Verdant Vagrant

Killarney lay in front of us, over the lazy countryside of Ireland that stretched out in all directions through the train window. Bales of hay lay amiably with spotted cows and green hills. The Irish countryside is truly a thing to behold, as pastoral as it is alluring.

The train ride was equally as interesting as I made a fool out of myself in my own bombastic personality. But it was all good fun. We arrived in Killarney to a quaint town. The buildings were vibrant, shops of all kind. It was clear from the get go that the town’s main industry was tourism as I noticed the myriad of gift shops. The dreary skies cast a gloom upon the town, accenting the recession; the town was a lot quieter than I had expected it to be. Especially considering that Kerry—Killarney’s county—was in the all Ireland Gaelic Football Championship. Yet, despite this the town was still able to retain some of its own charm in the narrow streets and picturesque pubs.

The first night was uneventful, which made the next day even more stupefying and ridiculous. Brooke and Mike K (Denver Mike), clearly the adventurous ones of the group were first to rise and rally the rest of us. The chances of me waking up before noon on a Saturday upon my own full volition are about as good as getting me to go to church, which coincidentally is normally before noon anyway, OH NO DOUBLE NEGATIVE.

Bypassing a shower, we began our trek. Mike K, Mike D (California Mike) and Brooke leading the way, while Steph, Meg and I lagged behind in a sloppy and haphazard sleep-induced daze. Now you remember the song for Gilligan’s Island? Let me revise those lyrics if you so please:

“Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale of a fateful trip
Around these large lakes
The Skipper and mate, Brooke and Mike
And four other pedestrians
Went on a four-hour hike

Here they are
They're now stuck in a bog
But that's not the end of our tale
Here they are on the slope of a mountain
With Tom
And his two other friends

The weather was getting so poor and rough
And if not for the courage of the few
Oh our gleeful group would have been lost

We tread through mud and dew, off the trail too,
Brooke and both Mikes,
Tom, Steph and Meg
And the rest are here in Killarney National Park

This is the tale of our renegades
They’re here for a long time
These guys will have to make the best of these
It's an uphill climb
So join us here each week
I know you'll get a smile
From those six stranded castaways
Here in Killarney National Park”

After eight hours of hiking around Killarney National park, we finally made our way back to our hostel. Yet, this post would be lacking if I did not recount some of the absurdity. At first it began well enough. About 20 minutes in, I was completely drenched for my lack of a rain coat, having jeans that needed a hemming, and wearing a pair of cloth shoes. We went through the main entrance to find the lakes laying before us. The mountains to the side sharply contrasted the valley which expanded across the skyline. A heavy fog truncated the tops of the mountains, mysteriously leading them into the unknown. We trekked around the lakes and towards the mountains as we began our uphill climb. Did I mention I’m not a morning person? Meg and I fell to the back as we joked of how we would perish for sure on the mountain. I pretty much saved her life actually.

After we had passed the beautiful Torc Waterfall, we elected to deviate from the path. I fell several times in the mud. It then wasn’t long before we realized that our impetuous venture off the path had actually led us parallel to it. We abandoned our off road quest hastily. The morning people, Brooke and the Mikes to be specific, decided to chance another one. I quickly forwent that idea with a “Fuck that” and decided a more prudent course would dovetail with my sleepwalking. So up Meg, Steph, and I went along the path. And lo and behold, we found the actual way to the top of the mountain, complete with a wooden walkway and stepping stones. Cut scene to Brooke, Mike and Mike, wading waist deep through a bog and climbing over a hedge of prickly bushes. The clouds rolled away and as if by an act of providence rays of sunlight shot through; we had reached the top of the mountain. I firmly planted an American flag at the top and claimed all the land in the name of Manifest Destiny. Boo yeah.

Before leaving we descended fully into the valley of the lakes and were rewarded with one of the most majestic sights in all of Ireland, a vast and tranquil lake back dropped by clear and beaming skies and green mountains. The way back seemed utterly unending as we were all weighed down by our equal exhaustion. Meg remarked, “I feel like a 95 year old woman.”

And I rebutted, “Not until you start crapping your pants.”

Brooke informed us during our repose that we had in fact hiked about 15 miles. We quickly collapsed, all soggy and worn out messes into our beds. The rest of the night consisted of watching movies in the lounge.

Sunday was casual. Brooke and Mike K departed for Ross castle, the rest of us politely declined. Meg, Steph, and I all went shopping, while Mike D went back to the hostel. I got stuck with boyfriend duty holding all their stuff, which is about a degrading as being a talking coat rack. But, I took to it dutifully. We then made our way to a pub to walk the Kerry vs. Cork Gaelic Football Championship. Imagine American football, soccer, volleyball and basketball rolled into one and you have Gaelic football. Though I was interested, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Steph’s graceful sleep waltz which consisted of an almost rhythmic bowing of her head up and down in time to avoid it smacking squarely on the table.

We left for home at 6:20, somnolent and ready for our own beds as the sun cast an evening glow upon our trip back.

The following week a few things of interested happened. I was cast in the chorus for the musical after receiving a call back for the lead. It was rigged obviously. Arthur’s Day, in its whole drunken debauchery, took place throughout the city; though I was a bit incongruent, as sober as I was for the occasion. Unfortunately, my school work has shifted to the backburner a bit amid such trifling times. In fact, I’m off to read Caleb Williams right now. Toodaloo!