The Irish Cure -- Westport, Ireland

Colors

Before Swim: Foggy. Melting. Soft. 

After Swim: Electric. Defined. Vibrating. 

Due to an excessive amount of alcohol challenge #2 (consumed solely for the purpose of experiencing Irish culture, of course), I slept in until 10:30. This is unprecedented for the yoga teacher who is accustomed to waking up at 4:00 every morning to prepare for flow classes. The back of Roisin's van might be one of the most comfortable places I've ever passed the night, so that could have contributed to my morning immobility. I was absolutely loath to unzip my sleeping bag, bid farewell to the cushions, and stumble into the daylight. 

I tentatively, regretfully opened my eyes, but could hardly see through the thick gunk plastering my lids. My throat was scratchy and raw so I tried to swallow some soothing saliva, but couldn't conjure up a drop of moisture. My brain was foggy. My joints hurt. I didn't want to move. Groaning, I fell back to the cushions. 

"What about this Irish hangover cure?" I grumbled through the down of my sleeping bag, wanting to feel better but not wanting to have to get out of bed. 

After making ourselves somewhat presentable, we set off in search of breakfast -- which was actually a surprising challenge. Restaurants that say, "Serving Food All Day" generally just mean that they start serving at half twelve. Tracking down a greasy Irish breakfast was an endeavor that took a good hour. And neither of us were in the waiting mood. 

A mini Irish breakfast. Sausages, rashers, baked beans and egg. A full breakfast would include potatoes, black pudding, white pudding, fried tomato and sauteed mushrooms.

The greasy food had settled my stomach and somewhat cleared my head. I was still feeling a bit off, but not nearly as bad as morning had found me. First part of Irish cure complete, we clamored back into the van and drove down the unbelievably windy roads until we found an adequate beach.

"Ready for a swim?" Roisin asked with an evil smile.

"Seriously?" The wind was wailing, the air was chilly, and foreboding rainclouds darkened the horizon.

"Maybe."

This Irish method might cure my hangover but leave me with a nasty case of hypothermia, I thought as I stepped into the gale and grabbed my camera.

We ended up just walking along the beach (for which I was very thankful) and taking pictures of the jellies. The arrangement of rocks and sand and purple jellyfish dotting the coast made me think of a garden of sorts. 

There's something strikingly beautiful about the movement of Irish grass

Tabhair aire means "take care" in Irish

 

After we'd finished harassing the purple jellies, we dusted off our sandy boots and rocketed down the bumpy roads until we found ourselves another beach, more sheltered from the wind. I jumped out of the car, expecting nothing but another long walk along a gorgeous sand garden, but as I removed the lens cap from my iPhone camera, I noticed that Roisin  had opened up the back of the van and was rummaging around for her swimsuit. Much to my dismay.

I'm much more adventurous when I'm travelling than when I'm at home. In the comfort of a long term situation, I would never willingly jump into freezing water. There's the mentality of "I'll just wait for another day when it's a bit warmer." "I'll wait for another day when I feel a bit better." "I'll just bloody wait for another day." Unfortunately, I have a personality that experiences the fullness of life when given few options. 

In the short term, there is no other day. There is now. 

So I jumped in the water. Ran in. I felt like our golden retriever, Belle, who hates water so much that whenever she swims she jumps up and down as long as she can in a tremendous effort to keep her head above water. 

"You have to dive in and take a few strokes!" Roisin called to me.

"Arrrgghhh!" no other day, I thought as I plunged into the frigid water. I took a total of three breaststrokes and surfaced. Breathe. I couldn't control my breath. I was hyperventilating and nearing a point of panic. Roisin gracefully dove under the water again, emerging with an exuberant grin.

"It's nearly tropical!"

"It's *huff, huff* freezing," BREATHE, BOURGET. 

 "It's beautiful!" Roisin looked so at home as she glided through the salt water.

I tried to let go of the panic (not being able to breathe properly is a huge trigger for me) and enjoy the sensations of my first experience in the Atlantic. Everything under the water had gone numb, but my top half was nearly hot. My vision was crisp. My mind was clear. Colors were bright and defined and every part of my body was vibrating with life. I liked the taste of salt on my lips.

"I'm not *huff, huff* hungover *huff, huff* anymore!" I walked out of the water, relishing the tingling and the heat as my legs came back to life.

We still stopped to get a drink, though. The Irish Cure is not complete without the final drink.

Real Irish Coffee. Whiskey and coffee and cream. Another alcohol challenge completed!

Preconceptions:

Four cups of coffee a day is considered fairly normal in Ireland. This is a culture of heavy coffee drinkers. It's a bigger part of day to day life than in any other culture I've experienced.

Challenges:

Irish Coffee!