Savour Kilkenny and my very first hangover -- Sinead's Place, Kilkenny

It's about eight in the morning in Kilkenny, Ireland (the time changes a week earlier here, apparently), and as I'll be leaving for my bus to Tipperary Town in a few short hours, it's really starting to sink in just how much I'm going to miss this place. Between Sinead, Kim, the two cats, and all the friends Sinead brings over for dinner, I've really started to feel like part of a community again. Kilkenny is a lovely part of Ireland, and although the city is small, it offers just about everything I'd want in a city. This is a place I can definitely see myself visiting again someday. I hope I do.

My last post trailed off somewhere before the Thursday pumpkin feast, so I will do my best to pick it up from there.

After getting off the coach at the Ormonde stop, I dizzily walked over to Sinead's stall at the farmer's market. I'd been looking forward to stopping for a cappuccino at my favorite cafe, but I stumbled right past the stylish little shop, the tantalizing smell of fresh espresso wafting out its quaint door doing nothing more than inciting a queasy grimace. Even though I'd hardly eaten anything that day, nothing in all of Ireland sounded palatable; which was unfortunate, as I was cooking a meal for nine that night (a sort of last hurrah before I abscond to Tip). "You've just got a bit of motion sickness," I comforted myself, "It won't last long."

It lasted. Long.

After packing up the stall and purchasing lamb for the tagine, we clamored into van and headed back to Sinead's. I immediately set to work cooking, deciding there were much more important things at hand than my upset stomach. Whoopie pies had to be made. My stomach would have to wait.

Preparing for this meal was actually a breeze; one of the least stressful dinner parties I've ever been a part of, in fact. The courses were very flavorful and easy to prepare, and Kim helped me to clean as I went so I didn't get overwhelmed by my usually debilitating mess of beaters, pans, and spices in the workspace. The guests were very punctual (arriving between thirty minutes to an hour late), and the table was beautifully arranged. I was feeling good. Relieved. I could actually sit down and enjoy dinner with the guests as opposed to constantly fluttering about in the kitchen, attempting to revive a neglected soufflé.

But as soon as the relief hit me, so did the nausea (with an added fury at being so delayed). I tried to sit down and enjoy the meal regardless, but the consuming nausea finally got the better of my best intentions, and I retired to my room. I spent the next few hours in utter misery, wondering if people survive such violent sickness.

I'm here to tell you that they do, and that there is a major reassessment of priorities upon recovery.

As I was still feeling under the weather Friday morning, Sinead was sensitive enough to give me the relaxing job of manning the stall at the end of the driveway. Like Christmas trees, jack-o-lantern pumpkins have a set expiry date, and we were racing against the clock to sell as many pumpkins as we could before October 31st rolled around the corner. We got lucky. After six or seven hours of carving pumpkins and manning the stall, there was nary a jack left, and the fresh air had done wonders for my wobbly, recovering self.

Saturday morning found me nearly back to normal, so Sinead dropped me off at the Savour Kilkenny festival on her way to Cork Saturday afternoon. I passed a couple of very pleasant hours meandering up and down the parade plaza, tasting free food and trying on boots that didn't fit. The city was thronging with festival-goers, and there was lively music emanating from just about every pub (so every twenty meters or so). At around five o'clock, I began walking back to the farm. I walked to where the sidewalk ends, and then stuck out my thumb, hoping to hitch the rest of the way to Dunmore. First time I've ever hitched alone -- a milestone for me. Pre-WWOOFing Aimee would never hitch by herself, but post-WWOOFing Aimee managed to procure a lift from a very nice gentleman who kindly informed her of just how dangerous it is for women to hitch alone, but dropped her off at Sinead's with a "God bless," all the same.

Savour Kilkenny

Savour Kilkenny 

Savour Kilkenny

Savour Kilkenny

The next day was the Druid Halloween celebration, and it was such a pleasure to be allowed to join in on the ceremony. Druids work with the cycle of the moon, so with each celebration (depending upon where the moon is in its cycle), they write down what they want to bring into or take out of their lives. Sunday night was a "taking out" night, so all the participants wrote down things that they wanted to let go of this month. Pocketing our papers, we then traipsed off through the trees into one of Eimear and Howard's old castles, where we were led through a guided meditation with the help of a hypnotic drum and Eimear's poetic voice. The ceremony closed with us speaking the names of deceased loved ones we wished to remember, and burning our slips of paper in a little fire.

A potluck and poetry session followed. I shared a nutmeg frittata and a few pages from a play I'm working on. Both were well received.  A small play was enacted and two stories were told.  It was without question the best Halloween I've ever had, and an experience I'm not likely to forget any time soon.

Halloween feast

The walkways between the temple, the castle, and the fire circle were lit by LED lanterns

Monday morning we spent preparing the boxes for Sinead's box veg customers, and as it was absolutely pissing rain by the time we'd finished, Sinead gave us the rest of the afternoon off. Kim's aunt came by at around half one to drive Kim and me to her cosy home in Castlecomer (it's a bit too far to hitch), where she had agreed to be interviewed. Kim's aunt is certifiably mad, in all the best possible ways. The interview went really well, and she even let me record her reciting some of her rather risqué poetry. I could write a dozen plays about this brilliant, mad, pagan poet. My favorite part of the conversation was in reference to one of her many gargantuan cats.

Kim: How do your cats get to be so enormous?

Rihannon: Well not that one -- he's rather slim.

Me: He's huge!

Rihannon: Everyone calls him Tiger. Except for me. He told me his name was Steve.

Kim: Steve?

Me: He told you --

Rihannon: (defensively) Well, he didn't use his mouth! He told me telepathically. (mimicking cat) "You can call me Steve." So I thought, "All right, then."

I told Rihannon that I'm going to come live in the corner of her living room and take notes. She told me that if she can get rid of the damp in one of the extra rooms, I could come WWOOF with her. As my placements for December and January have both fallen through, I might take her up on that.

Steve