Pat & Frenchies

Whootie tooters!

Bumpy busing from Galway to Cliften. 3-4 hour walk to Letterfrack on shoulder-less roads. Really feel like a foreigner. My voluminous pack makes for a very efficient, but heavy parachute in the sudden valley winds. Said gusts like to attack on blind curves in the road and when cars are passing. Meet middle-aged 'Pat' while exploring his shrine/alter to 'Our Lady' on an outcropping in an isolated lake. He tries his damnedest to convert me to Catholicism while I nod and smile. The story about being paralyzed for 4 years until a 4th visit to the basilica of Lourdes, France is speckled with gems like:
- "Trust in God because people will let you down like a ton 'o bricks."
- "I got me walk back after four years 'o straps and chairs."
- "I'm not lying, so just go on 'n believe in God."
I love him. Lit a candle and left a note for Maw Maw.

Stay in the Old Monastery Hostel, the only accommodation available in Letterfrack in January (www.oldmonasteryhostel.com). Amazing! Classical music, warmth from a fire, and the blue glow of Christmas lights make the bathroom easy to find. Thought I would be alone in the hostel until bombarded by French. Apparently the French love Ireland, and make up 90% of the visitors to this bohemian hostel in the summer. Though owned by an Irish man named Steven, it was Nathain (a French expat) whom renovated the place in a matter of a year or two. From him I learn the Irish use 'turf' as a slow-burning fuel for their fires, as there are few trees. They burn dirt! They also casually gather mussels from the sea for dinner. I have to return from my walk along the peninsula without any due to darkness...

Beers, pool, chess, cards with the French and a Belgian. A hike in the adjacent Connemara National Park that had to be aborted due to unbelievably strong winds. Apparently tourists die every year from being blown off mountains- had to squat low occasionally grabbing the ground with my hands so as not to add to this unfortunate toll- hahaha. Heavy limbs soaked with rain and every stride/leap downward opposed by wind, the hurried descent felt like I was on the moon. My boots are still not dry.

Hitch and walk with the Belgian and a Frenchie around the area and back to Galway, where I currently sit. Sheep graffitied with neon markings. Boob-shaped mountains. A ride from a very well groomed elderly Irish man wearing a pink dress shirt in a warm car with acoustic renditions of show tunes playing. Precarious blisters on both heels protected by camouflage-styled duct tape.

Hungry and the internet is not free this time...so time to go. Having a good good time (right mom?), hope all is well.