. For the backpacker traveler restaurants are very expensive and the price of take away food is barely acceptable so cook your own pasta meals at the hostel is the best option. Hostel dorm beds run between 14 to 18 Euros. Buses and trains range from very reasonable to expensive depending on route. Even with this approach, by the end of the day, I’m spending more money in Ireland than anywhere else I’ve been on this trip.
The nice couple that gave me and Larissa a ride to Tralee very conveniently dropped us off at the bus station where we got a bus to Tarbert. From there we took a ferry across a bay and hitched a ride with a local to Kilrush where we found a hostel for the night. Later that evening a couple with a car checked into the hostel and Larissa commented before meeting them, “Ahh, our new friends”.
Our new friends turned out to be a really nice German couple by the name of Rafael and Inga. We met them in a pub later that evening and hit it off with good conversation. Today they gave us a ride to Doolin as we passed through old fishing villages, visited a lighthouse, and miles of seal cliffs including the famous Cliffs of Moher. We found a hostel and I opted for a 9 Euro campsite in the side yard with full access to the facilities.
Tonight, like most nights, I’ll probably find myself in a local pub with a pint of Guinness and musicians playing traditional music. It only seems natural and fitting when your in Ireland. Yes, It is a very relaxing and carefree place to travel….
From Killarney I took a Bus to Dingle where I stayed three nights. While there I climbed yet another peak, Brandon Mountain, in mist, fog and rain, combined with a long bike ride around the sea cliffs of Slea head. The following day I hiked the hills and valleys around Connor pass under mostly sunny skies. The landscapes full of green intermingled with gray, red, and black stone while being bathed in the constantly changing light of variable clouds makes the Irish countryside very easy on the eyes.
I stayed at the “Hideout Hostel” in Dingle right across from the small village Movie Theater. My roommate was a mid 50’s Moroccan man who teaches economics in Paris. It's not often that I meet a Moroccan backpacker. His name is Elmostafa and we tossed back a couple of pints while talking about travel, politics, and the Moroccan desert. It’s not often that I get to engage in good conversation with backpackers from a Muslim culture. Elmostafa and I talked about cultural differences and how when you get right down to it everyone wants the same thing. To have a home, to feel safe with family and friends and to a have good job. To simply be happy. At the base level this is what anyone and everyone wants. No question about it. Unfortunately there are a small few who like to stir up a hornets’ nest into a furry of emotion and misunderstandings that lead to negative outcomes. Live and let live, do no harm. That’s my mind set. Go ahead and worship purple monkeys if you want to. I really don’t care as long as it's not causing harm to anyone else. Elmostafa proved to be a great roommate. He left with an invitation to visit him in Paris and to trek in the Morroccon desert.
After three nights at the hostel in Dingle I debated what to do next. I already had an idea of where I wanted to go but wasn’t too interested in paying 11 Euros for a short bus ride to Tralee. A young German woman by the name of Larissa was thinking the way I was so we decided to hitch hike to Tralee. We had both been hearing good reports of nothing but normal people happy to giving backpackers lifts. I very rarely if ever hitch hike anywhere because I usually don’t think it’s a good idea but in the rural areas of Ireland, where people are accustomed to tourism, it’s about as safe as it gets.
There are two ways out of Dingle to get to Tralee. We tried the busiest way first and gave up after 45 minutes. We then walked about 15 minutes to the other more scenic less traveled route and got a ride in 15 minutes. The couple that picked us up could have been our parents. They were retired farmers whose first language is Gaelic. Their English is spoken with a thick accent that was hard for Larissa to understand but understandable to me as long as I listened closely. Ireland has changed enormously over the last 30 years. From when everyone was emigrating to the UK or America. To the Big Boom. To now, the big Bust.
The old Ireland of traveling gypsies, struggling farmers, and plain poverty was left behind as the country was catapulted into the 21’st century via the same economic boom seen throughout the rest of Europe and the USA during the 1990's. The problem is that most of the boom was a product of greed, imagination, and hype drawn up on Power Point presentations, TV financial shows and printed media. On the way up Ireland saw more blue sky than it probably ever will again. With loose foreign trade regulations and banks loaning money to anyone with a pulse, the limit was beyond the sky. Abandoned cottages sold for hundreds of thousands of Euros and construction demands reached an all time high. Some got rich, some lost it all. Well, the sky did turn gray and the clouds were the limit. In the end Ireland is a very different country. In many ways for the better but in other ways? We'll see. Thanks to the European Union and robust tourism coupled with legitimate businesses Ireland will be fine but in the meantime many are staring down a bottomless pint of thousand if not millions of dollars of debt. Real estate values have fallen, on average, 50% from where they were at the height of the boom. Everyone and no one has the solution.
The downside to Ireland’s boom and bust is that it’s one of the most expensive places to travel in Europe. Everything got so grossly inflated. Fortunately, prices are on their way down as things naturally and slowly correct. For the backpacker traveler restaurants are very expensive and the price of take away food is barely acceptable so cook your own pasta meals at the hostel is the best option. Hostel dorm beds run between 14 to 18 Euros. Buses and trains range from very reasonable to expensive depending on route. Even with this approach, by the end of the day, I’m spending more money in Ireland than anywhere else I’ve been on this trip.
The nice couple that gave me and Larissa a ride to Tralee very conveniently dropped us off at the bus station where we got a bus to Tarbert. From there we took a ferry across a bay and hitched a ride with a local to Kilrush where we found a hostel for the night. Later that evening a couple with a car checked into the hostel and Larissa commented before meeting them, “Ahh, our new friends”.
Our new friends turned out to be a really nice German couple by the name of Rafael and Inga. We met them in a pub later that evening and hit it off with good conversation. Today they gave us a ride to Doolin as we passed through old fishing villages, visited a lighthouse, and miles of seal cliffs including the famous Cliffs of Moher. We found a hostel and I opted for a 9 Euro campsite in the side yard with full access to the facilities.
Tonight, like most nights, I’ll probably find myself in a local pub with a pint of Guinness and musicians playing traditional music. It only seems natural and fitting when your in Ireland. Yes, It is a very relaxing and carefree place to travel….
August 30, 2011
Mt Carountohil - A Hike Up Ireland's Highest Peak
“I like what you did yesterday but today you need to get out and do something” said Martin the hostel manager with his thick Polish accent. The day before I did nothing but as I contemplated what to do Thursday morning Martin gave me his opinion like a coach. “Yes, of course, today I will bike and hike Mt, Carountohil, the highest mountain in Ireland”, said I. “Ok, let me get you a bike, time is not on your side, you need to get going!”, said Martin.
Actually, the timing was just right. It quit raining for the moment and when I’m motivated I can move pretty quick. My runs in France and the 8 days of walking along the English coast had whipped me back into shape. I quickly threw a day pack together and hopped on a bike for a ride that would take me an hour to get to the trailhead.
I didn’t have a map but I have a funny knack for visually remembering directions and prices of things. Go figure? I took a photo of a simple map at the hostel for backup and headed on my way. With no problem I found the trailhead and starting walking up an open valley full of green and cloud enshrouded mountains.
About 30 minutes into the hike I caught up with a Kiwi father and son bound for the peak as well. Kiwis are what you call people from New Zealand. Anyway, we got to talking and hiked together. Such is the way these things often work out.
The actual climb was pretty straight forward. Up the valley, up a steep gully with rocks and scree to a saddle/pass, then take a right following cairns (rock piles marking the route) and don’t get lost in the thick fog, mist, and rain. Staying on route in such conditions is best managed by going cairn to cairn because fog and cloud mist can be very disorienting. The hope in climibing during such conditions is at some point the clouds will briefly clear to allow for some kind of view.
The crux was a steep rocky scree gully known as the “Devils Staircase” with a stream running through it but relatively speaking the rock was quite stable and it really wasn’t too difficult to navigate. I kind of thought the wet red colored rock interspersed with green vegetation added to the atmosphere and beauty of it all.
In Ireland the weather changes every 15 minutes and the forecasts, from what I can tell, are pretty much useless. Since mountains tend to create their own weather regardless the general rule, in Ireland, is to just go and do whatever you want to do and be prepared for sun, wind, and rain.
Even in thick cloud mist it’s hard to miss the summit of Carountohil with its large iron cross and hand piled stone wall structure for wind protection. We caught up to a couple of other groups on top with everyone waiting it out a bit in hopes of the clouds opening up a little. A minute here and a minute there would revealed a view off to one side or the other but after awhile the cold wet wind started to get pretty uncomfortable so we headed down.
As we descended the cloud ceiling began to rise and we could see a nice grassy ridge opposite of the Devils Staircase. The ridge revealed a nice, yet little longer, high loop option that offered a very scenic and much more pleasant descent route. Absolutely beautiful. As the clouds stuck to the summit of Carountohil the surrounding area began to clear with spectacular views.
Back down in the valley it was a pleasant stroll to the trailhead parking lot where I took a cup at a local tea shop before heading back to Killarney on my bike. Despite vairiable weather it was a great introduction to the mountains of Ireland. I'm sure I'll find my way to the top of a few more before I leave the country.
August 25, 2011
It's Do Nothing Day In Killarney
Over the past couple of days I’ve slipped into an indecisive funk coupled with indifference and disinterest. Ah yes, a bit of travel fatigue I’d say. The inner dialogue goes like something like this. “I’d like to do this but I want to do that but really I’m tired and want to rest. I need some sleep. Maybe I should just go home? No, I don’t want to go home. I want to keep going, and going, and going. Soo much to see and do. Ok, I’m going to do that. Wait, I changed my mind. No, I DO want to do that but what about? Ah, take a break, get a pint, and eat some lunch. Ok, Now I really ought to go there and do that because I only have so much time and I don’t want to waste any time doing nothing? Wow, this place is so cool and beautiful. I think I’ll go over there! But aren’t I kind of tired. I need some sleep. But no, go, go, go. Whoa, I am tired!”
I woke up little indecisive Monday morning but had the good sense to stay a day in Cork to visit an impressive cathedral, an old Prison and the town of Cobh where the Titanic made its last stop before heading across the Atlantic. On Tuesday I took a bus to Glengarriff with the intention of starting another long walk but changed my mind, checked into a hostel, and spent the day walking local trails. On Wednesday I awoke with the intentions of starting the long walk again but pouring rain made me take pause. Three super nice Germans from the hostel with a car offered me a ride to Killarney so I took it on a whim.
Killarney is a busy town that revolves around tourism and didn’t really attract me at first so I grabbed lunch and debated what to do next. I couldn’t really make a decision so I started to walk towards the bus station. I didn’t really think I wanted to stay in Killarney. On the way to the bus station I decided to take a quick look at a hostel that was supposed to be pretty cool.
I took a left at an intersection past a four star hotel and spotted the hostel sandwiched between the hotel and a pub advertising, “Drinking Consultants”. What really got my attention about the 250 year old building is the colorfully decorated green painted front with red trim, loads of flowers, and bicycle hanging from roof top left corner advertising rentals.
When I walked in I was enthusiastically greeted my Martin the hostel manager. Martin is from Poland and sports a Mohawk. He speaks fluid English with a thick Polish accent tainted with Irish wit. The narrow common area with stone walls, open fireplace, and thick tree slab tables creates an inviting atmosphere. The place is seething with character but more than anything it just feels good.
Martin showed me a room and it was equally inviting as the rest of the place so without much thought I checked into the 4 bed dorm. As I chatted with Martin I told him I was feeling kind of tired and have been on the road for a good while. Without even blinking he said, “You need to stay here two days and do nothing. I mean, do nothing. Just sleep, relax.”
When I awoke this morning I once again debated starting another long walk. Yes, I like to go on long walks, but with little thought I decided Martins advice was good advice so I checked in for another night and am doing nothing today. I’ll just hang out, catch up on the blog and fire off a few emails. Last night I slept really well. I have two roommates. One is a 30 something man from Ottawa, Canada and the other is a 30 something woman from Rome. We’re all solo travelers and seem to be on the same clock. Finding yourself in a place where you sleep well is almost reason enough to stay another night when you’re a long term traveler.
It's a do nothing day in Killarney
August 22, 2011
Ireland - A Hostel Story
The Ferry was two hours late and it was a 30 minute bus ride from the ferry port to the city center of Cork. As I walked and rounded a corner I was nearly knocked over by the booming Reggae music pouring out of a bar. The bar just happened to be the ground floor of the hostel I was booked into. I entered and pushed my way through the crowds and signaled a very friendly woman working bar. She cheerfully checked me in and encouraged me not to worry about the loud music with heavy bass. It was supposed to stop at 11:30. Actually, the music was pretty good, but hey, this is Ireland, not a Caribbean cruise ship. I was tired.
I dumped my pack in the 4 bed dorm with a large window facing a busy street. Yes, it was loud but I surrendered to the circumstance. The room was clean and quite nice. From what I could tell there were only two other people staying in it. Aside of the noise it was fine.
With Reggae music and the median age of the crowd being something like 24 I felt kind of out of place and felt like I looked it to. No problem. The middle aged and over crowd was all gathered at the pub next door listening to traditional Irish Music. So, there I went and found a chair at the bar for a pint of Guinness and sat for about an hour.
At exactly 11:38 the reggae singer blared good night over the PA system and things quieted down considerably. After all, it was Sunday night. Around 11:45 my dorm mates showed up. They were two young and very considerate German women who had been a bit put off by the Reggae show as well. They had been traveling all over Ireland for awhile and quickly filled me in on where to go. By 12:30 or so I finally fell into bed but it was 1 am before the guys next door quieted down with their Pizza party. I slept well until the German girls got up at 6:30 am but they were quiet about their business. I dozed off again but was rudely awaken by the fire alarm at 7:30. Around 8:30 I got up and took advantage of free cornflakes and toast.
Hostels are hit and miss but with the right attitude they’re usually pretty good. Even with the noise issues of where I’m staying it’s still a good place. It’s very clean, the staff is friendly, and the location is great. Not to mention I’m paying about a 1/3 of what it would cost to have my own room at a guest house or B&B. I like to mix it up. A few hostels, a few nights camping, and a proper B&B here and there. After all, Ireland is not cheap but with the right approach costs can be kept within reason.
Ireland - A Story From The Ferry
Everyone working on the boat is obviously Russian or from a former USSR state. The announcer over the intercom speaks good English but with a classic Moscow Russian accent. The attractive woman who just poured me a pint of Murphy’s stout would do better not to wear so much make up. Russian and Eastern European women have a true sense of fashion and style but sometimes it borders on tacky.
I was about to speak a couple of words of Russian to the bartender but asked where she was from before doing so. Her response? Latvia. Whew, good thing I didn’t say anything in Russian. Although Latvians know Russian they don’t like it. Speaking Russian to them can sometimes be downright offensive. Since the breakup of the USSR Latvians are more than proud to speak their own language as they uphold and revive their own cultural traditions while putting former Russian ties behind them. English is perfectly acceptable to a Latvian and if you go out of your way to learn a little of their own language it’s more than appreciated.
Well it’s been awhile since I passed through Latvia and Russia and I’ve covered a lot of ground since then. Right now I’m enjoying my pint of Murphy’s on a Ferry bound to Cork, Ireland. We left Swansea, Wales around 9:30 in the morning. The ship’s bar is nice and peaceful as there are only 155 people aboard a ship that normally carries 600 to 700 at a time. Sometimes you just get lucky and fall into what I refer to as a vacuum in between the crowds. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It just happens. Even in the busiest of times and August is the busiest of times. The boat is cruising nicely to the West as it gently rocks back and forth for the full day ride.
I’ve been browsing the Lonely Planet Guide to Ireland and talked with tourist information aboard the ferry. The west coast is obviously where it’s at and Ireland offers a surprising amount of hiking possibilities. I ponder what I’ll do as I sip my Murphy’s stout and stare across the gently rolling ocean under clear sunny skies.
Photo: Lighthouse at the entrance to Cork Harbour, Ireland as seen from the ferry.
August 20, 2011
It Was A Nice Walk - Booking Ahead
I left Exmouth under sunny skies in a cloud of indecision but moving forward nonetheless. In order to continue along the South West Coast Path I needed to get across a large bay formed by a river estuary. There’s a ferry and water taxi services so I just hopped the ferry. Once on the other side I continued walking. I needed a few more miles under my feet to feel out the next move.
The first seaside village I came to was Dwalish Warren. I stopped at a local bakery for two meat pastys and a flapjack. Meat pastys are basically a breaded turnover type pastry with meat, potatoes, and veggies inside. They can be a great bargain when it comes to eating cheap in England. Usually you can get a decent one for just a little over a pound. For 2 or 3 pound you can get a large one that can fill you up. It equates to a decent meal for around two to four US Dollars. A flapjack makes a nice desert. It's a traditional gooey oatmeal bar full of butter and sugar. With a full belly I pressed on.
After Dwalish Warren, I continued through Dwalish proper, and finished the day walking atop a long seawall into the surprisingly quiet beachside community of Tiegnmouth where I found myself in a state of decisiveness. I surmised that Tiegnmouth would be the perfect place to come back to if I chose to continue further along the South West Coast path sometime in the future. For now, I had already spent eight nice days covering over 100 miles of splendid coastal hiking so it made sense to leave it at that. After all, there are so many things I want to do and it was a very nice walk.
I executed my most current plan by visiting the Tiegenmouth village tourist information office. The very friendly attendant quickly set me up with a cheap B&B that just happened to be right next to the railway station. B&B's are still a great value in the UK. I never spend more than 30 pounds and you can usually find a nice one for around 25.
With accommodation for the night taken care of I headed to a pub for internet and got to booking. Trailine.com for discounted train ticket to Swansea, Wales, booked. Irish Ferries website for a ticket to Cork, Ireland out of on Swansea at 9 am on Sunday morning, booked. Hostels.com for accommodation in Cork. Hmm, that hostel looks ok. 4 bed dorm, booked.
Ireland it is! Hard to believe with all of the traveling I’ve done in the UK I’ve never been to Ireland. I don’t know why? There are many reasons to like Ireland. To name a few, well, there’s the Guinness, traditional Irish Music, and people who have the reputation for being exceedingly friendly along with a countryside that’s renowned for its beauty. The only downside is that everyone tells me how expensive it is. Hostel dorms seem reasonable but eating out is apparently very costly. All the more reason to stay at hostels. There’s almost always a community kitchen. I'll figure it all out when I get there.
While in Ireland I intend to have a good look around and might even do another week long walk. I’ll have at least two weeks to check out the country then I’ll either head home or extend my time a little to take advantage of a bonus side trip. We'll see.....
August 19, 2011
More Notes From The Coast - What Next?
Monday, August 15
Along the east ridge of Portland Island past castle remains and the young offenders institution to the north end and a park where I watched a paraglider take off. Down into the village of Castleton for stop at a pub for wifi and a cup of coffee. Two very friendly older gentlemen were finishing off a mid morning pint and were happy to chat with an American backpacker who thinks their island is beautiful.
I pressed on across the causeway and at the far end stopped at the visitors center for water and a burger from a man with a snack wagon. Finding my stride again I continued along the coastal track with an old familiar feeling that comes from the thousands of miles I’ve walked over the years with everything I need on my back.
I’m a long way from China, Mongolia, Russia, Eastern Europe and the Yoga Festival of France. Although I’m still roughly 5,000 miles away from home I’ve already spent a fair bit of time in England, over the past few years, so it’s all very familiar and very comfortable to me.
After three days of wild camping I decided it was time to check into some kind of proper accommodation. The village of Abbotsbury seemed like the perfect place. It was roughly a 16 mile walk and since it’s a little bit inland and not a beach town I suspected it would be quieter. This along with today being a Monday made me think I could find something reasonably priced fairly easily.
It was almost like I knew exactly what to do without doing it. The village is about a half mile from the coast path with a number of ways to get to whatever the village has to offer. I instinctively knew where to take a left, right, left, and wound up at a nice pub with a guest house, however, a room at the guest house is 53 pounds. I inquired anyway. “I’ll take 40 pound for single”, responded the pub owner. “Hmm, that’s still a bit too much for me. I can pay 30 pound”. Quicker than expected the Pub owner responded, “Ok”. I was actually surprised it was that easy but 30 pound was really my top dollar. Also included was a full English breakfast in to get me off in the morning.
The Guest House? The room is fabulous. The Pub’s Steak and Kidney pie is divine and the real ale perfecto. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a room to myself in a month. Luxury is a sweet thing when you don’t have it all the time.
Thursday, August 18
Today I awoke to one of those classic filthy weather mornings. The wind was whipping around off the ocean and rain was falling in fits and spurts of light to moderate intensities. I took my time packing up a perfectly dry camp thanks to a Linhay on a parcel of National Trust Land overlooking the ocean.
A Linhay is a small basic farm shed like structure with stone walls, a slanted roof with a door one end. The once dilapidated building had just been restored as a historical remnant of a way of farming long gone from the area. With weather moving in and a good days hike done I accidently stumbled upon the structure while debating where I was going to camp for the night. Although it’s not intended to be a place for people to stay overnight it’s well suited for it.
Since National Trust Land is public land and the location was fairly removed and hidden I felt fine with staying there. The inside was big enough for me to pitch my tent so I did so without the rain fly to keep out any small critters that might be messing about during the night. Once situated I tuned in a British radio show spinning classic tunes and dozed off as the wind howled into the night.
As expected, I didn’t see anyone else while at the Linhay. Had anyone come around the worst thing that would have happened is that they would have asked me to move or leave. It really would not have been a big deal at all. The general rule with camping along all of the trails in the UK is to set up late, pack up early, and leave no trace. No problem.
Friday August 19
I reached Exmouth yesterday evening after seven days of walking. Just as planned. I checked into a cheap single room at a guest house for the night and visited a couple of local pubs before calling it a day.
This morning is absolutely beautiful and I’m debating what to do next. I just got finished taking advantage of the serve yourself kitchen full of breakfast food included with the 25 pound guest house tariff. Eggs, bacon, toast, cereal, tea, coffee, etc. etc. Help yourself. All you can eat.
So, this is the deal. I’m due to fly back to the states at the beginning of September from Ireland but my ticket is flexible with no change fee. From where I sit now it makes sense to boogie up to Wales and catch a ferry to Ireland, however, I’m inclined to continue along the coast path a few more days. To add to it all an opportunity to detour off to the mediteranian Island of Corsica at the end of August to hike the famed GR 20 has been presented to me. The GR 20 is very appealing but I have been on the road for quite some time now. Hmmm. Perhaps I should just stay on the Coast Path a little longer and see what a few more miles say.
Oh well, tough decisions. For the time being I think I’ll just get my stuff together this morning and see how I feel. I’ll let you know soon what I decide.
August 18, 2011
August 15, 2011
Onto The Southwest Coast Path - England
Friday, August 12
Today was a kind of a strange day. It started off with a plate full of baked beans on whole grain rye bread and a stack of fried eggs cooked up by Jerome as a going away feast. The feast was cut short when Jerome found out he had a Dr’s appointment in 10 minutes. After breakfast I headed to the train station.
It took three hours and three trains to get to Bournemouth. The last ride included an out of control 3 year old Russian boy doing as he pleased with an old newspaper while loudly vocalizing his enthusiasm. When I got off the train in Bournemouth I hopped double decker bus number fifty for a one hour ride to a ferry that I was sure was only 5 miles away? Along the circuitous everyone we picked up was well into their years. I felt like I was on a senior citizen bus tour or something.
At Sandbanks I got off the bus and took a short ferry ride to South Haven point. The start of the 630 mile South West Coast Path. After a couple of photos I trudged across a sandy tourist beach under windy and cool partly cloudy skies. With a large backpack over my shoulder I was completely comfortable in long pants and long sleeve shirt. Everyone else was quite happy in beach wear and swimsuits. I quickly left the tourist beach and rounded a corner to the naturist/nudist beach with naked people who really shouldn’t be naked. Believe me, I could have passed on this section. From there it was on to another tourist beach then up over a ridge to the somewhat nice seaside village of Swanage teeming with, yes, more tourists.
After grabbing a big piece of cod with chips I climbed out of Swanage to what the coast path is really all about, beautiful sea cliffs and rolling terrain. The walking began to get good as I followed the trail with open green hills rising to my right and the ocean below cliffs dropping off to my left.
I hiked on further until the sun began to hang low and chose a nice campsite in an abandoned quarry right next to the ocean. I was sure I’d have the place to myself until just about dark when three burly somewhat attractive women showed up with big packs. They’re here to climb upon the miles of routes that line the sea cliffs here. I think they are of an alternative lifestyle if you know what I mean.
So it’s my first day on the South West Coast Path. I plan to walk a hundred miles of it. If I like it I may go further. I’ll just see how it feels..
Saturday August 13
It was rainy and blustery all night but in the morning it cleared. I had a nice intermittently partly sunny view from my tent as I packed up camp and began a full day of fine hiking along hills overlooking sea cliffs. I paused for awhile at a chapel that's estimated to be around 800 to 900 years old and measures 7.77 meters square. It reminded me of my walks on the Camino through France and Spain which brought on mixed feelings of nostalgia and loneliness.
The clouds returned by late morning as I tackled short yet steep climbs with a pack that’s a little too heavy. The gray overcast day added to already mixed feelings of melancholy. Up and down until I arrived at the quaint yet tourist packed idealic fishing village of Lulworth where I dined on fish and chips with the pint before filling water bottles and moving on to find a campsite reasonably sheltered from the wind.
Saturday, August 14
I awoke to a gloriously blue sky and got off to a good start. The Southwest Coast path is an interesting mix of wild unspoiled green hills spilling off cliffs guarding the English Channel with beaches along the way, however, in between these sections are villages, resorts, and some larger towns. In August you can expect any and all of these places to be packed. A few miles of blissful walking is sometimes followed by passing through heaps of tourists rushing to an ice cream stand for a Mr. Whippy and a cup of tea.
Today I passed through Weymouth. It’s a beach community known for its splendid 18th century beach front architecture and a magnet for vacation seekers. I felt like an alien with a backpack as I weaved in an out of the carnival rides while dodging people looking everywhere except where they were going.
From Weymouth I proceeded across a long strip of causeway to the Island of Portland. The path then took me through and alley way that seemed kind of odd until I arrived at a splendid pub atop a seawall. What I found there were two fine pints and a heaping plate of lamb with assorted potatoes and veggies. Two of my favorite English traditions, Real Ale and a Sunday Roast.
As I stared across the ocean enjoying my food and drink I began to feel like my old self again and was reminded of why I enjoy walking in England so much. In retrospect I’ve been a little out of sorts for the past 4 weeks but the fine drink, hearty food, and friendly English speaking English is just what I need right now.
After a very nice stop at the Pub I continued forward on a loop around Portland Island. I stopped at another Pub, at the tip of Portland known as the Bill, for another quick pint and a chat with the friendly staff before watching Sailboats round the tricky wind and currents of the Bill. With the day getting late I walked just a little further where I chose an splendid campsite overlooking a cliff near a quarry under a clear sky and full moon rising.
August 11, 2011
Dang - Western Europe is Expensive!
Train Tickets, a couple of books, a box posted to America, food, a dinner out, and few pints. Throw in a weak exchange on the Yankee dollar and your head will spin with the reality that Western Europe is very expensive right now. Gone are the salad days of single rooms and every dinner out while traveling Asia. Now its camping, crashing on floors, and reduced for quick sale sandwiches. Even with a paupers approach it's a struggle to keep things within reason. If I were a typical 2 week vacation a year career American I’d throw caution to the wind but with the way I roam Western Europe isn’t a budget friendly place to travel under the current economic circumstances.
I skipped Paris because a shared dorm room in a hostel costs $50+!!! That’s crazy in my opinion. Asia was cheap, Eastern Europe reasonable, and the French Yoga festival free due to a work exchange. I guess it wasn’t until I left the Yoga festival that I was hit with the harsh reality of how much it costs to travel Western Europe. It almost seems more worth it to hop a plane to Prague or something. Eastern Europe is very interesting and runs on a whole different economy. Anyway, just wanted to get this issue off my chest.
On another note, Tuesday and Wednesday were migraine free so I’ll be leaving Lewes tomorrow. I seem to be doing better so my plan is to head to the South West Coast of England and hike along a National Trail for a week and see how it feels. I think some walking would do me some good right now. I’ll keep my fingers crossed on the weather. England is grey, windy and kind of cold right now.
While in Lewes I’ve been staying at Jerome’s home. The setup crews cook, Arian, and her 13 year old daughter, Kiki, have also been staying at Jerome’s. We all crossed over from France together in Jerome’s old ’89 VW van. His place is a small. It's an old 2 bedroom two story brick building next to a relatively busy road. Three of us have been sleeping on the living room floor. Jerome and his flat mate occupy the rooms upstairs. Arian fixes us dinner while Kiki browses the web for the latest K pop sensation and Jerome plays some fine Gypsy music on a sweet guitar he hand built himself. At this point it feels like a family of brothers and sisters. We all get along well and it’s quite nice. Jerome knows I’m not too interested in returning for setup next year but he’s already sure I’ll be back.
Yesterday I roamed around the neighboring city of Brighton. I think it’s fair to say that it’s the San Francisco of England. There are numerous funky shops, women with pink hair, street entertainers and a large gay pride festival coming up this weekend. The general majority of locals are young and it’s a university town. There’s a rocky beach and an amusement pier to add the already attractive assortment of traditional English style architecture. It’s cool, hip, and only an hour away from London by train.
Well, it's three hours by train to where I'll begin my walk. Better get myself together.
I skipped Paris because a shared dorm room in a hostel costs $50+!!! That’s crazy in my opinion. Asia was cheap, Eastern Europe reasonable, and the French Yoga festival free due to a work exchange. I guess it wasn’t until I left the Yoga festival that I was hit with the harsh reality of how much it costs to travel Western Europe. It almost seems more worth it to hop a plane to Prague or something. Eastern Europe is very interesting and runs on a whole different economy. Anyway, just wanted to get this issue off my chest.
On another note, Tuesday and Wednesday were migraine free so I’ll be leaving Lewes tomorrow. I seem to be doing better so my plan is to head to the South West Coast of England and hike along a National Trail for a week and see how it feels. I think some walking would do me some good right now. I’ll keep my fingers crossed on the weather. England is grey, windy and kind of cold right now.
While in Lewes I’ve been staying at Jerome’s home. The setup crews cook, Arian, and her 13 year old daughter, Kiki, have also been staying at Jerome’s. We all crossed over from France together in Jerome’s old ’89 VW van. His place is a small. It's an old 2 bedroom two story brick building next to a relatively busy road. Three of us have been sleeping on the living room floor. Jerome and his flat mate occupy the rooms upstairs. Arian fixes us dinner while Kiki browses the web for the latest K pop sensation and Jerome plays some fine Gypsy music on a sweet guitar he hand built himself. At this point it feels like a family of brothers and sisters. We all get along well and it’s quite nice. Jerome knows I’m not too interested in returning for setup next year but he’s already sure I’ll be back.
Yesterday I roamed around the neighboring city of Brighton. I think it’s fair to say that it’s the San Francisco of England. There are numerous funky shops, women with pink hair, street entertainers and a large gay pride festival coming up this weekend. The general majority of locals are young and it’s a university town. There’s a rocky beach and an amusement pier to add the already attractive assortment of traditional English style architecture. It’s cool, hip, and only an hour away from London by train.
Well, it's three hours by train to where I'll begin my walk. Better get myself together.
August 9, 2011
3 Days - 3 Migraines
I’m currently in Lewes, England. It’s a 3 ½ hour ferry hop from France. When I arrived it was windy, cold, but partly sunny. Yesterday,later in the morning, for the third day in a row I developed a visual migraine.
It starts out of nowhere with a flash in my vision. I then feel a rush of adrenalin as my sight becomes distorted with flashing squiggly lines etc. The visual affects can last anywhere from ten minutes to an hour and a half. I’ve never had consecutive migraines before and can go for months without getting one so three in a row is a bit strange for me. I really think it’s an accumulation of time on the road and the fact that the Yoga Festival wore me down so much.
The first migraine happened as I was preparing to leave the festival grounds. The second one happened as I sat outside the Cathedral in Chartes, France. The third as I sat outside in Lewes around mid morning. Many things can trigger a migraine but certain foods, stress, and lack of sleep are the most common culprits. Aside of disrupted sleep patterns my diet has been quite different and vegetarian ever since arriving at the Yoga Festival. One of my theories is that I’m not getting enough of the right kind of protein. I ate chicken last night and today for lunch. I think it’s making a difference. Fortunately, all three migraines have been relatively mild with 20 minute visual disturbances followed by a very light headache that passes within a couple of hours. Relatively speaking, I’m very lucky all things considered. They have the potential to be much worse.
Needless to say I’m feeling a bit out of sorts. I’m in need of some familiarity and normalcy in relation to me, so, I trotted down to a pub for a pint of Real Ale. That’s where I’m at now and it seems to be doing some good. The vintage soul music flowing out of the speaker to my right doesn’t hurt either.
I’m a little unsure what my next direction will be but I do think some walking would do me some good. For the moment I'm taking it easy.
England?
Monday, August 8.... Very Early...
It’s 4:45 and I’m aboard a ferry that departs at 5 am for England out of Dieppe, France. The early morning start is sure to add to the already exhausted state I find myself in after 3 weeks at the European Yoga Festival.
At the end of the Festival I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do or what direction I wanted to go but every option seemed good. Since I had to stay after the festival to help with cleanup my friend Corwin headed to the South of France. Naturally, I originally planned to catch up with him but he’s traveling on a much shorter time frame. It would have been a quick and rushed sort of reunion after having already spent plenty of quality time catching up during the festival.
What to do? The south of France wasn’t really attracting me for some odd reason. I then pondered a lengthy hike along the northern route of the Camino de Santiago in Spain but couldn’t really sell myself on the idea. A long walk on one of France’s fantastic GR routes seemed like a better choice. Since I’m so exhausted I considered catching up with my Aunt and Uncle in Italy via a cheap flight out of Paris but a long walk sounded good. With a little more thought, considering my time, I decided the most reasonable, sensible, and objective option would be to travel north to the regions of Brittany and Brest then hop a ferry to Cork, Ireland. I had all but decided to go with that idea when Jerome, the setup crew supervisor, presented me with another option.
The option presented was a cheap trip across the English Channel aboard Jerome’s VW van. It wouldn’t cost me any gas and the ferry price for me with the van would only be around $10 USD. Once in England I could stay at his place for a few days before continuing on. Along the way he planned to stop in Chartes to see the Cathedral which definitely interested me.
Ok, a visit to Chartes coupled with a cheap and easy trip to England made Jerome’s offer appealing. In the back of my mind I had also been thinking of a long walk on the Southwest Coast of England. But why windy wet and cold England over warm and sunny Southern France? For whatever reason England seemed to be pulling me north so England it is.
It’s 4:45 and I’m aboard a ferry that departs at 5 am for England out of Dieppe, France. The early morning start is sure to add to the already exhausted state I find myself in after 3 weeks at the European Yoga Festival.
At the end of the Festival I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do or what direction I wanted to go but every option seemed good. Since I had to stay after the festival to help with cleanup my friend Corwin headed to the South of France. Naturally, I originally planned to catch up with him but he’s traveling on a much shorter time frame. It would have been a quick and rushed sort of reunion after having already spent plenty of quality time catching up during the festival.
What to do? The south of France wasn’t really attracting me for some odd reason. I then pondered a lengthy hike along the northern route of the Camino de Santiago in Spain but couldn’t really sell myself on the idea. A long walk on one of France’s fantastic GR routes seemed like a better choice. Since I’m so exhausted I considered catching up with my Aunt and Uncle in Italy via a cheap flight out of Paris but a long walk sounded good. With a little more thought, considering my time, I decided the most reasonable, sensible, and objective option would be to travel north to the regions of Brittany and Brest then hop a ferry to Cork, Ireland. I had all but decided to go with that idea when Jerome, the setup crew supervisor, presented me with another option.
The option presented was a cheap trip across the English Channel aboard Jerome’s VW van. It wouldn’t cost me any gas and the ferry price for me with the van would only be around $10 USD. Once in England I could stay at his place for a few days before continuing on. Along the way he planned to stop in Chartes to see the Cathedral which definitely interested me.
Ok, a visit to Chartes coupled with a cheap and easy trip to England made Jerome’s offer appealing. In the back of my mind I had also been thinking of a long walk on the Southwest Coast of England. But why windy wet and cold England over warm and sunny Southern France? For whatever reason England seemed to be pulling me north so England it is.
An Exhausted Mans Review Of The European Yoga Festival
What made me think 3 weeks at the Yoga festival would be a nice way to relax and recoup from over 3 months on the road? Yes it was nice to be amidst some familiar faces and to stay in one place for awhile without having to spend any money but it was surprisingly exhausting at the same time. Much more so than last year.
Maybe it was all of the work in the rain before and after the festival? Maybe it was the people walking past my tent at 4 am singing with a guitar to wake every one up for morning Sahdna/Yoga? Maybe it was the 2,500 people packed together amidst the Chateau grounds?
Although I honestly enjoyed the setup before the festival, the people in the setup crew, the Chateau grounds, runs in the countryside, and my good friend Corwin’s company I really didn’t enjoy the actual festival. This year the crowd was a bit too big and not particularly friendly in my opinion. Not to be prejudice but most of the participants were German which kind of created a more rigid and stiff atmosphere from my perspective. I lacked interest in the workshops that seemed overly Sikh Religion based. The three day meditation intensive, led by an American woman with an abrasive personality, seemed more like torture than anything worthwhile. However, the third day was positive due to a good partner. My favorite part of the festival was when everyone started leaving. This all goes without saying that I’m speaking Strictly for myself. Ask another participant and you’re likely to get a very different opinion.
Calling the event the European Yoga Festival is a little misleading. It should more accurately be called, "The Westernized Sikh with Kudalini Yoga Festival”. If that sounds like an odd combination your right. In reality traditional Sikh’s don’t practice Yoga.
Although I find the Sikh faith with its mantras and customs to be a very beautiful religion it’s definitely not my path. This year, more than last year, I noticed the religious influence. It reminded of how I’m not a particularly religious person in the organized and structured sense of religion. My faith is Christian based and personal. I don’t feel a need to preach or adhere to a structure manufactured by a 3rd party interpretation. Call me spiritual. But religious? Not really.
In many ways I felt out of place at the festival but thought the 3 day White Tantric Meditation Intensive (not to be confused with the other pop culture tantric) would be beneficial as I’ve done it three previous times. Once in Europe and twice in America. It involves sessions of 30 to 60 minutes of sitting while maintaining a specific pose (Kriya). Eyes can be opened or closed and sometimes you recite a mantra. All of this is done while facing a partner.
This time I found the sittings to be very uncomfortable and the sessions to be more like a weird and bizarre form of suffering. It all felt kind of strange. The irritable facilitator came off about as spiritual as a can of cheese whiz. By the end of the 2nd day I felt completely wiped out and drained. The 3rd day turned out to be ok but I attribute it more to the fact that it was a short day and my partner was the nicest and sweetest person you could ever meet.
As anticipated the best part of the entire experience was simply being a part of the family like group of people who made up the setup crew. No complaints in that department. So, would I do it again? Well, as last year I thought it was too long of a committment in relation to compentsation but that's not an issue with me. What is the issue is that although Yoga is supposed to be about mind, body, and spirit it's also about money when it comes to things like festivals and workshops.
From what I can tell the Euro Yoga Festival brings in a lot of money and I'm not sure I support nor want to have anything to do with the organization that's behind it. From a moral, worthwhile, and ethical standpoint I think I would be better off investing my volunteer time in some other form of humanitarian cause. Although 3HO is a non profit organization that puts on the festival I really question where the money is going.
So, will I do it again? Most likely not but I'll definitely miss the setup crew.
The Setup Crew
“Tomorrow is going to be a very hard day” says Jerome with a blank yet serious look that you have to laugh at. “I saw a such and such along with a couple of tits. No, not those kind of tits", says Martin the British bird watcher. “Queeee, Taallllll”, say Miguel from Ecuador. Geordi, from Spain, does not speak but says a lot. “Yes, no problem, I will do”, says Kata the type A fast paced Hungarian. “Ah yes, the toilets, first we must do this, then that before doing that, then we must, says Amrit the German. “Guru Todd!” says Francesca the Italian as she reaches to give me a nice Italian hug. “Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful”, says Malcolm the Londoner. Geraldine, the French woman, well, she doesn’t say much but does a good job looking lovely all the time. Daniel her boyfriend from Germany says, “Ahhhhh, these Germans, Ahhhh!” Suzanne from Rome speaks perfect English with a British accent and is Martins better half. Jeffery the young Frenchman, with a robust spirit and a penchant for wearing stylish ladies skirts, bounces around with smiles and funny comments that are all, well, so French! Hari, the German Indian doesn’t go anywhere without a turban and exudes his zeal for the Sikh faith. Ooval, from Germany, with a calm demeanor, says little but you can tell he really wants to bust out and dance or something.
I can go on and on. This is just a sampling of the diverse group of awesome people who make up the best part of the European Yoga Festival. The setup crew.
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