Meant to be -- All over the place, Ireland

I’m starting this post from Rosslare harbor. I have been in and out of cars and buses all day, and have two hours to use until my ferry leaves for Pembrokeshire. Young women cross their legs and flip through magazines with bored expressions and languid fingers. Grandmothers try to keep grandchildren entertained with books and stickers and candies. Everyone sips coffee. Everyone prays for time to move faster. Legs are crossed and uncrossed. Phones are picked up and put down. Newspapers are rustled noisily and folded and unfolded. Fingers tap. Heads nod and mouths sag open. A broad chested terrier stands outside the doors, pink tongue lolling out, head cocked to one side, and begging to be let in with his expressive black eyes. 

These are my last few moments in Ireland. Ireland, you crazy country, you might have succeeded in completely changing my life. These five weeks have culminated in me feeling more at home in my own skin than ever before. Whenever I start to stress out or have a minor panic attack (a favorite pastime), I think, “be here. Listen and be here.”

And the panic nearly melts away.

I met a fellow on the bus ride from Wexford to Rosslare, and he said, “In Chinese, the word crisis is made up of two symbols. The first means danger. The second means opportunity.”  I believe my first few weeks in Ireland prepared me for the revelation inspired by my stay with Hanne and the trip to Mullaghmore.

I curled up in a spare room at Hanne’s that night, calm, energized, quiet, empty and full (don’t think about that one too hard).

I was meant to be here.

Upon waking the next morning, I reached for my glasses, clumsily wrapped myself in my azure sarong, blatantly ignored my shoes, grabbed a bowl from the kitchen, and stepped into Ritchie’s paradise to gather my first breakfast of raspberries and strawberries. They were abundant, red, juicy, and just the right amount of sweet. I picked the berries until my fingers were stained red and I ate the berries until I could eat no more. I sat on the wooden porch and felt the warmth of the boards beneath my thin garment as the sun rose over the trees. I stretched my toes, flexed my fingers, threw my tomboy head back and --

I was meant to be here.

Hanne woke later and introduced me to the most exquisite cup of coffee. France, Italy, Denmark, you’ve got nothing on Hanne and her Jewish brew. Freshly ground coffee beans with freshly ground cardamom pods. Do it. Do it now. But only if you’re willing and ready to become addicted to something truly awesome.

I laughed, savored sips of my mind-blowing beverage, and shared a little more of my life with the woman who was helping me find my stillness. What follows is an excerpt from a play I finished a couple of years ago.

PASTOR

Why would you chase people into the Woods? Do you want them to be devoured?

DAUGHTER

No. I want them to be lost.

PASTOR

It will be very easy to become lost in such a dark place.

DAUGHTER

Yes.

PASTOR

How will they find their way out?

DAUGHTER

They’ll run.

PASTOR

How will they run if they have no Light?

DAUGHTER

Badly.

MOTHER

If you can’t take this seriously –

PASTOR

It’s all right. Keep going. I’m listening.

DAUGHTER

But they’ll keep it up until they realize they’re only running in circles. Then they’ll slow down and then they’ll walk. Then they’ll start to notice things. Like which side of the tree the moss is growing on. Like what the air smells like. Like where the bushes are rustling the most. Then they’ll be so lost and afraid that they’ll stop. They’ll finally have to separate the background hum into all its parts. They’ll have to stop everything and just listen. For anything. They’ll try lots of different anythings to take them out of the Dark, Dark Woods. They’ll get lost again and again. They’ll trip. They’ll fall and twist their ankles. Their fingers will get cold and black and drop off one by one, and they’ll crawl through icy muck until they get pneumonia. They’ll get bitten by snakes and spiders and mosquitoes and bats. But if they keep listening hard enough, and keep crawling long enough, they’ll find something that will lead them out of the Dark, Dark Woods and into the open.

I believe my time with Hanne helped me to stop running around in circles. I stopped walking. I stopped crawling. I sat with myself in the Burren and I listened. I sat with Hanne on her porch and I listened.

She made me a surprisingly delicious and refreshing concoction of kale, lemon, ginger, yogurt, honey, and a few protein powders that I can’t remember. I devoured the nourishing drink (woman cannot live on cheese alone, apparently). 

I’m meant to be here.

Hanne invited me to stay with her for another day, but I felt it was time to go to Lochlann in Dublin. So she put together a bag of brazil nuts, dates, mint leaves, tea, CARDAMOM pods, and strawberries for my journey, drove me to the bus stop and helped me unload my things. I reached into my purse to check for my little red notebook full of yoga quotes and the random number, but it wasn’t there.

“Shoot, I think I left my notebook on your table,” I said in confusion. I never lose my notebooks.

“That’s odd,” Hanne half smiled.

“It is.”

“I can post it to you in Wales.”

“Or I can get it when I come back,” I countered. “Thanks so much for yesterday and today.”

“It was a pleasure, Aimee. You were meant to be here.”

And I boarded my bus for Dublin.

After a few hours of uneventful and relaxing travel, I arrived in Dublin. I immediately found the bus 130 to Castle Avenue, climbed to the top of the bus with a cheery greeting to the driver, and settled in for the 20-30 minute ride to Loch’s. The transition part of travel usually stresses me out so much that I get raging headaches. Sitting in the upper level city bus after 7 hours of travel, I felt clear.

I tugged my green bag down Lochlann’s gravel driveway and knocked on the door. He greeted me with a hug and asked if I’d like to join him for a trip to Kilkenny the next day. I adore Kilkenny, but I told him that hostels were a little out of my budget – especially after this week – but thanks so much for the offer all the same. He looked disappointed, but definitely understood my monetary limitations and helped me carry my luggage upstairs. A small Spanish girl with fairytale sparkly eyes and thick curly hair was sharing the room with me. She’d been staying with Lochlann through Help Ex to improve her English and experience Ireland, but she’d been too nervous to take the bus into the city center.

“I’m planning on exploring the city tomorrow. If you’d like, you’re more than welcome to join me.”

“Yes, sank-you!” she bubbled over. “I would like zat very much!”

And so I explored Dublin the next day with a friend. We found the famine sculptures –

The hollow eyes, hunched shoulders and long, skinny fingers were haunting

 Chanced upon the Queen of Tarts –

My mom would love this in her kitchen...

Stopped by Phoenix Park in search of red deer -- 

Failed to find red deer, but found another tea shop.

And made a concerted effort to explore the rest of Ireland and it’s art. The Museum of Modern Art was closed and the National Museum was... ach, the National Museum was full of old dresses and silver spoons. 

I am just not interested in spoons... Perhaps I am an uncultured clod, but I find them rather tedious.

We searched for galleries on Temple Bar, but were met with very little success. So we stopped at the Brick Café for Neomi to cool down (the heat was blazing), and then sojourned back to the stop for bus 130.

“Are you going to Kilkenny tomorrow?” she asked brightly.

“No... no, I’m not.“ I dislike having to tell people that I can’t afford things, so I generally try to leave that part out as long as possible.

“Oh! Why not?”

*sigh* “Because I don’t have enough money to be splurging on hostels.”

“Oh, no worries! I will pay for zat. You should come!”

“Are you sure?” I hated the idea of taking money from the 17 year old.

“Yes, it is no problem for me.”

“Thank-you, I’d love to come. Lochlann will have to contact the hostel to see if there is another bed... would you ask him when you get home? I’m not sure another bed will be available at this late notice.”

“I will ask him.”

And I said goodbye to the sparkly Spaniard and went to Stephen’s Green to meet with Peter, a friend of a friend from a Grand Junction cocktail party. I got to the park about half an hour early, so I sprawled out with the other sunbathing Irish (so effing weird), propped my grey Prana sweater underneath my head, and flipped my Kindle to Game of Thrones.

SCENE

Aimee sprawls out in her flimsy blue dress on the grass of Patrick's Green whilst waiting for Peter to meet her at the main gate. She has been eating brie and chorizo all day and feels dehydrated and gross. Her kindle is held above her head and she clicks her way through Game of Thrones.

A strange young man approaches. He is slender and pale, with golden hair down to his shoulders. He is nearly angelic in appearance -- which is usually not Aimee's type, but she finds herself oddly attracted to the mischievous look in his eyes.

STRANGE YOUNG MAN
Are you reading a romantic story?

AIMEE
I'm reading a nerdy story.

STRANGE YOUNG MAN
(sitting down next to her) I know this is awkward, but do you find me attractive?

AIMEE
(taking off her glasses and squinting at him) Yes. Yes, I find you attractive.

STRANGE YOUNG MAN
Do you have a boyfriend?

AIMEE
No, but I'm meeting with someone in 15 minutes.

STRANGE YOUNG MAN
Then you have no excuse not to kiss me.

AIMEE
(raising an eyebrow in warning) I have terrible breath.

STRANGE YOUNG MAN
(kisses AIMEE twice) Enjoy the weather.

AIMEE
(somewhat bewildered but mightily amused) And you.

AIMEE returns to reading Game of Thrones, vowing to keep breathmints on her person with more regularity.

 

I met with Peter (who was so well-educated that I felt a wee bit simple) for a drink and then we rushed to the New Theatre (which is in the back of a bookstore).

And then I experienced something truly amazing. I watched a one-woman Irish play by an Irish playwright inspired by a book by an Irish writer and performed by an Irish actress in IRELAND.

And god said it was good.

 I caught the bus back to Lochlann's as soon as the play was over, and flew up the stairs to ask Neomi whether or not there'd been room in the hostel. 

"Oh, I forgot to ask!" she widened her already large eyes. 

"Don't worry! If there's room, there's room! If not, I'll spend the day exploring Howth. We'll find out tomorrow and I'll be happy with either." 

It felt fantastic to be that flexible. 

 

Preconceptions:

I’m not around the sporty people, but I have heard a lot of riotous cheering emanating from the pubs. People do seem to be very into sports.

Challenges:

IRISH PLAY! Molly Brown performed in the New Theatre in Dublin, Ireland. 

And the famine sculptures. The hauntingly beautiful famine sculptures.