The Gallivanting Grasshopper: Leaving Knockara -- Bus Eireann

I’m starting this post from another of Bus Eireann’s coaches. This one was actually on time, believe it or not, and Maria waited with me in her jeep until the coach arrived, so there was no mishap in the boarding. I made a point of sitting in a different seat this time, and find myself well out of screaming-baby range. Perhaps their exhausted mothers have a subconscious rule of sitting five rows back – far enough behind the driver to avoid any scathing looks, and close enough to the front to get out before the back of the bus throngs into the narrow aisle.

My last week at Moyleabbey was punctuated with happy thoughts of “Thank god, this will be the last time I have to weed the carrots” and “only three more days of sleeping in an ice-cold trailer.” My last week at Knockara was punctuated with sad thoughts of, “This will be my last delicious pate,” and “my last wonderful story from George,” and “my last ride through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen,” and “my last night in the coziest, warmest bed in which I’ve ever slept,” and “my last time watching Master Chef Australia with George and Maria.”

My time at Knockara has been one of the most beautiful, vivid, warm, life-changing experiences I’ve ever had. I feel like I’ve gained an enormous amount of confidence – not only as a rider. Living with George was good for me. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he says exactly what he thinks, and he was always telling me such positive, confidence boosting things. On a drive back from Tipperary, George said, “You haf a very good vay of feeling za horse, and you haf beautiful hands. Not only zat, but you haf za talent and ability to do as you are asked ven riding. You could get a job at any professional riding stables in France or the UK.”

I don’t think I can even begin to describe how good that compliment made me feel.

Living with me has been good for George, too. I told Maria before I arrived that I was sensitive to most grains, but that it would never be a problem as long as meat and veggies were available. I didn’t expect George and Maria to change anything about their own diets for my sake, though. They kept up the standard meals of porridge or sausage for breakfast, bread for snacks, and snacks for lunch, but as we ate dinner together, that meal became a whole different, paleo friendly affair. When I cooked dinner (which was often), I prepared meat and veggies. When Maria cooked dinner, she followed suit. George walked into the kitchen the day before I left and said, “Zis vay of eating has been good for me. I haf lost sefen kilos. My undervear are around my knees.” Then George showed me how many notches he had to go up on his belt and complained about having to buy new clothes because I unintentionally limited his intake of pasta, potatoes, and bread.

I’ve been enjoying helping Maria out with her new Mac. No one has ever complimented me on my computer skills before (quite the opposite, in fact), and it’s very nice to have someone think that I’m a technological wizard because I know the shortcuts to “Copy” and “Paste”.

George will not allow anyone to take his photograph, so I was not able to interview him. I did interview Maria before I left though, and it was a really inspirational experience for me. She’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and I have an enormous amount of respect for her.

I heard many more impressive stories from George, but the one I will leave you all with is the story of how he acquired the large painting that adorned one of the upstairs spare bedrooms.

“Haf you seen za painting in za upstairs bedroom? Za small bedroom to za right of za stairs.”

“No, I haven’t been in that bedroom, George.”

“Ah, vell, you must look at za painting before you leaf. I vill now tell you za story of how I got zat painting.”

“I vas in za former Yugoslavia on a business meeting, but I arrifed early so I spent za morning in za national art museum. Out of all of za paintings, zere vas one zat I liked. It vas an impressionistic painting of people playing golf on za moon -- but visout zeir sticks. I met vis za General Popovitch later in za efening for our meeting, and he said, “Did you enjoy your day in za museum?” “I said, “Yes.” Za General Popovitch asked, “Vas zere any piece you liked?” And I said, “Yes, I lofed za impressionistic painting of golf on za moon.” The General Popovitch said, “Zen it is yours, George.” I said, “You can’t just gif me zat painting. It is hanging on za vall of a national museum!” Popovich said, “I can do vat I vant, I am za General Popovitch.”

“After za meeting ve drank and had dinner. Za next morning ven I vas about to board my plane for Vienna, two men drofe up in a black car – just like zey do in za movies. Zey stepped out of za car and valked toward me, carrying a large package. Zey said, “Are you George D.?” I said, “Yes, I am George D.” Zen zey handed me za package and said, “Za General Popovitch sends his regards.”

“Za painting upstairs is from za national art museum of za former Yugoslavia, gifen to me by General Popovitch.”