the end of Ireland , now in Paris

Well Pat, the most beautiful parts of Ireland are indisputably on the West Coast. The Cliffs of Moher are very stunning. You should absolutely plan to go there and spend a couple of hours or more. The cliffs are also very close to my favorite hotel in Ireland (out of those hotels which I've stayed in). This is the Aran View Hotel in Doolin. Doolin is a very small, scenic, peaceful and quiet town. The three pubs in the town are also known for the traditional Irish music that they perform every night.

The "Ring of Kerry" in County Kerry is a major tourist draw and is considered the most beautuful drive you could take in Ireland. I didn't get to do that though, but the "Ring of Kerry" refers to the circle you make when you connect-the-dots of towns by driving along the coastal edges of the Kerry peninsula. It takes from 2-4 hours depending on how fast you drive.

I did get to drive around the Dingle peninsula, which is considered equally beautiful. And it was. From the tip of the Dingle peninsula I took a boat to the Great Blaskett (sp?) Island. I believe I mentioned that in a previous blog. The Blaskett Island was very stark and beautiful.

Visual beauty is easy to convey, I suppose. But the bogs are worth visiting even if they're not "visually beautiful". They're beautiful in a more tactile way. The bogs don't look interesting from a distance; they just look like boring expanses of rolling grass. And I'm sure that all my photographs of the bogs will be boring.

Because they don't really look special from a distance, you can't capture the beauty of the bogs with a camera. To get a sense of the bogs you need to buy a pair of 'wellies' (Wellingtons) and tramp through the soggy and spongy terrain. I bought my pair for around $10, so if you don't feel like hauling them home, it's not a big loss. With a pair of those you can explore the bogs and get up close to see the various mosses and ferns and weird vegetation. You will probably fall down a lot, but you won't really get hurt, because the vegetative growth is like an extremely thick padding. It's just fun.

Our trip ended with Belmullet, which was the smallest town we had stayed in yet. Up in the Northwest, Belmullet rests on the Mullet Peninsula in County Mayo. Everybody really knows everybody else there, ... seriously. And they're all very nice. I often found myself dumbfounded by the beauty there as I walked down the road from my B&B. I guess it was just the ocean and the cold and the solitude and the view... etc... being in a remote region in the middle of nowhere is a fun feeling too. So even though it's not particularly touristy, I would recommend visiting Belmullet. It IS a special place, and within a driving distance to: several bogs, Achill Island, Westport, and other regional sites.

So, sorry for not giving you one specific answer. One of my major problems is that I drone on and on in endless detail, instead of being able to summarize and hone in on salient points...which is a very important skill that I just don't have. I'm working on it though. I'm working on being a new-and-improved Andrew in general, while abroad.

I think travelling overseas makes one more aware of global warming for some reason. I'm also more aware of the fragility of everything. McElroy didn't really see as many birds as compared to previous trips, and he said "Well, what do you expect? Global warming is killing them all off." So that was kind of a downer.

I saw a spider in my room. Usually, I need to make sure that spiders are dead, because they're better that way. But this time I took the spider in my hands and "set it free" out the window. So I don't think I will kill spiders anymore, because it's wrong, according to my new earth-consciousness. I probably sound like such a sensitive hippy right now. I'm still going to eat meat though, because it tastes good, so I'm not that great of a person.

The day before the departure from Belmullet was the last class. It was the most packed day yet. We went to "Crough Patrick" (pronounced "Crow Patrick"), which is a holy mountain near Westport, historically associated with St. Patrick. We were told that certain hard-core religious people climb it barefoot as a pilgrammage (sp?) once a year. There is a small church at the top and that is all there is, other than a gorgeous view of the bay and islands and Atlantic below. This, however, is a view that you won't be able to enjoy without the will and vigor to climb steep, rocky terrain for 2 and a half hours.

McElroy made it clear that we didn't have to climb Crough Patrick if we didn't want to. I couldv'e just stayed in the pub at the bottom and drank the whole time. But, being a Leo with a big ego, as I am, I said that I would climb it in my barefeet. McElroy said "I'll believe it when I see it". When I told Veronica, the woman of my B&B, she said "oh, don't be daft." And everyone else said that I was crazy.

Well, I did it. My friend Elif also decided to do the same. We brought shoes in our backpacks, in case we changed our minds. We only wore them on the way down, but we ascended all 3 miles or so, without shoes. In the beginning we considered giving up several times, but after the half-way-point, we knew we would finish. It took three hours going up; I raced down and was able to make it back to the bus in one hour. It was all sharp rocks and pain with a fair share of broken glass, the whole way. I decided that in the event of blood, I would put on shoes. But my skin never broke, I was surprised to see how tough the soles of the human foot actually are. By the time I got to the top, my feet were tender and sensitive, hot and throbbing with soreness, but no blood and no blisters.

Elif and I were the only people on the whole mountain to go barefoot, and everyone that passed us had something to say. A lot of "you're crazy", some "oh my!" some praise, some well-wishers. Some thought we were pilgrims. Occationally, I did yell out "I'm doing this for Jesus!," when I stepped on a sharp rock, but I meant it blasphemously, as a joke.

Later that same evening McElroy scheduled traditional Irish dancing lessons for the class. So there was no time for dinner after the mountain, we had to go back home, get showered and get dressed for dancing. We did various Irish dances (the class and some other Irish people that were there) . It was a lot of sweaty fun, actually; we danced for a couple of hours. Then, because it was our last night, the class went out to the pub to hang-out a little bit. I had to wake up at 6am the next morning to catch the bus back to Dublin.

So, to summarize, I climbed a holy mountain in my bare feet, then went out dancing, went out drinking, got 4 hours of sleep and woke -up at 6 am to catch a bus.

In Dublin, I ate food, mailed a package home, bought a book, ate food again, and slept for one night at the Four Courts Hostel in Dublin, on the River Liffey.

I got another 4 hours of sleep there because I had to wake up at 6am again to go to the airport, and I think I'm getting sick now. I have a sore throat again. The plane rides to London/Heathrow (sp?) and then to Paris were particulary horrible for me. I've never had problems with my ears before, and I've flown a lot, but I had such pain with the pressure and poping in my ears that I writhed in my seat. After landing in Paris, I couldn't hear out of my right ear. It took 24 hours for it to clear up and return to normal. It still hasn't completely returned to normal.

Paris is beautiful. I've already seen the Eiffel Tower (excuse all spelling errors), arc du triomphe, Hotel des Invalides. I've walked along the Champs du elyses. My hostel is called the Cualaincourt Hotel (or the Cualaincourt Square Hotel?). It is in the Montmartre region of Paris, which is in Northern Paris in the 18th arrondisement (that is the name for the different regions/sections of Paris). Paris is comprised of twenty different arrondisments, I believe. Montmartre gives me a very old-world, traditional feeling.

Now that I'm at a normal latitude, Summer is HOT again; I hate it. I hate being hot. (Spain and Italy will be even hotter, I'm sure). On the plus-side, the sun sets when it's supposed to now...around 7 or so.

Even though Ireland was always cool, it wouldn't get completely dark until after 10pm, and then it was too cold to play outside at night. But in Paris, you can be outside at night in a tee shirt and it's comfortable. I like the night. I HAD to like the night last night, because I missed the 2am curfew (sp?) of my hostel, and so due to lock out, I wandered around until 6am before I could come back to sleep. I refuse to sleep under a bridge.

So I hate hostels now. I guess I'm too spoiled to enjoy them, but I think I'm too old for this shit. Well...I did climb a holy mountain in my bare feet, so I guess I can handle it... (I won't get over that one for a while)...haha.

And then today, the guy at reception yelled at me as I left, because I left after 11am. (11am -4pm is also lockout so the maids can clean and stuff, thus, you're not supposed to have access to your room during those hours) . "Look, do you see the time? I told you that you had to leave before 11. This is too late. I told you this."

Fucker. I hate him. I am filled with hate now...for him...for the heat...

It's so hot right now...because there is no air conditioning in Europe...and I'm in a stuffy internet cafe, not too far from the Eiffel Tower. I really had to seek out this place, because there is no way that I could type this extensively on the regular keyboards here... the letters are in different places and it would take way too long to figure out and fix my mistakes...
I'm really appreciating the coolness of Ireland right now.

I got a crash course in learning the metro system here. I'll tell you about that in the next blog.

In the past, if I ever said anything in any of my blogs that sounded 'smart', don't be fooled, this is not the case. I was taking a class after all, and I also spoke the language of the country I was in. Here, I am not taking a class, and I don't even speak the language here....so please excuse me if all of my future blogs smack of the ruminations of a drunk ignoramous.
Andrew