Museum hopping and tipsy yoga -- Kevin's and Bus Eireann

I’m starting this bus from the fourth row far right window seat of yet another Bus Eirrann coach. Despite my best efforts, I am once again situated in front of two rambunctious children – one who is blowing raspberries with lip numbing regularity, and the other who is pleasantly passing the time by ramming her boots into my seat.  The conversation is quite stimulating. I believe the youngest girl just asked her mother “Can I get a baby pumpkin to take to bed with me?”

I think they’re getting off at the next stop. My lower back shan’t miss them too fiercely.

My two days in Dublin has tested (and found lacking) my reprehensible sense of direction, inspired me as a writer, encouraged me in regards to my interview project, challenged my alcohol tolerance threshold, and left me thoroughly exhausted.

Kevin dropped off Cecilia and me a few km outside of Dublin city center so that I could browse the second-hand shops in search of boots. My merrell barefoot running shoes, as sublimely comfortable as they may be, aren’t going to measure up when I get to Maria’s horse farm on Tuesday. Metal horseshoes plus Aimee’s barefoot shoes should maintain a certain degree of separation, unless I masochistically decide I want to lose all my toenails. I’ve been borrowing the spare pair of wellingtons (there is always a spare pair of wellingtons in Ireland) on all the previous farms, but I was really hoping to be able to find a nice pair of sturdy leather boots to muck around in. Unfortunately, the only shoes to be found at the second-hand stores were jaded old stilettos whose excruciatingly uncomfortable factor had begun to outweigh the “but they’re sexy shoes!” factor. So after exhausting Dublin’s ample supply of second-hand shops, with a sigh of resignation and defeat, I redirected my search to TK Max and the many other cheap (relatively speaking) shoe shops in the city center. However, only men seem to wear sturdy leather boots in this country, and the smallest men’s size is many sizes too large for my square little feet.  As I still remained bootless after a good two hours of ruthless rummaging, Cecilia and I decided that the whole city of Dublin had no shoes for me, and it would be best to count our losses and move on.

One of the many bootless second-hand shops 

We spent the next few hours wandering through a few free museums and the national library.  After thoroughly sating our desires to gaze upon broken Celtic pottery, dugout canoes, bronze busts of Yeats, and various forms of ancient golden bling, we went off to find Oscar Wilde.  It took us over half an hour to locate his lounging, languid figure, but the park he occupied made for a beautiful little stroll.

Looking for Oscar...

Statues commemorating the potato famine. While looking for Oscar...

Finding Oscar. I'm somewhat smitten...

No entry into the ancient viking hovel? Shucks. 

Not Yeats. 

Yeats

Part of the Yeats exhibit in the National Library

We stopped for something to eat at a vegetarian Indian place (Cecilia is vegetarian) and for a cup of coffee at Queen of Tarts, and then continued on to the Museum of Modern Art. I was particularly excited about touring this museum as Google had told me they have a stellar Goya exhibit. Unfortunately, we arrived at 5:14 and the last entry was at 5:15. Even though we flew in the doors with an entire minute to spare, we were turned away with a blank stare from the museum staff guarding the stairs. Time is a funny thing in Ireland. Everyone expects everyone else to be at least half an hour late to any social function (so much that it might actually border on indecent to show up on time, as no one will be ready for you), but government run operations such as museums have zero tolerance for us nearly tardy tourists. Bah. I'll have to make sure to schedule in a good chunk of time for this museum when I return to Dublin for my flight home. 

After being silently expulsed from the Museum of Modern Art, Cecilia and I tried to find our way back to the main road. As they'd prematurely locked all the doors that would have let us straight out, we had to take a twenty minute detour through the grounds. 

Trapped outside the Museum of Modern Art

The one piece of modern art we were able to see. Outside of the museum. 

Once we had found our way out of the museum's grounds, we called Kevin to ask for a ride back to his place. Due to traffic, Kevin asked us to walk over to James Street, and he would pick us up from there. At least, that's what we thought Kevin had asked us. After waiting at James Street for what seemed an absurdly long time, we contacted Kevin again, this time finding out that we were supposed to walk through the hospital grounds just past James Street and meet Kevin at the other side of the hospital. So we walked to the nearest hospital and timidly asked the front desk folks where we could find the back entrance of the hospital. 

"I'm sorry, this is a psychiatric hospital and there is no back entrance," the front desk woman told us somewhat patronizingly, taking my bewildered, frantic expression completely in stride. 

"Well, is there another hospital nearby?" Cecilia asked, undeterred by the woman's denial of a back entrance. 

"Yes, Saint James' Hospital is right up the street."

Good god. 

Exhausted and more confused than ever, Cecilia and I wandered back up to James Street. It was dark by then and the weather was far too cold for my liking. I was beginning to develop nasty blisters on both sides of my feet, as my extra thick Smartwool socks make my Merrells too small for me. But with these shoes it's either blisters or frostbite, so I take my chances with the red swollen pockets of puss. Feet throbbing and body shivering, I blindly led the way to Saint James' Hospital. After walking past four massive hospital buildings, we approached what we naively assumed was the back entrance. 

Alas, it was not to be. A man emerged from the shadows of the furthest building and informed us that Saint James' had no back entrance, either. 

At this point, Cecilia and I started to think Kevin might just be playing a joke on us. Needless to say, we were not amused; so we trudged back to James Street and sent Kevin a text message telling him exactly where we were and sat down to wait for him to come find us. After a few minutes of loitering in front of a gourmet spice shop, our exasperated host arrived on his bicycle to lead us back to his apartment. On the way, he patiently explained exactly what he had meant by meeting him behind the hospital, and it ended up being so obvious (of course) that I maintained a dolefully shamefaced and profusely apologetic attitude for the rest of the evening. Well... until dinner, at least. Kevin prepared a delicious curry for Cecilia, myself, and a few of his friends. During dinner, I managed to set up an interview with Kevin for the next morning (which I will try to blog about tomorrow) and drink far too many glasses of alcohol. At some point we got my camcorder out and I ended up having a tipsy yoga arm balancing competition with the other yoga teacher at Kevin's dinner party. I watched the video last night before I went to bed, and I'm pretty sure that we won. Until I saw this video, I was under the pleasant delusion that I was a happy, funny drunk. Now I am unhappily enlightened as to the true state of my drunken nature. True state being: quite happy, but belligerent and obnoxious and not funny at all. 

Dinner at Kevin's

Kevin took Cecilia and me out to a pub at about eleven o'clock. I put up a meagre protest about it being late and having to wake up early and get on a bus and yadda, yadda, yadda, but was quickly overruled by my two enthusiastic friends. As I decided that I was absolutely done drinking for the evening, I enjoyed some good Irish water to go along with the Irish music, and ended up having a really wonderful evening out.

We got back to Kevin's apartment at around three in the morning, made some recovery tea, and set up for the interview. The interview itself went swimmingly, and I happily stumbled into bed at five in the morning. Waking up at nine to make banana pancakes before I took my bus to Kilkenny was not such a happy occasion, however, as I began to feel the ramifications of the previous night's debauchery settling in.   

Kevin dropped me off at the bus stop and I quickly found the coach heading for Kilkenny (which was actually leaving on time, miraculously enough). After over two hours of being kicked through the back of my seat (sadly, the girl has yet to get off the bus), I've just about arrived at the Ormonde Street stop. 

The one that is not on Ormonde Street. 

I'll be cooking dinner for nine people when I get to Sinead's. I'm planning pumpkin soup, lamb tagine, and pumpkin whoopie pies with almond flour. If I weren't so nauseated at the moment, I'd be looking forward to an afternoon in the kitchen a whole lot more. 

Thus concludes my two day adventure in Dublin, Ireland. 

F*cking Kilkenny -- Bus Eirrann and Kevin's

I’m starting this post from the 3^rd row right window seat of one of Bus Eirrann’s many Greyhound-esque buses. I was supposed to take the bus to Dublin last night, but Sinead accidentally dropped me off at the wrong bus stop. Well… it was the right bus stop – two three weeks ago. Bus Eirrann arbitrarily decided to change the stop without putting up any sort of sign to tell even the locals where the new pick up/drop off point was.  The stop is called “Ormonde stop”, so Sinead (logically enough) dropped me off at Ormonde Street.  But this bus company decided it would be much more convenient to move the stop one street up from Ormonde Street. without changing the name. So I waited in a tempestuous, melancholy deluge for a good forty-five minutes for my bus to arrive. Cantankerous, cold and wet, I finally asked a couple of passerbys if Bus Eirrann did indeed stop in front of the hotel where Sinead had left me. I was told, “Sorry, they’ve changed the stop to just up the street and to the right. About a thirty second’s walk from here.”  So I miserably knocked on a cabbie’s window and asked for a ride back to Dunmore. As I had no way of getting in contact with Sinead or Kevin (the fellow putting me up in Dublin), I didn’t know what else to do. Sopping wet, discouraged, and feeling immensely stupid and like a third-rate vagabonder, I curled up on the blue couch with some lusciously creamy Irish yogurt, a couple of cats, and popped “In Bruges” into the DVD player.

In my mind I began substituting “Kilkenny” for “Bruges”.

Colin Farrell: Maybe that's what hell is. The entire rest of eternity stuck in f*ckin' Bruges.

Me: Or Kilkenny.

Sinead came home from delivering the box veg and we decided to give this Dublin trip another go-round in the morning. Hence, having been dropped off at the proper bus stop, I am now about thirty minutes away from the flooded city of Dublin. The trip is taking an extra forty-five minutes because the driver has to go the long way round, given that the capital was hit with a month’s worth of rain within the last 24 hours. A Garda was swept into the Liffey and killed last night. A woman has been found drowned in her home, and there has been extensive damage to the city itself.

Maybe it’s a good thing that I wasn’t able to get on the bus last night. The sky is gloomy, standing water and rubbish riddle the streets and sidewalks, but it’s not raining anymore and I don’t think there is any danger of me being swept into the swollen Liffey.  

Dublin being flooded

And again

There’s a three or four year old child frolicking about in the seats behind me. The only thing consistent about his behavior is that he is never still and never quiet. And enjoys sticking his curious little face between my seat and the window, continuing his bellowing from right beside my elbow The variation is pleasant, I suppose. Instead of one non-stop wail, I have been blessed with a variety of screaming, giggling, shouting, and singing. When his shrieking reaches a universally unacceptable decibel, his mother attempts to calm him by joining in whatever song he’s singing and begging him to sit down.

Next time I pick out my bus seat, I will be much more aware of my bus neighbors. I don’t particularly fancy my seat being jostled by overactive children every few seconds.

~

I’m finishing up this post from the first bedroom to the right of the stairs at Kevin’s. I had a pleasant afternoon wandering the streets of Dublin yesterday, visiting the Chester Beatty Library, and enjoying a cappuccino in Temple Bar. The weather was lovely (for Ireland, anyway), and I was so happy that I didn’t let the news of flooding or the bus stop shenanigans deter me from this trip to the capital.

The Chester Beatty Library is a fascinating place to visit and I would certainly recommend it to anyone and everyone passing through Dublin. I was completely entranced for a solid two and a half hours, and would have spent much longer absorbing the exhibits had I not needed to hurry off to a café to contact Kevin. The library contains some of the oldest religious manuscripts in the world, most of which are exquisitely embossed with gold leaf and intricate leatherwork. The first exhibit was filled with ancient Japanese manuscripts and artwork, some writing preserved on papyrus, beautifully engraved bookbindings from the 1100s to the 1700s, some Mexican art, Turkish art, and a few pieces of rock with cuneiform. Religious texts and artifacts took up the second exhibit (in which I wasn’t able to spend nearly enough time), and different religious music resonated from each religion’s corner, creating an enchanting, mesmerizing harmony. The walls were lined with Bibles, Qurans, Torahs, Hindi texts, Buddhist texts, Jainism texts, and many more that I can’t seem to recall. They were all artfully, painstakingly constructed and masterfully displayed. If I had been permitted to take pictures, I would post some here; but as I was required to turn both phone and camera (one and the same for me) off upon entering the exhibits, I have no pictures to show from my afternoon at the Chester Beatty Library.

Outside the library 

Dublin Castle courtyard

Dublin Castle

I met up with Kevin at 15:00 and we went straight to his apartment, where he’s agreed to put me up until Thursday. He has a fashion designer from New York City staying with him for a few days, as well a Japanese flat-mate who is studying English here in Dublin. I’m enjoying listening to all the accents and observing the different ways people from such vastly different cultures communicate. Watching someone from New York City converse with someone from the south of Japan is very interesting, to say the least. Being able to sit back and listen to conversations like these on a fairly regular basis is working wonders for me in regards to character dialogue and rhythm in my playwriting.

Conversation at Kevin's

As the museums closed around 17:00 and I don’t have enough money (or a lot of desire, actually) to hit the pubs, Kevin, Cecilia, Kevin’s Japanese flat-mate (I won’t even attempt to spell his name), and I spent a pleasant evening indoors. Cecilia prepared a perfectly seasoned salmon dish with green beans and rice, so I dined extraordinarily well. Then we all sat around Kevin’s cozy living room, drinking wine and watching Dr. Strangelove.

I’m off to a somewhat late start for my day of museum hopping, as Kevin and Cecilia are just now waking up. It was a really late night though, and I would probably be just now waking up if my 4 months WWOOFing and yoga hadn’t imparted me with an eternal alarm that goes off every morning at five thirty on the dot.

The Tedious Side of Travelling -- Sinead's Place

Blue Couch, how I am going to miss your sinfully comfortable azure cushions.

My placement with Sinead is just about over. I have a full day of work today, I'm taking Tuesday through Thursday off to explore Dublin, am working Friday morning, attending a food festival in Kilkenny Friday afternoon and evening, throwing a dinner party for Sinead's friends Saturday night, and attending a Druid Halloween celebration Sunday night. Monday is another work day, and Tuesday (the first of November) I leave for Maria's.

I've been at this prolific vegetable farm for just over a month now, and I feel as if I'm finally starting to get the hang of things. I've found out just how I fit into this organic farm, and now I'm off to a new one. I've realized that I don't think this sort of vagabonding lifestyle is sustainable for me, in the long run. No matter how effective I am at commandeering a particular side of the couch and establishing little routines to give me a sense of regularity, I cannot compensate for the lack of community moving from place to place every month carries with it. It's very difficult to not really know anyone around you, and meeting new people on a consistent basis is a rather exhausting endeavor. Well, meeting the people is fantastic -- I suppose it's living with new people on a consistent basis that gets tough. All the little rules I have to remember about each house -- the rules the people who live there take for granted, but prove tedious for me to keep up with.

Tedious things to relearn at every placement

How long I have to preheat the water before I can take a shower

What is recyclable, what is compostable, and what is rubbish

What I'm allowed to eat out of the fridge

How clothes are washed and dried (drying clothes can be a very long process in Ireland. There aren't any drying machines and it's always raining outside.)

Working hours

What's acceptable to expect of my host in regards to food and transportation

Different techniques and rules regarding harvesting, watering, planting, and feeding the animals

I've decided to keep a little notebook for each farm, writing down all the little rules so that I don't mix them up as much as I did at Sinead's. That is one excellent aspect of changing living situations every month -- I get a brand new start. I've started to keep track of all the things I've done really well at Sinead's and all the things I should probably work harder on.

I've done really well integrating my specific skill set into Sinead's operation. Marmalade making, pumpkin carving, dinner parties, and yoga classes. That's grand. 

I've not done so well at interviewing people. I had one discouraging interview experience that totally deflated me, and I've been hesitant to ask people for interviews since. I will do my best to get one interview a week at my new placement. 

This weekend was rather uneventful. Kim went home to Wales for the weekend, so Sinead and I had the house to ourselves for a couple of days. I made 16 jars of beetroot chutney and 14 more jars of red onion marmalade on Saturday afternoon, and we set up a little stall at the end of the driveway on Sunday. We sold a few pumpkins, eggs, and preserves, and I made twenty euros out of the day. That should be enough to finance my trip to Dublin and scamper around the Hill of Tara in County Meath. 

At the Kilkenny market

Sinead's polytunnels

Sinead's polytunnels

There was a torrential storm last night that blew open the chicken coop door, so I have to go help Sinead chase all the chickens back into their enclosure.

Chicken chasing. Something I shall never be any good at.

Red Onion Marmalade and Pumpkin Art -- Sinead's Place, Kilkenny

The last two days have been ridiculously intense. We harvested the pumpkins and potatoes, harvested for market, ripped out the peas and corn, sowed the field with rye (to act as a green manure for next year's garden), ripped out several beds of vegetables that had gone to seed, and kept up with the general watering and maintenance. Sinead's under pressure to get an enormous amount of work done this week because it's due to frost tomorrow. If the pumpkins and potatoes had been left in/on the ground, both crops would have been lost to the cold weather. Winters have been a lot harsher here, lately. It's expected to snow before the end of October this year. Last year they had two feet of snow in December, and those who weren't prepared to deal with the unusual weather had to manage through the cold without proper heating. The woman I'm staying with for the month of December was one of caught off-guard last winter, so is very prepared for this one.

I am exceedingly thankful.

Today was market day, so I was up harvesting spinach and celery at 6:30 in the morning, packing up the van at 7:45, and making red onion marmalade for the remainder of the day. It was a long, tedious day that made me appreciate the remarkable ability of contact lenses to keep all those onion gases (as well as oxygen) out of the eyeballs.

I made sixty-one jars of red onion marmalade.

Finished red onion marmalade. Sinead is going to set up a little market for me in her driveway, and is going to give me a portion of whatever money we can make. 

Sterilizing the jars. I've always boiled jars before, but I find that it's much easier to just stick them in the oven at 150 degrees Celsius for 15 minutes. 

Sterilizing the lids and reducing the marmalade.

I've gone through so much balsamic vinegar, red wine vinegar, and brown sugar this week. The whole house smells of onions and vinegar. 

 I will be making more marmalade tomorrow and beetroot chutney on Saturday. I think I'm going to tell my next host that I'm crap at cooking. I'm starting to actually want a break from the kitchen, believe it or not.

The pumpkin harvest and Sinead's winter greens. And Cat. Who is always in the way. 

Living room yoga

My yoga practice hasn't been as consistent lately. I've been caught up in the excitement of having my very own laptop once again, and have been enjoying it more than is beneficial for my physical self. But being able to write so easily again has left me very emotionally and mentally satisfied.

Tearing out the sweet pea fence. This is a very popular item in Ireland (Sinead always sells out), but it got very bad mildew this year. The wet climate of Ireland makes mildew a serious problem for farmers. But they hardly after have to water, so you win some, you lose some. 

Yesterday evening, after a backbreaking day of harvesting spuds and preparing for market, I set to work carving three pumpkins. Sinead had received a phone call from a woman thawing a party who wanted three pumpkins, and wished to have them carved before she picked them up. Having seen the cat I'd done the week before, Sinead said, "Sure, I've got a pumpkin artist staying with me right now. What do you want?"

So this "pumpkin artist" found a couple of pictures online from which to glean inspiration, and plunged headlong into this spontaneous project. Took me four hours (I'm slow at everything artsy-like), but I managed to produce some snazzy looking party pumpkins. For which I was given ten euros. This is the only money I've managed to make in the four months I've been traveling.

Exhibit one

Exhibit two

Exhibit three

A few more random pictures...

The dead chicken Sinead left in the yard. I'm surprised the foxes didn't go after it.

The zucchini boat I made for dinner after our very long Tuesday. The top half was a segregated vegetarian section for Sinead. Kim and I shared the mince-meat lower portion. I drowned the whole thing in Worcestershire sauce, and it was "Brillo", as Sinead would say.

Zoe in the garlic. I must say, I'm growing a lot fonder of cats now that I see them catching mice every day. 

The almond flour carrot cake I made for Sinead's friends. It was beautiful. Then we went around a round-a-bout and the top layer flew into Sinead's car door. Sinead laughed, I cursed, and Sinead's friends comforted me with an, "If you want to cry, we would understand." 

Well, I think that's about it for now. I'm considering starting a separate blog to keep track of my interviews (which are not going very well at the moment... farming is so time-consuming and out of the way that I haven't had much opportunity to interview Kilkenny locals. Unfortunately.), so that might be happening this weekend.

Kilkenny

Jenkinstown Park -- Sinead's Place, Kilkenny

I'm writing this post from the corner of the deep blue couch in Sinead's not-so-sunny sunroom. The more I travel from place to place, the more I develop certain little habits I seem to cling to. A particular mug I always use; a fork I like the feeling of; a dish I always make for breakfast; and within the first couple of days in a new living situation, I always find a spot (over which I become very territorial.). I leave my laptop, a book, and a blanket near chosen spot, as warning signs for potential intruders. I have claimed the right cushion of this blue couch (and the fuzzy red blanket that accompanies it) as my own during the course of my five week stay at Sinead's. Even the cats acknowledge this claim, and have resentfully  relocated to the left cushion of the deep blue couch.

Zoe, one of Sinead's cats to relinquish the right cushion

Sinead returned from her week in Portugal on Saturday, so WWOOFer reign of this particular Kilkenny organic farm has come to an end. We screwed up several little things during our bumbling vegetable dictatorship (a chicken ended up dying of worms and the watering system broke the first day. Not our fault.), but nothing too major. I accidentally harvested an overabundance of leeks on Monday, and have since learned all the wonderful quiches one can make with leeks. I misunderstood Sinead's egg system, so I had plenty of eggs to use in said quiches. Kevin (a "Dub" Sinead drafted to help on market day, as neither Kim or I can drive here) mistook spinach for celery during early morning harvesting, and we accidentally left all the salad bags in the polytunnels. He had to drive back to retrieve them and I had to set up the market stall by myself. 

Other than those few hiccups though, the week seems to have gone pretty well. Sinead was disappointed that I didn't make more red onion marmalade, but god, I am so tired of red onions. And white onions. And leeks. We work seven to eight hours a day here, and I had absolutely no desire to spend another hour and a half cooking up batches of marmalade on the side. So I made 12 recipes and decided it was quite sufficient. 

Kim and I explored a nearby walking park on Sunday. It was actually sunny outside, which was a miracle that we took advantage of by wandering about under the canopy of gnarled, ancient trees. I remarked on this to Kim, and she said "But it's so nice to see the sunlight coming through the leaves in spots." I remarked back on how vastly different sunlight is when coming through the clouds. Foliage diffused sunlight is eminently superior to cloud diffused sunlight. 

The walking park

We think it's a reindeer. I'd always assumed that they were much bigger, but Kim says that's just because we have mental images of them pulling a massive sleigh.

Fierce creatures, reindeers. 

A ray of light coming through the trees. A rare, cherished sight in this country. 

Park yoga

Park yoga

Kim deciding which of her fifteen pictures (her camera has very little built-in storage space) she can keep.

One of the many vast, gnarled trees. 

I love the bits of foliage growing out of the stone walls. Things like this are everywhere. 

This dog seemed to have been abandoned, so it decided to adopt Kim and me when it discovered we had chorizo.

It sat like this and stared at us until we put the chorizo away. Then it stared at the kids with the popcorn. 

This is going to be a very busy week, given the length of Sinead's to do list. We have to dig up all the potatoes before the frost, plant onions and garlic, weed a few lettuce beds, and mulch a section of the polytunnel and cover it up for the winter on top of the normal harvesting, veg box, and market. We  cleaned the chicken house and moved the fences yesterday morning, and I've come to the conclusion that if I ever purchase chickens, they shall be 100% free-range. As in, I have no desire to clean chicken houses as part of a regular routine. They can get quite nasty impressively quickly, and there is no way to scrub all the feces off the floor, so the wood floor quickly transforms into a fossilized chicken shit floor.

Sinead's fifty chickens. They'll lay an egg a day for one year, after which they'll have to be butchered and new chickens bought. 

Introducing my MacBook Pro -- Sinead's Place

This post is once again beginning in the sun room of Sinead's spacious farmhouse. I've begun many posts from the sun room of Sinead's spacious farmhouse, but I haven't completed any of them, excepting the sole post from a couple of weeks ago. This is due largely to the fact that it is extremely difficult to write blog posts on an iPhone, and that I knew (or thought I knew, anyway) that my laptop would soon be joining me in the sun room.

The laptop was delayed. In fact, it was delayed and nearly sent back home, due to address confusion, excessive taxes, and personal transportation limitations. But due to the extreme friendliness and small-town mentality of the Irish people (my guess, anyway), it was delivered to Sinead's doorstep yesterday by a charming Irish chap who handed it over with a winning smile, saying "Look how we take care of you."

Made my day.  

So, now I have my laptop. However, I am so completely overwhelmed by all of my half-finished iPhone posts that I don't even know how to start writing this one. 

So I think I'll start with pictures. Finally. 

A view from Sinead's

Hannah in the onions

Hannah (the WWOOFer from Montana) with Sinead's onion harvest. It's so humid in Ireland that onions won't dry properly if left on the ground. So we spent many days throwing away rotten onions, bundling onions, and tying up onions on an intricate twine spiderweb suspended from Sinead's barn ceiling. I am doing my best to make a mountain of red onion marmalade out of all the half bad red onions. Progress is slow. 

Ivan's yoga

A nearby WWOOFer from Vermont attempting to show off some of his yoga moves before my little yoga class started. I'll include a quick excerpt of what I wrote to my yoga teacher friends regarding that class:

Hello all,

My illustrious career as a vagabonding yoga teacher continues to flourish in the home of an organic farmer in Kilkenny, Ireland. I've been leading my supportive host through an hour long routine every morning. These routines go astonishingly well, as she has wisely learned to do as I do, and not as I say. They've been going so well that she took the initiative to invite four of her friends over for an evening session of yoga on the lawn. Between my host, her four friends, and the other two American WWOOFers, I found myself facing my largest, most intimidating class thus far. On the far left was Ivan, an American deported from Canada for crossing the street in an illegal manner and kicked out of Vermont for aiming an empty BB gun at a cop. He insisted on consuming four cans of hard cider prior to practice, decided a yoga mat or towel was superfluous, and refused to part with his bright red cowboy boots during practice. I decided to ignore him as best I could, but the frequent passage of thunderous flatulence from his direction often drew my attention away from the rest of my class. On the right were two triathletes. Incredibly strong Irish chaps with a downright dearth of hamstring flexibility, and with mats they seem to have procured from my host's kitchen drawer 

I led them all through a couple sun salutations, and did a few poses focusing on hip mobility. I tried to ignore the flash of Ivan's red cowboy boots on the left, as he kept doing involuntary inversions onto the verdant Irish lawn in his cider induced stupor. I was so nervous about losing my place in the routine that I didn't leave my mat once to assist any of my evening students. 

However, I managed to get them all into Savasana just before the sun went down, and for some reason or other, they all said they enjoyed the class and would love to come back next week. Except Ivan. He said I made yoga impossible and not fun at all. I told him to lose the boots and the booze. Ach.  So, if there are any suggestions regarding poses good for triatheletes and drunken renegade Americans, I would love to hear them. Miss you all. Congratulations on all of your classes and progress as yoga teachers!

Kilkenny Castle, the most famous castle in Ireland

Cat

 A German WWOOFer convinced Sinead to purchase this superb mouser, so in a spurt of generosity, Sinead gave the WWOOFer naming rights. The WWOOFer (Juliana) named the cat Julia (so that Sinead wouldn't forget her). This did not sit well with Sinead, so the cat is now called Cat. Cat has an annoying habit of sleeping in the egg basket, so she's always quite anxious for me to hurry up and clean them so that she can resume her favorite napping position. 

Entrance to the Dunmore Caves

Dunmore Caves. Sinead took me to see these caves my second weekend here. There was a mass murder by the Vikings in these caves, wherein 900 women and children were asphyxiated.  They have the bones on display upstairs to prove it. Walking through these caves was a fairly chilling experience, especially since the guide had such a dark sense of humor about the whole event. 

 Kim and I have been admirable in our attempts to go out walking. However, Ireland has thwarted us at nearly every attempt. It is a country for the car, the tractor, and the cow, which leaves little room for the adventurous pedestrian. The roads are too narrow, the cars whiz by way too fast, and the fields are either taken up by cereal crops or cows. So Kim and I hitched into Kilkenny yesterday, and enjoyed an afternoon walking about the city, drinking coffee, wandering around the many bookshops, and browsing the second-hand stores. 

A misfit carrot. Kim and I were forced to keep him, because no one will buy a carrot with a face. 

In other news, I've had to rearrange my next WWOOFing placement. The farm I was originally set to stay with never renewed their subscription to WWOOF Ireland, and my insurance doesn't cover me unless I'm staying with a recognized volunteer organization. So I was hard-pressed to find a new place and find it fast. I was also a little nervous, thinking that I might end up at another Moyleabbey since I couldn't give potential farms much notice. I got very lucky, though. Sinead set me up with the pate woman across from her at the Kilkenny Farmer's Market. The pate woman (Maria) is also a horse trainer, so I'll get to spend four to five hours a day riding horses in Tipperary. I will be living in a spare room of the house, and I'll be able to enjoy plenty of meat and dairy. 

I am very excited. 

A couple of things I've learned:

• How to make some stellar essential oil moisturizer
• How to take part in Druid moon ceremonies
• How to understand Irish time. Factor in a one-two hour tea break for every scheduling commitment. 
• How to outsmart runaway chickens
• How to hitchhike
• How to fill out a SAD form (find someone else to do it)
• How to manage a farm for an entire week while the owner is taking a vacation in Portugal
• How to operate a stall at an Irish Farmer's Market
• How to carve a cat pumpkin and a carrot mouse 

Now that I have my laptop, I'll be posting more regularly and including more pictures. Thanks for reading, everyone.