On Friday morning I took the Metro to Newcastle airport and from there took a plane to Dublin, Ireland. After finding my way to the city centre and finding my Hostel, I began to explore the city. First I went the Trinity College, which houses the famous Book of Kells. But even more interesting than the book itself is the Long Room which houses 200,000 old books in a two story, barrel-vaulted room. It was just gorgeous. I sat and drooled. Many people would just walk in, take the customary 1 picture at the entrance and then walk to the end and exit. I couldn't believe that they would spend €9 on such a short experience and not try to get a little more out of it! I sat for almost an hour and just soaked the experience in. I also got into a long conversation with the guard. (But I'll admit that I was just trying to butter him up so that he would let me walk up the winding stair to the second floor). Unfortunately it didn't work.
After exploring the city to my hearts content (finishing with a pint of Guiness in the Temple Bar--packed and pricy), I returned to my hostel and went to bed.
In the morning I went to Busaras, the central bus station, and caught a Bus Eireann bus two hours south to the town of Kildavin. I would like to mention in an aside here that I was surprised to see how alive and well the Irish language is. It Is on every sign and you can hear it spoken as you walk the street. Whole communities speak it exclusively and it is a requirement in schools.
When I reached Kildavin I walked the 4 kilometers to Clonegal, which is the official start/end of the Wicklow Way. While not as large as the neighboring towns of Kildavin and Bunclody, Clonegal has been around for much longer. Some parts if the town date back 1000 years and some famous battles have taken place in the area. I ate my lunch in the town square, which was deserted. Than, as the church bell struck noon, I began the Wicklow Way.
I needed to average 16 miles a day to finish the 86 mile hike in 5 days and that included this half day.
For the first day my route primarily followed back country roads and farm tracks. The scenery was of green rolling hills covered in sheep pastures not very different from what I had seen along Hadrian's Wall. I hardly saw anyone all day. Hadrian's Wall was always in a straight line, even sometimes running straight through farms. This always gave me the impression that I was heading somewhere. Wicklow Way, on the other had is frustratingly circuitous. It bends upon itself two and sometimes three times so as to avoid civilization. This can be quite frustrating when you are traveling on foot and you go down a hill that you have just walked up. But I took no shortcuts.
At about 6 PM I had walked about 14 miles and was starting to look for a place to pitch my tent. This was worrisome because I was in a slightly more inhabited area. I rounded a bend and came to crossroads at which was a small building with a sign that said "the dying cow." It was a pub. I wasn't interested in spending money and was worried about pitching my tent before dark and so intended to walk right on past. But as I passed on a young man came out. "Hello man!" He said, in a thick Irish accent, "that pub there is a step back in history, it is. And their Guiness is fooking brilliant." Upon this recommendation I reconsidered and stepped in. I'm so glad I did.
The interior of the Dying Cow was about the size of my bed room and it was crammed with stools, chairs and benches--none of which matched. The walls were bare stone hung with signs which read "Guiness is good for you" "if you want breakfast in bed you'd better sleep in the kitchen" etc. The room was packed with about 15 people half of whom were little children. They were all huddled around a radio. I ordered a pint of Guiness and introduced myself. I met Jed and Lucy who, between themselves could account for four of the children, two of which were named Freddie and Tristen. We chatted for a long time and the children were quite taken with my collapsible hiking poles and my Toy Story recitations. It turn out that they were all listening to the rugby final of Ireland v. France which is at least as big a deal as the super bowl. Ireland ended up winning by only two points. It was quite an event to be a part of. The owners of the bar let me pitch my tent in the field in the back and I went to sleep warmed by beer and good Irish company.
I sleepy very soundly and didn't get up until 7 AM. I took my time packing up and eating breakfast and didn't a start walking until 8. After all, I only had to walk 16 miles. I intentionally dawdled as I worked my way into rougher and rougher country. I passed through several more towns but I was staring to ascend into the wicklow mountains. Much of the land was covered in young forests because of a recent government grant which has given farmer an incentive to grow pine trees. It was overcast all day and sprinkled at times. I was hoping to reach an old mountain shelter which was indicated on my map near a place called Glendamore.
Glendamore was stunningly beautiful. It is a deep valley with with a plunging waterfall flowing into it. At the bottom was a visitor's center and a pub, but it looked too modern for my tastes. I had been spoiled by the Dying Cow. I was very surprised to find that there were already two people in the shelter when I reached it. A father, named Gee and his 11 year old daughter, Emilie out for some father-daughter time. They were very friendly and insisted that I stay rather than find a place to pitch my tent. We sat around the fire and Gee gave me some noodle soup and coffee--the be first warm things I had had in several days. Emilie and I became very good friends and talked about all sorts of stuff. At one point, when Gee went to get water from the stream she confided in me that she had been worried about how they were going to pass the time once they had camped. She was very glad that I was there to relieve the boredom. Gee was born in Vilnius, Lithuania and was brought up in the former USSR. He now works as an action sequence choreographer for movies and did work on Prince Caspian as well as a TV show called Ripper Street. We slept well and I was very sad to see my friends go in the morning. They also had a dog named Biscuit.
The next day, Monday, was saint Patrick's day! I celebrated by walking for a change. Although I was determined to take it easy. The day before, even though I had tried to go easy, I had hiked 27 miles! So Monday I intentionally sat around until 10. I was also almost out of food, but planned to hit the town of Laragh at noon--Gee told me that there was a general store there. Before Laragh is some of most beautiful scenery on the entire walk. This is a place called Glendaloch which means "Valley of two lakes." Its like the Irish Yosemite. Being Saint Patrick's day it was overrun with people and I was quite self-conscious of the fact that I hadn't showered in four days as I made my way through the crowds. In Glendaloch there is an old graveyard, tower and church which were built by one Saint Kevin. They are about a thousand years old and in very good shape for their age. You can see some pictures on the other page. Legend has it that Saint Kevin was a particularly good looking priest and had all the women chasing after him. But he, like all priests, had taken a vow of celibacy and would have nothing of it. At one point, beset by a woman named Kathleen, he ripped of his clothes and lept into a bed of stinging nettles. This sufficiently cured him of any sinful thoughts. Inevitably--it is said--Kathleen cornered Kevin at the top of the cliffs overlooking the valley. Because she would not stop her advances he hurled her to her death in the lake below.
Soon after Glendaloch I reached the next shelter which was only about 8 miles from the last but I decided to stay for the night. There was a group from Dublin up for the day and they already had a fire going. They invited me to to sit with them and soon I was drinking wine and eating sausages with the rest. It was a perfectly lovely way to spend Saint Patty's day evening. At about 5:30 they left and I had the whole mountainside to myself. I could see Glendaloch far down the valley to my right, and to my left were forests. It was perfectly silent and dark except for the crackling of the fire and the little hisses from the light rain.
I have had some truly memorable experiences on this trip so far and have met some wonderful people. But two moments stick in my mind: walking across the moon-lit moor in the wee hours of the morning, and sitting in the rain at my campfire atop an Irish mountain at night.
