Boring Is Not A Part Of My Life

As of late I’ve been cruising briskly along a path in pursuit of nickels, dimes, and a smattering of dollars intermingled with a gem here and there. Such is the life of one who makes a living on their own peddling funky old stuff seen as antique or collectible.

In order to make it work I must make it happen. My sole motivator is me. My motivation is a certain kind of life experience ironically afforded by a so called bleak economy. From where I stand I still see all kinds of opportunity.

The political scene in the United States is a total mess but America is still a land of abundance. One of my favorite quotes from a rapper is, “If you’re not living the American dream, go out and get it. No one is going to give it to you”. If a person does nothing, nothing will happen. If a person does something, things will happen.

As of late my drive and energy have been high while I focus on replenishing fiscal reserves. However, creatively, I’m pretty much adrift in an old familiar vastness of someday and maybe this or that. In some regards focus comes easy. In other ways it’s fleeting and elusive.

Of course all work and no play make Jack irritable, frustrated and weird so I mix things up by dropping into a coffee shop, drinking a few beers, witnessing a joust to the death, or singing karaoke at a Texas Honky Tonk. Boring just isn’t a part of my life. If you ever see me in person and think I’m dull it’s probably because I’m preoccupied with a daydream or am in a temporary unsocial mood.

Well, the next two weeks are packed full of activity. When I’m consumed with my stance on home base the blog tends to take a backseat as I tend to this and that. After traveling through exotic lands everyday routine takes a little more effort to write about unless I creatively hone in on a story about a funny or peculiar happening in a timely fashion. My current intention is to post more often with a photo brief narrative. The more I write the easier it come. As with most things consistency is important.

The photo attached with this post was taken with a Vegan friend in a Texas Honky Tonk. The ceiling is covered with deer antlers and the walls are full of stuffed dear heads, guns, a bear skin rug etc.

Images Of West Texas

Along The River - Boquillas

I’ve already been back in Houston for a week. The day after I got back I dived into work and haven’t really given myself a chance to come up for air until now. The West Texas detour was a good one and I got in a lot for the amount of time I was gone. Plenty of sightseeing, hiking, and exploring along the banks of the Rio Grande.

Crossing the Rio Grande back and forth outside of an official border crossing can mean up to a $5,000 dollar fine for a United States Citizen. For a Mexicans caught on the Texas side it's a free trip back across the border, however, the intricacies of laws change and rules are quite different for either side. In America you’re innocent until proven guilty. In Mexico it’s the other way around.

I spent an afternoon along the border near Boquillas. Boquillas is a small Mexican village just across the river. It’s very remote and all of the roads are dirt. It resembles something right out of an old time Western Movie. Use to you could cross the border via boat (or wade) to drink a semi cool beer while picking up a couple of souvenirs.

In the summer of 1984 a friend and I went to Boquillas. The river was low and we could have waded but struck up a deal with a local man and a boat to take us across. When we got to the other side he wanted to charge us double. We refused to pay double and paid him what we agreed originally. On the Mexican side it’s a short walk into the village or you can hire a donkey. Since we had a dispute about the boat we sure as heck were not going to hire a donkey so we walked. When we arrived in the village there were no other tourists. Locals peered around corners and doorways like it was High Noon. Actually, I think it was around noon. No one was friendly. We met one sketchy gringo who said he was from Oklahoma and started telling us stories I was pretty certain weren’t true. After one semi cool beer and feeling uneasy the whole time we boogied back to the boarder and quickly walked past the boat guys not wasting any time wading back to the U.S. side. Boquillas did not give me a good feeling on that particular day.

Since that time Boquillas became less and less popular as the National Park discouraged tourists from visiting the village. Eventually the Department of Homeland security closed the border all together. Today it’s an interesting situation. The locals of Boquillas are forbidden to cross but they really need the gringo tourist dollar. I mean, it’s so remote and you have to wonder what they do for a living?

With the big enchilada just a river crossing away the locals do what they can. They reel in the Yankee dollar by quickly sneaking across the river and setting up a display of souvenirs. Trinkets are laid out with a price list and honor jar. Stop at a nice view point, canyon, or hot springs in the area and you will see walking sticks, scorpions made out of stripped copper wire, and quartz crystals nicely merchandized upon a boulder. On the banks of the Mexican side of the Rio Grande you’ll see the shop keeper who is watching everything. Make a purchase by placing money in the jar. When you leave and the coast is clear the enterprising local quickly crosses the river by horse, grabs the money, and returns to the Mexican side.

One of the most creative money making schemes I witnessed was at the opening of Boquillas canyon. Right at the entrance there’s a wonderful echo. A singing man named Victor, with a full rich classic Mexican voice, sits upon a large rock mass. As you walk up to the canyon he belts out a tune. Victor sits on the Mexican side. Two tip jars sit on the American side.

By chance this happened to be the only place I actually saw a Mexican on the U.S. side. At the time he was drumming up business for Victor while selling small Road Runner birds made out of copper wire and plastic beads. I never caught his name but he must be the mayor of Boquillas or something. He informed me that the border would be opening up again next spring and invited me to visit his village for tacos and cerveza. He was very friendly and I got the impression that the local people want to make things right when things re-open. I left a nice tip in a jar and purchased a Road Runner.

It’s another world across the the river and I hope things work out ok for the people of Boquillas when the border re-opens. I imagine it will be fine to visit. It’s far away and isolated from the other border towns which have become too dangerous due to drug trafficking and cartels. I think the people of Boquillas are more interested in peddling tacos, cerveza, and souvenirs.

Road Trippin West Texas - Big Bend

A straight shot down highway 54 through desert mountains and ranch country led me into the town of Van Horn and the intersection of interstate 10 which runs east/west from Florida to California. At Van Horn I jumped onto highway 90 and veered southwest while staring at a UFO for miles until I realized it was a blimp that's somehow used to detect drug smugglers and the like. From Marfa I got on highway 87 and headed south to the border of Mexico.

Just outside of Marfa there’s a Border Patrol check station. Heading south I was not required to stop but passed a bunch of hi tech equipment that appeared to be taking pictures of my car and license plate. Those heading north are stopped. As I proceeded on I saw very few cars.

Presidio is a border town in a very broad flat valley. I drove all the way to the border crossing then turned around and looped through town. Hot, dry, dusty and fairly depressed summed up my assessment of the place. It's what I expected but kind of interesting in its own way. The real reason for choosing the route was my desire to drive along the Rio Grande next to the border. I had been told that the road is so close that you can throw a rock into Mexico.

As I headed east along highway 170 things really started to get scenic as far as deserts are concerned. The road quickly leaves the flats of Presidio as it rolls towards the mountains and canyons of the Rio Grande. The highway itself is it excellent condition and most of the time you’re in Big Bend Ranch State Park so there are plenty of pull offs with some having interpretive information signs.

Along the way I stopped numerous times for photos, passed several border patrol, and easily threw a rock into Mexico. At one particularly scenic spot there’s the remains of an old Movie set with adobe buildings and shoddily built chapel, It’s right on the banks of the Rio Grande and has been used for 9 different films. Occasionally I’d see another car or motorcycle but needless to say the road does not see much traffic.

At the small resort village of Lajitas I continued on to Terlingua. Terlingua is a mining town gone bust turned ghost town. In the 1970’s Terlingua was a real ghost town except for once a year when a bunch of drunken crazies would move in for a chili cookoff. Eventually a hippie, an artist, a survivalist, and a few who just wanted to get away from it all started making some of the old buildings livable again. In time a few bars, a couple of coffee shops and small quirky hotels opened up. It’s now kind of a funky sort of West Texas Key West with a small year round population consisting of an eclectic mix of characters. I think it would be an interesting place to sit and write a book or something. However, I also sense it would be very easy to find yourself falling into a pile of Lone Star Beer Cans and wondering where the last few years went. It’s that kind of place.

Past Terlingua I entered Big Bend National and head up into the Chisos Mountains where I’ve set up camp for a few days to hike and explore the area. Yesterday I climbed the highest mountain in the Chisos Mountains and hiked along the South Rim of the Range. Today I explored back roads and hiked a bit in the Santa Elena Canyon. The weather has been warm and wonderful with mild nights but a dry cold front blew in during the day which means colder nights but still clear and mild days. All said, the desert scenery of Big Bend National Park is absolutely beautiful and unique in its own way compared to other desert regions of the USA.

West Texas via Denver

Sunday, October, 23

Two weeks ago I left Houston for Denver. I made the drive in a little over 16 hours. My fastest time yet for covering over a thousand miles in one push. I like to drive so time passes easily for me on the road.

I spent most of my time in Denver visiting my mother and doing misc. maintenance and painting around her home. The rest of my time was spent catching up with my sister, brother in law and nephew as well as a couple of friends. Time passed quickly but not before catching a Green Bay Packers game at the famous Rocky Flats Lounge and three rounds of bowling with my eleven year old nephew at the local neighborhood bowling alley. By the third game I bowled a 150. I felt pretty good about that considering I only bowl about once a year.

This morning I left Denver for a 10 hour drive due south to Guadalupe Mountains National Park where I’m camped for the night. As I left New Mexico I was reminded of the vastness of West Texas when I passed a sign warning 130 miles until next services. It’s wise to keep an eye on the gas gauge in this part of the country.

The campground at the National Park is pretty basic. It consists of walk in tent sites, one fairly large paved area for RV’s, and a restroom with no showers. It costs $8 for a tent site unless you’ve got a senior citizens pass, then it costs $4. Tonight I have a tent beneath a sky that’s surely full of billions of stars. On a clear dark night West Texas offers some of the best star gazing anywhere in the world. I guess that’s one of the benefits of being so far removed from services.

Guadalupe National Park, aside of a roadside view of the sheer cliff faced El Capitan, has little to offer the non hiker. It’s really a mountain desert hiking park. There’s a nice network of trials that weave throughout the arid mountains for a total of 80 miles. The two highlights are Guadalupe Peak, the highest mountain in Texas, and McKittrick canyon that proves to be a rare oddity with its strangely out of place Maple trees that bust out with color in the fall. Not many people know there are Maples in West Texas!

Tomorrow I plan to do an all day hike and stay for another night. From Guadalupe National Park I’ll continue south to Presidio on the Texas/Mexico border and traverse a road along the Rio Grande to Terlingua on the way to Big Bend National Park. It’s wild, rugged, dusty and remote yet beautiful desert country. It was once the stomping grounds for Apache Indians and Poncho Villa but now it’s more of running grounds for illicit drugs and illegal aliens. For this reason I have no intention whatsoever of crossing the border into Mexico or driving at night. Unfortunately, it simply isn’t safe anymore.

By time I'm done it will take about a week for me to get back to Houston. In a way it’s kind of like a readjustment excursion after my 5 month trip around the world. Whenever I return from long trip that involves a certain about of relatively exotic travel I'm certain to be somewhat changed. Hopefully for the better. After all of the foreign culture, different languages and multitudes of people I meet along the way it’s nice to retreat to a quieter more familiar environs. It gives me a chance to check in and realign myself with the ever constant process of personal growth and change.

Monday, October 24

As the retired Air force biker packed his Harley this morning he told me how he’s ridden in every state but Alaska and the road from Presidio to Bend Bend along the Texas/Mexican border is one of his top 5 favorite rides in the USA. I’ll definitely be headed there tomorrow.

Today my hike in the Guadalupe Mountains took me to the top of Hunter Peak and into an interior forested area known as the Bowl before heading down and out through a patch of colorful Maples in Bear Canyon. The hike took most of the day. With perfect sunny weather it did not disappoint. I took the photo atop the post this morning.

So, What Am I Doing? Ah, Good Question....

For the first two weeks upon my return I sailed right into a highly motivated work mode and successfully avoided making any real decisions about anything important. I was riding a nice wave avoiding the reef of change until I washed up upon a beach of exhaustion. I guess you could call it delayed post travel fatigue. I’ve been kind of tired and mildly unmotivated this past week. I really should get a haircut.

I was surprised by the quick pace of my daily runs as I strode along the paths near White Oak and Buffalo Bayous when I first returned. I guess it was all the walking abroad coupled with a dose of coolly sustained mild adrenalin that tends to be a byproduct of travel. However, last weekend, as I felt my pace slowing, I paused to ask myself, “What are you doing?” I replied, “Trying to make some money man. It takes money to live”. “Yeah, I know that. But what are you doing?” I talk to myself often. By doing so I can better see through my own misc. this and that. When I talk out loud it’s easier to distinguish when I’m being sensible or not.

Over the past week I’ve been dealing with the avoided issues while charging way too much on the Tarjeta Credico. Insurance, new tires for the car, dentist, etc. etc. Everything is more expensive. People ask, “How can you afford to travel so long?” My reply, “How can you afford to live in one place so long?”... It’s far less expensive for me to live traveling abroad. Go figure. However, I’ve got to make money somewhere, sometime and the USA, despite economic crisis and so forth, is still the best place on the planet with the most opportunities to make money. The dollar may currently be weak on the exchange but it’s still the currency of choice.

As of now I’m taking a step aside and am about to embark on a road trip to Colorado to visit family and friends. From Colorado I’ll likely return home via a longer route that will take me through West Texas. Once back I’ll have a new plan. This time for sure. I’m definitely going to change things in my realm of life at home. Wherever it be. Right now I actually have an ideal situation for my carefree travel ways but I feel a real need to go about things differently. Actually, I’ve been feeling the need for awhile.

So now, what am I doing? Good Question....

Around The World - It's A Wrap

Ireland was about as easy as it could get for an around the world journey. While traveling Ireland I kind of felt like I already had one foot back in the States. So many Irish have family in America and they love Americans. The majority of tourists in Ireland are from Germany and France. Speaking English made me feel even more connected to the Irish when a pub was filled with Europeans conversing in broken English as they struggled to understand a thick Irish accent. The icing on the cake was when I breezed through United States customs and immigration while still in the country at the Dublin Airport. Now that’s a first for me! Clearing U.S. Customs in a foreign country! Ireland is Easy with a capital E. If you have never been overseas or to Europe, start in Ireland.

I started my five month journey with a few days in Hong Kong. From there I spent 2 months in China with most of my time in the Yunnan and Szechuan provinces. Highlights of China included trekking in the Himalaya and spending time along the rarefied air of the China/Tibetan border. I capped off my time in China with a week and a half in Beijing which proved to be my favorite Chinese city.

From Beijing I hopped the Trans Mongolian railway to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia where I joined up with three other backpackers and we hired a local driver with a 4wd Russian made van for a tour of the wide open Mongolian Wilds. Unfortunately, due to Russian visa constraints, I had to leave Mongolia after just 2 ½ weeks and boarded a train for Russia and the Trans Siberian railway.

Russia was a pleasant surprise as I found, with just a little bit of effort, a seemingly hard and cold culture warmed up quickly with pleasant helpful smiles despite real language difficulties. Again, due to visa constraints I only had 2 ½ weeks to traverse the country by rail but made some great stops along the way. My favorite being Lake Baikal.

After visiting Lennon’s tomb and Red square in Moscow I hopped another train for Riga, Latvia which proved to be a lovely relaxing city with an over abundance of young 20 something women and young guys on the prowl from all over the world, every night. Riga made me laugh as the hostel was quiet every evening because most of the people staying at the hostel were young college aged men staying out until 7 am. I slept well as I’m not the type to pursue ladies all night who are young enough to be my daughter.

From Riga I traveled down to Lithuania and on to Warsaw, Poland. From Poland I blew across to Budapest then France. I kind of regret passing through Eastern Europe so fast. Eastern Europe is far more interesting than Western Europe and costs half as much than the West.

Once in France I took 3 weeks off from the traveling and planted myself next to small lake on the grounds of a Chateau near Mur de Solonge where I did a work exchange for the European Yoga Festival. The first week I really enjoyed but the last two weeks were a mixed bag. The highlight of my time spent in France was catching up with a good friend from Colorado who was attending the festival.

Leaving France was a bit of a low point for me as I was exhausted and plagued by three days of visual migraines which was quite unusual for me. The upside was that I was in the company of good friends from the festival as we made our way via Ferry to England.

In Britain I found my stride again, despite variable weather, as I walked for over 125 miles along the SW coast path of England. Miles of walking along with stops for pints at village pubs made me feel like my old self again. The walking left me feeling good.

From England I took a train to Wales and hopped a ferry to Cork, Ireland. From there I negotiated wacky weather up to a number of mountain tops including Carrauntuohil, Ireland's highest and Croagh Patrick where St. Patrick prayed for 40 days sometime during the 5th century. I hitched along the west coast in search of the perfect pint of Guinness which I naturally found in the East in Dublin when I poured it myself at the Guinness brewery.

I completed my travels with a rainy and at times VERY windy hike along the 80+ mile Wicklow way. It proved to be the perfect finish despite foul weather. It gave me time to mentally shift gears for home. The day before flying to the states I felt a satisfied “Done” kind of feeling. Just the kind of feeling you want for the flight home. I think I timed it right but once again I am astounded by how fast time passes. Five months felt like five weeks and at times, five days. All the more reasons to enjoy the gift of every moment.

So what did I learn? What are some takeaways? Well, here’s a few bullet points….

I really enjoy my own company and feel no need to rely on others for happiness. Expecting others to make you happy usually doesn’t work anyway…. Life is relatively easy as long as you don’t get in the way… Attitude creates your reality…. Money has a tendency to complicate life instead of making it easier…. Everybody in the world wants the same thing. To have a home, a job, to be with family, to be with friends and to feel safe…. Words get in the way of communication…. The universal language of kindness and peace is a smile…

Images From The Wicklow Way - Ireland

I just finished walking the 80+ mile Wicklow Way that extends north to south across the Wicklow mountains south of of Dublin. It was a blustery hike with plenty of rain along with sunny spells every now and then. I think Ireland gets the award for having the most unstable and changable weather of any place I've ever been. Nonetheless, the country is so beautiful that there's beauty to be seen no matter what the weather is doing.

Despite plenty of bad weather the hike proved to be exactly what I needed to wrap up over 5 months of travel and mentally shift gears for the trip back home.

With so much cloudy weather it was hard to take good photos on the hike but here's a few to give you an idea of what the Wicklow Way has to offer.

A Few More Days - Another Walk - Then Home

I should be home by now but when it came time for my predetermined flight time I just didn’t feel ready. You would think that after five months on the road I’d be more than ready but long term traveling has a way of becoming part of your identity. It becomes a way of life. I needed time to mentally shift gears and prepare myself for a transition back into a more conventional routine of work etc.

I called the airline and had no problem extending my time in abroad by six days in order to allow for one more excursion, a six day, eighty mile walk through the Wicklow Mountains of Ireland. I figured a good long walk would give me plenty of time to think of where I’ve been and where I want to go next. I needed to clear my mind and reset my focus.

My route of travel, since the last post, took me through Connemara and Westport where I hiked to the summit of Croagh Patrick. It’s the mountain where St. Patrick apparently prayed for 40 days sometime during the 5th century. It’s obviously a Pilgrimage mountain that draws a lot of visitors but there’s no way around a good stiff uphill hike if you want to visit the top. For an average person it take's 2 to 3 hours to gain the summit. On a clear day the views are spectacular. I hiked up in a foggy mist but played the waiting game atop and was luckily rewarded, after about half an hour, with the parting of cloud and blissfully blue sky. It lasted long enough to thoroughly take in the wonderful view.

From Westport I took a train to Dublin and checked into a cheap hostel with a good location and headed to the famed Temple bar area for a couple of pints. I then swung by a supermarket to pick up a few supplies for the Wicklow hike.

The Wicklow way is an establish way marked trail/route through the Wicklow mountains that begin just south of Dublin. It runs point to point, north/south, for a little over 80 miles. To begin the hike I simply walked to the bus stop directly in front of the hostel and rode #16 to Marley Park. From there I began hiking south.

The way is clearly marked with posts decorted by a yellow colored hiker silhouette and arrow. If you pay attention to the map and where you’re going the route is simple to follow. The way avoids towns but there’s an assortment of convenient accommodation options close to the trail or you camp.

As I write this post it’s my last night on the Wicklow way. I’m sharing a small bunkroom at a B&B with another hiker I met a couple of days ago from Belgium. Yesterday we camped in a farmer’s field while it rained all night long.

This morning we packed up a wet camp in rain and hiked on into the fog but by afternoon the skies became partly cloudy. That’s when the wind picked up. It only seemed fitting that we consume a pint at the small quaint 200+ year old Dying Cow pub before continuing a little further. Our end goal was a rural B&B that allowed camping. In exchange for a small fee there’s access to shower and cooking shelter.

There was no one at the simple B&B when we arrived but an older couple showed up and said their daughter owned the place. The wind was gaining force and camping was looking less and less appealing. The older couple let us in and fixed us a cup of tea while they tried to get their daughter on the phone. They didn’t want to let us go. In the end we settled on a wind free cozy bunkroom with a large full Irish Breakfast in the morning for 25 Euro each. The place is very quiet. The Belgian and I are the only ones here. It’s 9 pm and we still haven’t met the owner. I guess we will see her in the morning as she lives on property.

The walk along the Wicklow way has been quite lovely despite mostly rainy weather along with very strong winds on the higher ridges. Tomorrow I’ll finish it up and try to get back to Dublin by the evening. If not I’ll head to Dublin Monday morning and catch my flight home the following day. I’ll definitely be ready to go back to the States by then. All in all it's been exactly what I needed before going home.

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.