Wisdom & Virtue Inc

It is with a heavy heart and the deepest regret that due to circumstances beyond my control, I never got to visit the Beamish Brewery. It was pissing down again and I didn't feel like going out. I'm sure it will be there for next time.

Crap weather or not, I took the bus to Crosshaven Thursday and stayed with Brendan for a couple a days. The variability of the weather here is outstanding. It is either really nice or truly appalling with no in-betweens. Thursday was appalling; Friday was spectacular. Saturday was miserable; Sunday was glorious.

Notwithstanding the abundance of blue sky on Friday, I managed to have a few pints with Bruno at Johnny's in the afternoon before having some really good fish and chips with Rosemary, Frank, Kim, Brendan and Bruno. Seeing that Saturday was Bruno's birthday, Brendan and I caught up with him at Johnny's before I headed off to Wexford. Crosshaven is fab - I never want to leave.

After getting one bus back into Cork, I had about a half hour wait for the Wexford bus. I don't care how cheap bus travel is, it sucks. It was pissing down and bloody cold, so in the true spirit of customer service, the bus driver kept us waiting while he faffed about seemingly doing nothing. The bus was packed with the added bonus of a noisy family of bogans spread across the back street. One of the highlights of the trip was when mum walked towards the front of bus.

"Where you going, mum?" screamed her youngest.

"Mind your own fucking business," was the hollered reply. Nice! Fortunately they disembarked in Youghal.

I was going to Wexford for the 2008 Wisdom - Virtue summit, a high profile meeting of people with the coolest names. I met Jane Wisdom in an Indian restaurant in Vientiane nearly six years ago. It was all about dosas and I caught up with her and her then partner over the next few days before they headed north and I went south. I was a tad nervous. What if we didn't like each other? What if we had nothing in common? Of course I had nothing to fear and we're having lots of fun. What else would I have expected from the late, great Marvin's godmother? We had a flashback to one of our conversations.

One of us, it might have been me, said, "You won't believe my surname."

"Mine's better," was the reply. I think it was a draw.

Wexford is really pretty and it's Opera Festival time and there's lots of art in the town, some of it really good. Saturday night we checked out "Singing in the Pubs" which was a lot of fun.

Sunday I was taken to lots of exhibitions, including one in magnificent Johnstown Castle and yesterday we went to some more before going for a walk around Kilmore Quay, a fishing village about 20 km from Wexford town. I'm not sure what she has planned for today, but I'm looking forward to whatever it is.

This is probably the last post (put that bugle down) as I'm flying out of Dublin at 06:40 tomorrow morning. That entails getting the airport bus from Wexford at 01:30. Yikes! After changing aeroplanes in Frankfurt and Singapore, I get back to the unreality of Sydney on Thursday night.

Thanks to everyone who looked after me. I had a ball!

Street view, Cobh-style

Cobh railway station

Cobh

Lusitania memorial in Cobh

Cobh

Que?

Looking across Cork Harbour towards Cobh from Crosshaven

Eugene's bar, Shandon Street, Cork

Bugger Betty's liver. After spending a month here, my liver could do with some assurance.

Velo cop, Cork
(The Hi B is about 20 metres from here. I was on my way there for a heart starter.)

Johnny's Return, Bruno's local, Crosshaven

Crosshaven

A Portrait of the Bullshit Artist as an Old Man. Johnstown Castle, Wexford with Toaster the dog.

Jealous

Toaster, Jealous's mum

The Westgate, Wexford

Cupcakes, Wexford Arts Festival

Pissing to the tune of Ant Music

Johnstown Castle, Wexford
Ms Wisdom with Toaster and Jealous

Jane's housemate Michelle (center) flanked by Catherine and George

Wexford

Back in Cork - again

Before we begin, let's clear up something from the previous post. I've had the odd text and email from people thinking that it's been a shit. Well, actually no it hasn't. Sure, the weather's been swinging between really nice and really crap, and the broken pump episode in the middle of nowhere was a tad disheartening, but it has been fun. Really.

The point of the post was that solo travel has its pros and cons and for the most part it works. I just happened to be going through that bit where having someone around would have been nice. That's all. Does that mean I'm done with solo travel? Dunno, but next time, I'll probably bugger off by myself again.

I've met lots of interesting people; had lots of lovely pints and some brilliant food in the pubs and seen some truly speccy scenery. I've been rained on a bit, that's all. It's been a worthwhile adventure. Enough of that and onto what's been happening since the last post.

After mooching around Galway for a couple of days, Boris and I took off on Friday for Sixmilebridge, about 13 kms north of Limerick where there's a hostel. It was about an 80 km ride. The main highway south from Galway was bit busy and not exactly pleasant. It wasn't raining, but it kept threatening to.

I had a late breakfast in Gort, nearly 40 km from Galway and had the full Irish. For the uninitiated, the full Irish consists of fried egg, black pudding, white pudding, a couple of snags, tomato, a hash brown and lots of bacon. If Zorba had the "full catastrophe", the full Irish should be called the full heart attack. At €7.50 it's excellent value and negates the need for lunch.

A bit south of Gort, we left the main highway and picked up a back route that was a bit of shortcut even though it had a long steady climb followed by a long descent. Copped the odd shower, but the views back over the Burren were fabo.

Sixmilebridge is a pleasant little village with some nice pubs, one with a very welcoming coal fire and friendly locals. The hostel is called Jamaica Inn. I asked the manager why anyone would name a hostel after a Hitchcock movie and he said, "No, it was named after the place". I said that (it being raining and cold) I could see the resemblance. He said that his wife is from Jamaica. So there.

I had the kitchen to myself, so I went into town and grabbed some veggies for a soup and washed it down with two cans of Cork's finest and had an early night.

The weather forecast for Sunday looked scary with a monster low developing off the north west coast so I figured I'd better try and get to Cork in one go on Saturday, about 113 km. It rained all the way to Limerick so I went to the station to check out the trains. I rocked up to the information counter and asked if I could take Boris on the train to Cork. "No problem", was the reply.

Getting from Limerick to Cork involves changing trains at Limerick Junction which is a good 20-odd kms east of Limerick. I asked the guard what to do with the bike and he told me that there are bike hooks in the front carriage. Cool.

Limerick Junction is in the middle of nowhere with one long island platform. The Cork train turned out to be a big train from Dublin. I had no idea where to put Boris, so I got him and the panniers on and went looking for somewhere to park him. I was down the other end of the carriage when I heard a terse, strong female voice say, "Whose bicycle is this?" It was the conductor and she was not pleased. I told her that I was looking for bike hooks or whatever and she said, "What makes you think you can bring a bicycle on a passenger train?" It was about to get ugly. I was cold and wet and in no mood to be pissed about when I had asked about Boris at Limerick. I was just about to dig my heels in when she said, "I'm sorry. I'm being cranky. You weren't to know and they wouldn't know at Limerick because they just deal with commuter trains. I'll find a place for your bike in the next carriage." She went and found a place where there's a facility for strapping in prams and wheelchairs; I wheeled Boris through the carriage and she brought the panniers. She apologised again and offered to make it up with a cuppa. We departed friends. In fact we chatted outside the station in Cork for a bit.

By the way, she saw me writing in my journal on the train. "Are you writing about me?" she asked. I told her that I record everything - fairly.

Cork's cool. I've been crashing with my mates Dara and Elia. Since being back here, I've caught the tail end of the film festival and generally mooched around town. On of the high points has been an audience with Brian O'Donnell, the proprietor of the legendary Hi B bar.

Boris, by the way is on his way back to Oz by post, so I'll bussing it from here on.

I'm generally mooching around Cork. Yesterday I checked out Cobh and tomorrow after visiting the Beamish brewery, I'll head down to Crosshaven for a couple of days and on Saturday drop in on my friend Jane in Wexford on the way to Dublin. From there, I'll head to Belfast and may be even catch the bus to Derry and Giant's Causeway. We'll see.

Meanwhile, here's piccies.

In case the lawn ever needs doing at the end of the pier in Galway.

Boats, Galway docks

If Furry Freak Brothers fans get the munchies, they know where to go in Galway.

Let's hope they don't get mad.

Eglington Canal, Galway

Murphy's Bar, my preferred Galwegian watering hole.

They lets fools post pictures of themselves at the museum.

The full Irish, Gort Co Galway.

Bicycles as art. Tulla Co Clare

Sixmilebridge Co Clare

Boris gets a seat on the train.

Inside the Hi B, the thinking Corkonians watering hole.

Hi B landlord Brian with Emma

Streets are narrow in Cork. Bus and van stand-off, Blackrock Co Cork

Quote du jour

"When money's tight and hard to get
And your horse has also ran,
When all you have is a heap of debt
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN."

Flynn OBrien (1911 - 1966)
At Swim Two Birds

Back in Galway

A recurring theme is the subject of the pros and cons of solo travel by bicycle. Tuesday, I left Galway and headed north, figuring it would take me two days to the next place of interest - Sligo. It was raining and it got worse and it got really cold, so I wussed out at Tuam (not as in Guam, but as in tomb from where it gets its name) after only 36 km I checked into a hotel. I still had about 110 km to Sligo, which I figured I could do the next day if I left by 9:00.

Well Wednesday was a bit of shit. If a pump is going to break, it's going to break when it's being used, right? I had a puncture 6 km out of Tuam and my pump broke when I was pumping up the tyre. Decision point: walk back to Tuam or on to the next village (7 km). I chose the later. Of course it started to rain at that point and by the time I got to Milltown, the replacement tube had picked up some more glass and I was wet and cold. To cut a tedious story short, I discovered a couple of broken spokes, ended up patching the tube that went flat in the first place, pumped it up at the servo and asked someone if there was a bike shop in Milltown. "Dunno", said an Australian accent, "I'm not from here". Cripes! I asked someone else and they said no. The next was probably 25 km away. I wasn't going further north with broken spokes and no pump, so I decided to go back to Galway where I know there are bike shops, cheap accomodation and options aplenty. Boris is at the doctor as we speak. Lesson - presta valves only from now on. The problem with the pump was that it wasn't depressing the shraeder valve.

What has this got to do with solo travel, you may well ask? Although I prefer to travel on my pat (this the fourth time I've done this), if I had've had someone with me they probably would have a had a pump that worked or we might have workshopped a different solution.

Anyway, there are worse place to return to than Galway, that's for fecking sure. I'm quite besotted with the place.

On to other issues. The Irish economy is in deep recession and the Budget was delivered on Tuesday and I watched Finance Minister Brian Cowan's speech and the commentary that followed. All very depressing. There's a 1% levy on all income (not just taxable) programs have been cut, the "old reliables" (ciggies, booze and fuel) have excise increases (effective immediately) and pollies and senior public servants are having pay cuts. All very depressing and the locals are not exactly jovial and pubs are very quiet. Commentators have almost unanimously criticised the budget for concentrating too much on restoring the public coffers and not doing enough to restart the economy. The fear is the recession will worsen.

Back to solo travel. Cycling country roads alone provides too much opportunity for contemplation whereas if one has a companion, there is a fair amount of idle chit chat. Given the weather and that state of the economy here and everywhere and that I've had my first ever margin call, I get to dwelling on my own finances and I start thinking that I need to get back to work. I might pull the pin and come home early. In case you're interested, if all is good with the world, I sing while I ride.

I'm not sure what to do. Given the variability of the weather (even the locals say that the current amount of rain is unseasonal - and I'm not the only cyclotourist on the road, either - I'm becoming disinclined to head further north.

Options include jumping a train to Dublin and riding from there to Cork via Wexford or just drifting back to Cork around the west coast. I'll decide later on today. By the way, it's beautiful day today, which means it'll probably piss down tomorrow!

As I said earlier, there are worse places to mooch around than Galway. The museum is excellent. Lots of art as well as history. I'm not whingeing either - it's all part of the adventure and I'm still having fun and I'm becoming a big fan of James Joyce and I've found a grand watering hole in Murphy's Bar.

Ciao!

Pictures thus far

The view from the Connolly house at Crosshaven

My friend Emma and Opel the dog

Johnny's return where we had a pint with Bruno.

My friend Dara and her little boy Elia.

Banty, western Cork

Boris has a breather on top of the Caha Pass

Kenmare, Co Kerry

Somewhere on the Ring of Kerry

Near Watrerville, ring of Kerry

Cahersiveen

Boris finds some friends at Inch on the Dingle Peninsula

View from the ferry across the Shannon

Michael, whom I met at Qulty. He asked me to guess his age. I said 75. He said, "If was only 75 I'm wouldn't need Viagra". He's 87 and he smokes.

Cliffs of Mohr

Perfect Murphys in Doolin

A castle I just happened upon on the way to Galway.

In Galway.

Your correspondent in the Spanish Arch, Galway.