...To Becoming Super Cool, Part 2

Travel is the best way we have of rescuing the humanity of places, and saving them from abstraction and ideology.                      -Pico Iyer, “Why We Travel”

Renae and I headed up the main road out of town carrying our packs (still way too flippin heavy, sadly), grateful for the clear weather.  We had learned from our friends, Irish and foreign alike, that hitchhiking is still practiced here with some regularity.  Per some of the older locals, it used to be done far more back in the 60s and 70s, but wasn't everything?  I've always had such romantic notions, thanks to so many literary heroes of my youth; Steinbeck, and Kerouac, and Tom Sawyer to name a few.  I think I've always been waiting for an excuse to make a go of it.

Provisions

It must be said, it was much easier for me to choose courage in this situation with Renae as my partner in crime (*though not a crime here!).  She is one of those girls who is effortlessly beautiful even when she's exhausted, lights up a room and everyone in it without even realizing she's doing it, and bursts into the most random but appropriate songs at just the right time.  She has a depth and character that belies her actual age, and was such a blessing for me to connect with.  She also has a mean sense of humor, which made the day super funny.

We first walked several kilometers to an organic farm, where they loaded us up with fresh beets and carrots before we continued on our merry way.  Our first goal was getting to the ferry, about 50km south.  Once on the other side, we would have to part ways, as I had another 80km to cover to get to my final destination.

She is seriously always this cute

There is loads written about hitchhiking, so I won't belabor the details, but I will say this: BOOYAH!  Our first ride was from Pat the foxy farmer, who took us to the next village, though not half as far as we needed go.  This went on for another 3 rides and about as many hours before we reached the ferry.  We walked (and walked, and walked) between each ride, hammering our food in the middle of nowhere, and questioning the integrity of my old knees under my blasted pack.  We met elderly gentlemen, a beautiful mother with even more beautiful daughters who were totally fascinated with us, and even a salty old British ex-pat who just couldn't stand the influx of immigrants into his homeland.  Yikes.

When we finally got off the ferry, the evening was starting to really trump the afternoon, and I was exhausted.  Stupid exhausted (this would not be the last time).  We walked several more kilometers into the nearest town, where we parted ways with lots of love and good mojo.  Renae, my badass Aussie friend made her way to another organic farm, while I treated myself to the most charming B&B, as I couldn't bear the thought of another 80km before bed.

Haven

In the morning, the weather was colder and stormier, because this is Ireland.  Thankfully, I had slept in a real bed, in an actual quiet house, but I was still pretty damn worn out.  Bernadette the hostess made me a proper Irish breakfast loaded with a wide variety of pork products, a fresh pot of french pressed coffee, and an entire basket of white toast and homemade brown bread.  She even packed me a little bag lunch, as I'm sure I looked even more bedraggled than I felt, and she had a generous mother's heart for sure.  My brief time with her was pretty magical, and totally worth the splurge.

I made my way back out into the blustery rain and out of town before I caught my first ride with a nice woman from Romania, who drove like a maniac.  The clench was on, that's for sure.  She took me about halfway, before unloading me onto what amounted to a highway.  Gulp.  Play it cool Katie, play it cool.  I was reminded of Thoreau's quote, "I have learned that the swiftest traveller is he that goes afoot".  I still don't totally know what he meant, but I think that's exactly what I was experiencing.

I had to walk several kilometers before I caught my second solo ride by 2 sweet college boys who turned around to come back for me.  When I finally made it to the outskirts of town, I felt like a rockstar.  Like a rockstar after a whirlwind world tour.  I hiked to my musty little hostel, peeled my cold, wet, filthy clothes off my cold, wet, filthy self, and passed out.