Day 12
Twelve days have passed since I arrived. Wow.
I woke at about 11:30! My bag had been packed the previous evening so all I had to do was have a shower, eat and leave. In the end, I didn’t leave until 1:20, because Fergus had the key to the flat (inside the door of which I have been keeping the bike). I decided to cycle to Culdaff, where the McKeages live. These are the friends of the Doherty's at Whitecastle.
I only rode for about half an hour today! The wind was strong; every time I was riding with a crosswind, the bike would be pushed half a metre to the side, regularly and often. Thankfully, for most of the time the wind was behind me (Culdaff is east of Carn). It was a beautiful day; the storm last night blew itself out by the morning and the sky was a light blue, only about half covered with cloud. It was a cold day, but once I was cycling I took off both the Kathmandu and the raincoat - this is the first time I have done this and was quite pleased, however if I do it in future, I will have to whip out the raincoat the moment it starts raining. I cannot afford to get wet.
At Culdaff was McGrory's, a pub that someone had mentioned in Carn. I stopped in. It is a classy place, a hotel as well as a pub and restaurant.
I asked about work for the weekend, she said no, but I got the feeling that I could have got a job if I had of wanted to stay longer (ie. through Christmas and the New Year) I mentioned the McKeages and she gave me precise directions; I had less than a mile to go. The map is such a large scale; everything seems further on the map than it really is. That is much better than if it had of been the other way!
I knocked on the door of one of the two houses at the McKeage farm but no one answered. I knocked on the other door and got the same reply. I could hear some one working in one of the sheds behind the house, so I poked my nose around there and found Wesley McKeage. He told me he didn’t have any work and disappointingly, didn’t offer a room for the evening. When I mentioned the Doherty's and why I had come, he said he knew them, but said nothing about them ringing him, so I guess Iris didn’t.
I looked at the map and decided to continue on the Inis Eoghain 100 (the Irish spelling of Inishowen), the sign for which I had seen back at Culdaff. On the way, I posted that penguin camera to Madelene; I really hope the film wasn’t wrecked when it got wet.
I was on the way out of Culdaff and had been riding for only five or ten minutes since the post office when a car passed me and stopped. I stopped, and the lady inside asked me if I was the guy who had just asked her husband for work. She said that her husband had come in when I left and told her about me and she felt guilty that they sent me away without even offering me a cup of tea. Would I like one, she asked? 'Yes!’ was my enthusiastic reply. Then - rather forwardly, I said that since it would be dark in an hour or so, was it possible to pitch a tent somewhere, or get a room for a little bit of money? She said that she was sure that some thing could be worked out. I put my backpack in the boot of her car and followed her back to the farm. She took a circular route, however, which involved the steepest hill that I have come across since coming to Ireland. Unfortunately, I had to climb the steep side and coast down the side that was not steep at all, though I impressed Mrs McKeage, who said that she was amazed not only that I had done it, but that I had done it so quickly. I was fairly amazed as well.
She was making me coffee, bacon and mashed potatoes when Wesley came in and sat down for tea. We had a bit of a talk, but it was never really comfortable like it was with the Doherty's. No one I have met yet seem to be the kind of people I could sit down for a whole evening and talk. That goes for the Doherty’s as well. They were certainly the nicest people I have met so far, but I never had any really long conversations with them. I bet that the aforementioned Raven Haired Celtic Beauty who I find peering over her father’s shoulders will be this person. The McKeages have four sons and no daughters.
These people are dairy farmers, so I wandered around, seeing the parlour, the cows and avoiding a vicious sounding dog. Once again, the dairy was a lot smaller and a lot older than the one I was working in, in Israel. In fact, this dairy is quite similar to the dairy in Carn, so I guess that this might be the average.
When I got back to the house (I had only been gone fifteen minutes) Valerie was about to serve dinner. Chips. I think the Irish love oil. The dinner was baked beans, chips, chicken nuggets and fish.
I left the house and watched Wesley milking cows for a quarter of an hour or so and had a decent chat to him about the cows and his methods.
During the coffee, bacon and potatoes, the two McKeages suggested I sleep in the house next to them (which was the first door I knocked on) as there was no one living there now. Wesley didn’t seem keen for me to sleep on the beds, so I will sleep on the floor of the sitting room, next to the heater.
I found out a bit later that this was his mother’s house and she died just a few weeks ago. The house, I think, hasn’t been touched since; it still feels very lived in.
It is now 9 pm. I have had a bath and am sitting in front of the same type of old stove that both other places have had. I will take a photo if it.
Outside the McKeage's House
McGrory's told me they have live traditional music tonight, so I will walk into town after this.
I think I might head south. Basically, the north part of Ireland no longer interests me. I have seen Inishowen, in particular, the coast of the Lough Foyle. Tomorrow I am going to ride up to Malin Head and then make my way to Portstewart, to stay with Alex's parents for a few days. Then I might go south to Cork or Cashel or somewhere by bus and explore down there (Wesley said there would be more farm work down south). Alternatively, I could simply make my way to Dublin by bike, riding only 20 miles a day (as I think I wrote yesterday).
I came to Ireland with no plans except for Inishowen and no book or prior knowledge about other areas to make more plans with; a bit silly.
If I go to Cashel (by bus) I might find work at that 'Bailey's' hostel that Shane Leahy told me about - he was that Irish guy who came to kibbutz when I was recovering from the head injury.
Riding around (slowly) is alright, but I am getting worried about staying in a tent. It is really cold. I think I will buy some thermal socks and use them for tent nights.
Time to go to an Irish pub!
Later...
I think I am learning how to properly drink Guinness. It must not be touched until fully black; from the second pouring to this point takes about a minute and a half (which I guess is why the bored Irish men have whiskey in the mean time). The Guinness must be drunk in small sips. It must take a while to drink. I used to drink it like a beer; this is wrong and I suffered for it - I got drunk quite quickly. An Irishman can sit in a pub all day and (without doubt) could drink me under the table, but they still drink slowly! I have been having this pint for half an hour now and still have a third to go!
The players are playing! I am in a corner of a dark Irish pub, a Guinness not too far away, with a string quartet (all with beers in front of them) playing Irish music. Another dream come true.
Around me I can hear the harsh Northern accents mixing with the softer Donegal accent. I haven’t seen a tourist since I left Dublin, and that’s grand, a big bonus for coming at this time of year. The pub has eight customers, including me and all are ignoring the four in the corner who are playing. These people are playing for the sheer pleasure of playing! (And maybe for free beer).
I learnt on the mile or so it took me to walk here why scarves were invented. When I was wearing boots, two pairs of socks, jeans, a rugby jersey, the rain coat and trousers, a beanie pulled down to my eyebrows, the Kathmandu with the neck part pulled tight, the hood of the rain coat over the beanie and ski gloves, I found my nose, mouth, chin and cheeks were wet and freezing!
One of the violinists is a Raven Haired Celtic Beauty! Dark eyes, dark hair and a violin! She's not wearing a short black dress like the Corrs, unfortunately.
I find my foot tapping on the ground in time to the music!
The Celtic Beauty has finished her pint, while the others are only half way through theirs!
How embarrassing! On the top of the new pint is a shamrock! This is a thing for tourists! I have never had a shamrock on any other pint I’ve had over here! The fact that I’m wearing an Australian rugby jersey and asked, when I came, if there was going to be traditional music tonight is (or should be) beside the point!
I realised something else during my walk to this pub. I should read labels before I buy things. When I bought the raincoat it said it was a raincoat; and it works (sort of). When I bought the tracksuit pants, it said it was a pair of tracksuit pants - there was nothing on the label about rain (though they looked like they were rainproof - they are made out of tent material). My jeans got wet (well, damp) on the walk here, but it is OK, because while on the bike, my legs don’t get wet because of my body hunched over. I’m glad I’m not walking around Ireland.
Wow! One of the customers (who has been drinking whiskey since before I arrived) just pulled a chair up to the group of musicians and is using two empty tonic water bottles to play along with the music! He is slightly out of tune, but that takes nothing away from the idea and atmosphere.
The walls of this place are stone, with old pine pillars and rafters. The floor is slate.
I woke at about 11:30! My bag had been packed the previous evening so all I had to do was have a shower, eat and leave. In the end, I didn’t leave until 1:20, because Fergus had the key to the flat (inside the door of which I have been keeping the bike). I decided to cycle to Culdaff, where the McKeages live. These are the friends of the Doherty's at Whitecastle.
I only rode for about half an hour today! The wind was strong; every time I was riding with a crosswind, the bike would be pushed half a metre to the side, regularly and often. Thankfully, for most of the time the wind was behind me (Culdaff is east of Carn). It was a beautiful day; the storm last night blew itself out by the morning and the sky was a light blue, only about half covered with cloud. It was a cold day, but once I was cycling I took off both the Kathmandu and the raincoat - this is the first time I have done this and was quite pleased, however if I do it in future, I will have to whip out the raincoat the moment it starts raining. I cannot afford to get wet.
At Culdaff was McGrory's, a pub that someone had mentioned in Carn. I stopped in. It is a classy place, a hotel as well as a pub and restaurant.
I asked about work for the weekend, she said no, but I got the feeling that I could have got a job if I had of wanted to stay longer (ie. through Christmas and the New Year) I mentioned the McKeages and she gave me precise directions; I had less than a mile to go. The map is such a large scale; everything seems further on the map than it really is. That is much better than if it had of been the other way!
I knocked on the door of one of the two houses at the McKeage farm but no one answered. I knocked on the other door and got the same reply. I could hear some one working in one of the sheds behind the house, so I poked my nose around there and found Wesley McKeage. He told me he didn’t have any work and disappointingly, didn’t offer a room for the evening. When I mentioned the Doherty's and why I had come, he said he knew them, but said nothing about them ringing him, so I guess Iris didn’t.
I looked at the map and decided to continue on the Inis Eoghain 100 (the Irish spelling of Inishowen), the sign for which I had seen back at Culdaff. On the way, I posted that penguin camera to Madelene; I really hope the film wasn’t wrecked when it got wet.
I was on the way out of Culdaff and had been riding for only five or ten minutes since the post office when a car passed me and stopped. I stopped, and the lady inside asked me if I was the guy who had just asked her husband for work. She said that her husband had come in when I left and told her about me and she felt guilty that they sent me away without even offering me a cup of tea. Would I like one, she asked? 'Yes!’ was my enthusiastic reply. Then - rather forwardly, I said that since it would be dark in an hour or so, was it possible to pitch a tent somewhere, or get a room for a little bit of money? She said that she was sure that some thing could be worked out. I put my backpack in the boot of her car and followed her back to the farm. She took a circular route, however, which involved the steepest hill that I have come across since coming to Ireland. Unfortunately, I had to climb the steep side and coast down the side that was not steep at all, though I impressed Mrs McKeage, who said that she was amazed not only that I had done it, but that I had done it so quickly. I was fairly amazed as well.
She was making me coffee, bacon and mashed potatoes when Wesley came in and sat down for tea. We had a bit of a talk, but it was never really comfortable like it was with the Doherty's. No one I have met yet seem to be the kind of people I could sit down for a whole evening and talk. That goes for the Doherty’s as well. They were certainly the nicest people I have met so far, but I never had any really long conversations with them. I bet that the aforementioned Raven Haired Celtic Beauty who I find peering over her father’s shoulders will be this person. The McKeages have four sons and no daughters.
These people are dairy farmers, so I wandered around, seeing the parlour, the cows and avoiding a vicious sounding dog. Once again, the dairy was a lot smaller and a lot older than the one I was working in, in Israel. In fact, this dairy is quite similar to the dairy in Carn, so I guess that this might be the average.
When I got back to the house (I had only been gone fifteen minutes) Valerie was about to serve dinner. Chips. I think the Irish love oil. The dinner was baked beans, chips, chicken nuggets and fish.
I left the house and watched Wesley milking cows for a quarter of an hour or so and had a decent chat to him about the cows and his methods.
During the coffee, bacon and potatoes, the two McKeages suggested I sleep in the house next to them (which was the first door I knocked on) as there was no one living there now. Wesley didn’t seem keen for me to sleep on the beds, so I will sleep on the floor of the sitting room, next to the heater.
I found out a bit later that this was his mother’s house and she died just a few weeks ago. The house, I think, hasn’t been touched since; it still feels very lived in.
It is now 9 pm. I have had a bath and am sitting in front of the same type of old stove that both other places have had. I will take a photo if it.
Outside the McKeage's House
McGrory's told me they have live traditional music tonight, so I will walk into town after this.
I think I might head south. Basically, the north part of Ireland no longer interests me. I have seen Inishowen, in particular, the coast of the Lough Foyle. Tomorrow I am going to ride up to Malin Head and then make my way to Portstewart, to stay with Alex's parents for a few days. Then I might go south to Cork or Cashel or somewhere by bus and explore down there (Wesley said there would be more farm work down south). Alternatively, I could simply make my way to Dublin by bike, riding only 20 miles a day (as I think I wrote yesterday).
I came to Ireland with no plans except for Inishowen and no book or prior knowledge about other areas to make more plans with; a bit silly.
If I go to Cashel (by bus) I might find work at that 'Bailey's' hostel that Shane Leahy told me about - he was that Irish guy who came to kibbutz when I was recovering from the head injury.
Riding around (slowly) is alright, but I am getting worried about staying in a tent. It is really cold. I think I will buy some thermal socks and use them for tent nights.
Time to go to an Irish pub!
Later...
I think I am learning how to properly drink Guinness. It must not be touched until fully black; from the second pouring to this point takes about a minute and a half (which I guess is why the bored Irish men have whiskey in the mean time). The Guinness must be drunk in small sips. It must take a while to drink. I used to drink it like a beer; this is wrong and I suffered for it - I got drunk quite quickly. An Irishman can sit in a pub all day and (without doubt) could drink me under the table, but they still drink slowly! I have been having this pint for half an hour now and still have a third to go!
The players are playing! I am in a corner of a dark Irish pub, a Guinness not too far away, with a string quartet (all with beers in front of them) playing Irish music. Another dream come true.
Around me I can hear the harsh Northern accents mixing with the softer Donegal accent. I haven’t seen a tourist since I left Dublin, and that’s grand, a big bonus for coming at this time of year. The pub has eight customers, including me and all are ignoring the four in the corner who are playing. These people are playing for the sheer pleasure of playing! (And maybe for free beer).
I learnt on the mile or so it took me to walk here why scarves were invented. When I was wearing boots, two pairs of socks, jeans, a rugby jersey, the rain coat and trousers, a beanie pulled down to my eyebrows, the Kathmandu with the neck part pulled tight, the hood of the rain coat over the beanie and ski gloves, I found my nose, mouth, chin and cheeks were wet and freezing!
One of the violinists is a Raven Haired Celtic Beauty! Dark eyes, dark hair and a violin! She's not wearing a short black dress like the Corrs, unfortunately.
I find my foot tapping on the ground in time to the music!
The Celtic Beauty has finished her pint, while the others are only half way through theirs!
How embarrassing! On the top of the new pint is a shamrock! This is a thing for tourists! I have never had a shamrock on any other pint I’ve had over here! The fact that I’m wearing an Australian rugby jersey and asked, when I came, if there was going to be traditional music tonight is (or should be) beside the point!
I realised something else during my walk to this pub. I should read labels before I buy things. When I bought the raincoat it said it was a raincoat; and it works (sort of). When I bought the tracksuit pants, it said it was a pair of tracksuit pants - there was nothing on the label about rain (though they looked like they were rainproof - they are made out of tent material). My jeans got wet (well, damp) on the walk here, but it is OK, because while on the bike, my legs don’t get wet because of my body hunched over. I’m glad I’m not walking around Ireland.
Wow! One of the customers (who has been drinking whiskey since before I arrived) just pulled a chair up to the group of musicians and is using two empty tonic water bottles to play along with the music! He is slightly out of tune, but that takes nothing away from the idea and atmosphere.
The walls of this place are stone, with old pine pillars and rafters. The floor is slate.
posted by Bren Carlill @ 6:21 AM
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