Sweet Ireland

Sorry it's taken me so long to post this. Life happens and then you find yourself behind.
Let me tell you about Ireland. The folks I met and stayed with were some of the sweetest I've met on my travels. Hospitable and kind. It's culturally in their DNA I believe.

I spent some time in Dublin, wandering about.

 There were hikes and Traditional Music festivals that my pal D took me on and to. I'm so grateful that she was able to give me a true experience.
I had a 13 hour layover in London before I headed to Iceland, so I spent the day wandering there as well.

 After Iceland it was back to Dublin before heading out to Ennis, where Erin (friend of a friend) and her husband Feargal gave me the grand tour.

 Went for a hike along the Burren. Gorgeous landscape and views.

 And we mustn't forget the foggy, misty, windy Cliffs of Mohr.

I did mention windy did I not?

Galway was next, where I wandered for a day or so.

 Made my way to the Nora Barnacle House, which was closed as it was Bloomsday, of course.

I then hooked up with a hostel friend to hit the Aran Islands. One in particular, Inishmore

We rented bikes and spent the day riding around the island. It was a rainy day, but we avoided the rain drops and enjoyed the views.
Next stop Donegal.

A couple of days wandering about here, but no Clarke sightings anywhere. Even in the cemetery.
So off to Malin Head, the northern most spot in Ireland, I went for two days.
I should have spent more time here. It is absolutely amazing.

I am pretty sure I will head back to Ireland one day. I only took in a tiny bit of the place, and I want more.
I'm heading back to Upstate NY now, to spend time with family and work on my book.
Stay tuned!

Iceland- Nei Orð

No words (nei orð), no pictures can really capture the Icelandic experience. I'll try. But I will fail. I can only say again, that beyond belief is Iceland.

My buddy from Boulder did the majority of planning for our camping excursion on the Ring Road, basically going all around the perimeter of the country. Not planned was finding a hot springs tub tucked behind a hillock with an unparalleled view of the ocean.

One of her Icelandic requirements was puffins. These fucking puffins, as we dubbed them, were too cute to eat. Though I suppose, back in the day when the settlers were subsisting on whatever they could find, they kept many a Viking alive.

The weather and landscapes were subdued sometimes, and then a burst of color or sunshine would cause you to have to readjust your expectations.

I even made it to a museum. Learned that the sod house dwellers of yore didn't use a fireplace or furnace to heat their homes. They used body heat. Wool clothes, fatty foods and sleeping two to a bed were all that was required to keep you warm.

I took pictures but the camera couldn't capture how awe inspiring the vistas are. Around every corner my mind would be blown. To the point of exhaustion. We were seriously tired out from how amazing the landscape is.

We met kindness at every stop. Wether it was the gals at the hot dog stand in a small fishing village gesturing to the countless bins of candy and exclaiming "Welcome to Iceland!" Or the family we chatted with in what may be the most northern hot springs pool on the planet. The wonderful pastry baking witch who served us veggie burgers and cake at her cafe. And the fellow traveler Kevin from Ottawa who whole heartedly joined us for a bit of wandering.

Iceland ain't cheap to visit and it's almost impossible to move there. I will go back. I want to explore, learn more and maybe, just maybe, meet The Mountain. If nature can dream up Iceland, then I can surely dream too.

Ti Amo Italia

Dearest Southern Italy,
I adore you. You are ancient, loud, sometimes elegantly shabby and always very sweet.
Ti Amo
Chris

Almost half my ancestors came from Napoli, so spending my time in the south of the boot was my way of honoring their contribution to my genetic makeup.
I didn't get to all the places I'm told you should go. But where I went will always be with me.

I flew into Bari, where I spent a few days wandering from gelato, to dinosaur tracks, to focaccia made the same way for over 400 years.

The train west across the boot and then South took me to Policastro. My farm host and his 3 year old son Corrado, greeted me and drive me up winding hills to San Giovanni a Piro, which has been situated under the mountain for over 300 years.
The house I stayed in was that old, and held secrets of family history for at least that long.

Days spent tending to grape vines, planting zucchini in the veg garden and caring for the animals slid slowly into one another.

I wandered up to cliffs overlooking the sea and down to Policastro which sits right upon it. A lazy, lovely time.

Napoli drew me next. I was afraid, from stories I'd heard, that this city would be rough and dangerous. Except it wasn't that for me.

The folks yelling back and forth to one another, mocking and teasing, fried pizzas and sfogliatella were my family. Different country and different time perhaps, but the tastes, sounds and shabby beauty of that ancient place were very familiar and comforting.

I want to spend more time there some day, perhaps with family in tow.
I'm in Dublin now for a week then on to Iceland!

Writing of France

"Write the best story you can and write it as straight as you can."-Hemingway

I've decided to begin writing (again, anew, ressurecting my deeply felt passion) and my time in France aided my decision.

Two weeks cat-sitting in the quiet city of La Roche-Sur Yon gave me time to mull it over, plan and brainstorm. The blog here will keep me on track, but once I'm home I can sit down at my laptop and pour it all out.
La Roche-Sur Yon is on the westen edge of France, a short train ride to the Bay of Biscay. Some runs, some reading and ruminating on writing on rainy days filled my time there.
A quick trip through Toulouse followed. I really like the vibe of the city. Diverse population, lots of fresh markets and gorgeous historical architecture, put it on my list of possible places to land.

I diverted to Andorra for a week, which I wrote about here.
Paris beckoned me next. Somewhat because of the food but I must confess something many of you will think sacrilege. French food bores me. " Sacre bleu!" you exclaim, but let me explain. For 15 years I worked and taught at a cooking school in Boulder CO, where French techniques were the basis of the curriculum. I've eaten more creme brulee than most of you can count. I'm over it. I partook of this and that, but I was no gourmand.

What drew me to Paris though, was the writing. Hemingway, Hugo and Balzac are but 3 of the authors who's writings have fed my literary Paris fire.

74 Rue du Cardinal Lemoine, where Ernest and his first wife Hadley squirreled away in the attic their first few months of marriage.

Shakespeare & Co. where Hemingway, James Joyce, Ford Maddox Ford and Ezra Pound found a patron in owner Sylvia Beach. It's literally across the street from...

Notre-Dame Cathedral! Famously playing a part in Victor Hugo's "Hunchback of Notre-Dame.

The Victor Hugo museum, complete with a Rodin bust...of course...

The Balzac museum, where he toiled away on 30 cups of coffee a day! And yet another Rodin bust.
Every corner in Paris reveals delights. The Metro and Velib city bikes make it easily accessible and affordable to explore.

One day, when I have more time and money, I'll explore more.
I'm in Bari Italy now.