Days at Gubbeen are dwindling but I'm not inspired to write, I think my mind is too focused on the crazy traveling that lies ahead to really think much more of this place that has eased me so seamlessly into life on the road. To add to this distraction of trains and planes and buses, there is also the latest distraction of the 2010 World Cup. Starting on Thursday night there seemed to be a soccer explosion and suddenly all the TV channels and newspapers were dripping with news and lineups and speculations about the games. It's hard not to get sucked in (at least a little).

Culture clash

6/10:

I'm racing downhill on my bike to make it back in time for the bbq that's happening tonight. Tears are leaking out the corners of my eyes from the wind that's pummeling my face. I'm looking down and ahead at the same time, trying to avoid the cow pats that are sprinkled across the road. My obstacles are a good sign though, I'm getting close to the dairy, close to home.
My ipod is on shuffle and as I ride faster and faster a corrido comes on, one from the Barranquenhos CD that Chica gave me a few weeks back. The horns and accordions blast in my ears and I smile as I look down at the Atlantic shore and rolling hills of quaint farms. I feel bubbles of laughter inside as I think of this cultural clash, this music in this landscape.
But that's the wonderful thing about Gubbeen. In a minute, I'll be eating sizzling steak with the French intern while talking to Lindsey, Clovisse's friend from Canada/Berlin/Marin, and playing googoogaga with Olin, the little Irish baby with a mohawk. I guess love of food is a very uniting concept.

Not all happy cows come from California

6/7:
Even when the curtains are drawn I still know they're there because I can hear the soft munching next to my window. The tender grass around my trailer is all being pulled out at the moment by the 130 cows that make up the Gubbeen herd. I'm nibbling on some oak smoked cheese of theirs as I write this, looking out at the happy cows chewing away at the buttercup-covered field. I'm thinking about the story Giana told me yesterday:

It all happened a few years ago when the Irish drug trade was doing very well (as it still is to this day) in a small inlet just a few miles away from Gubbeen. The drug traffickers had brought a particularly large shipment in to one of the many hidden coves along the coast but just as they were about to reach shore their small dingy capsized, setting huge table-sized bales of cocaine afloat on the Atlantic. After one of them mistakenly called for help, the guards (police) intercepted the call and arrested two of the men. The other men however were nowhere to be found. (This of course is not surprising considering the sprawling countryside with endless shrubs and ditches to hide in.)
Anyway, it was not until about two days after this incident at around eight in the morning that Tom let out the cows as he does every single day. The herd filled the road just in time as two strangers came walking up the road. The men wore funny clothing, hats and wellies, the sort of all-weather gear that sailors would wear.
But luckily, being surrounded by country people here at Gubbeen, a suspicious neighbor had already called in the guards when he saw how clean their wellies were, for these were certainly not farming folk. Within minutes, the guards arrived and the two men who were by now completely surrounded by Gubbeen cows had nowhere to go.
Now that's what I call a civil arrest!!

Dreaming with reality

6/6:

Marion and I took the bikes first to the market and tehn to the beach where we spent the whole day basking under the sun eating fruit and getting updates about the French Open through texts from her friends. Everything was normal, relaxed. Until partway through my sun-induced slumber I was awoken by a different noise. Groggily I rolled around to find a huge white horse standing at my feet. Atop the white beatuy, a young woman dressed in black sat upright and alert. Just as soon as I had sat up to see better, the two trotted off towards the water. Completely unperturbed, the horse calmly walked directly into the sea. They walked and continued walking until the horse was swimming while all the while the woman sat straight up and mumbled sweet encouragement. I blinked to make sure I wasnt still daydreaming but sure enough the two continued further and further out. Still dazed and confused, I rolled back over for what I thought were some two minutes (but must've been 10) only to find that the pair was gone when I looked again.
And maybe I'm still daydreaming but Giana just invited me to dinner withe president of Slowfood IE.

Cape Clear adventures: Part II

Finally on the road agina, the wild magenta foxgloves and crashing surf no longer interested us as we spent the next twenty minutes discussing the world of Ed. Deep in conversation not realizing where we werwe going, the terrain suddenly changed infront of us. We rounded the bend to find a small gull-filled lake surrounded by cows and horses. Opening our map again we read that it was a magical lake that the villagers used to wash their clothes in. After reading that it was also capable of removing calouses and warts, Marion and I decided to climb down and dangle our feet in the water. Within seconds, a swarm of tiny insects gathered on our skin and begin to nible away! At first we jumped back in surprise but after regaining courage we managed to stay in longer the second time. The pinching hurt slightly but nevertheless we sat with our toes in teh water beneath the "No Swimming" sign for something like ten minutes, way below the suggested 45minute callus-removing time limit.
When our feet had dried off we set off walking again to visit Giana's other friend, Cathy, who had recently opened up a cafe on the island. We quickly ducked in to have a tea with her before running back down to the dock so as to not miss the last ferry home. The way back was peaceful with a soft light and almost no waves we rode back into shore while all the while the captain sang us Irish songs over the loudspeaker.