Ireland, Part IV

Monday, 12 April

(Continued)

No, I’m kidding. We headed north. We joined another little road, left it again for another forest walk, and then joined a road deeper inside the forest. It was still raining and we had little shelter from the rain because there were no trees on the road. Its edges were impassable, going sharply up a hill on one side and down a steep slope on the other. We were now descending the mountain we’d been climbing on its opposite side so far, and it had been five or six hours since we'd left Knockree.

After another look at the map, we found that we were getting quite close to our destination. I think we had crossed the county border by this time, or were about to cross it at the foot of the mountain. But either way, from then on we were walking along rural roads rather than dirt paths and trails. On the way down, we caught some amazing scenery through gaps in the trees; the clouds were so low, we had been walking through one, or a group of them, for most of the mountain, which is why it was raining the whole time, and it served to make the view all that more inspiring by dithering the light. It made everything look so vibrantly alive and fresh through the mist, light playing off of the vapor and shimmering whenever the sun came through the cloud cover. Eventually, we could see Dublin’s outskirts in the distance, and Melissa commented on how from here it looked a little like Fremont, sprawled out, colorful, and lightly built up.

At the bottom, we had definitely crossed the county border because we found a sign that told us were on the edge of Marlay Park, where the Way originates, somewhere within. On the map there was an ancient burial site not far from where we were, and we started looking around for it. A man walking his dog came up to us (extremely friendly, the Irish) and asked us if we were all right, and we asked him if he knew of the burial site. He said, “of course!” and pointed to a place on the edge of the slop upwards where we should begin our climb, and that they were about 50 m in from there. He was so keen on helping us, in fact, that when we reached the slope, he called back to us excitedly, indicating that we were in the right place, and to have a nice day.

It was a refreshing departure from the stark bluntness and sometimes rude interactions one has with the English, but that’s a whole other journal.

We found the site, and actually there were two. Apparently built one thousand years apart (well, I couldn’t tell just by looking at them, there was a plaque). The older one had also been reused when the newer one was built, the old remains and artifacts pushed aside but the lithic provenience was preserved, or so the archeologists thought, because of the difference in design between the two sites. But it was quite difficult to examine the sites well because of the amount of littler around the place. Someone had had a party or something, because there were packages, wrappers, cans, bottles, toilet paper, socks (socks) and shoes, just everywhere. All kinds of stuff. And it was recent, nothing was faded. Shame.

The last stage of the walk was nice, through Marlay Park, which used to be the Marlay family's gardens. In front of Marlay House, we sat on a bench; our hike was over.

We just sat quietly in the sun, leaning on our packs, looking bedraggled and tired. This was it. My feet started to hurt, and I remember smiling to myself -- not a moment too soon. They were probably in pain the whole time, but I’d just started to really notice it then, as I sat, the memory of the walk piling up and finally forcing some of my body’s complaints up to the podium. I looked down at my shoes, in horrible condition, and my jeans, although dry, still had the dirt from yesterday's bog wade and were brown up to the knees.

It was almost five. We barely caught the bus back into Dublin, running after it as it was about to leave. We sat sitting upstairs, still silent. Fifteen minutes later the bus ride came to an end, and we hurried downstairs and jumped out. I slung my pack over my shoulder, she extended her left hand as I extended my right. That didn’t work, so I freed my left hand and we shook hands, said goodbye, and headed in opposite directions, she to Trinity College to meet her friend, and me to Avalon House hostel to spend a few nights' rest.

By now my feet really hurt and my back ached from carrying my pack for two days in difficult conditions. But I felt good, and I would hopefully meet more people. After all, I had another eight days ahead of me.

I checked in and went upstairs to shower, and just lied down in my bunk and fell asleep. I woke up at around 8 pm, by now quite hungry. I went downstairs with the intention of just going out and finding somewhere to eat, but I noticed people in the kitchen, went inside, and was impressed with the facilities. So I was inspired to make my own dinner. All I can really cook is pasta. So I went and bought pasta and some sauce and vegetables, soda bread and spread, and fruit. I had a huge dinner, but I hadn’t eaten anything really substantial for a long time. Then I went for a walk, stopping for a while at a café in Temple Bar opposite the museum of art to write some of this and then slept at around 11.

To be continued.