I’m on an airplane again, but I’ve got one final entry to compose before I drop in on one of America’s military mother ships and see what I’ve been missing out on over the past two years.

As I’ve said before, coming to Ireland provides for me a kind of relaxation that is only equaled when I go home to the Hatchville Shipyard. While here I’m never compelled to head out and ensure that I check some kind of sightseeing block (although sometimes this still happens); what happens is usually quite the contrary. I go there now in the style of an overextended college student who returns home on break to laze in a familiar environment with no set program- with the possible exception of visiting some old friends. This is my idea of a real respite.

Also, eating gorgeous fish and chips- a college staple for me- makes this feel like even more of a homecoming.

I spent my last couple of days up in the north, staying with my college roommate and her family in Downpatrick. Like me, she is one of five children, and it is for this reason that I absolutely love going to her family’s house. Stepping into a home that has loads of kids always yields a warm yet slightly muddled buzz that is laced with a layer of sibling give-and-take. No one is special when you go home again, and as such you either love this reality or you hate being knocked back down to an even playing field. Since I didn’t exactly grow up eating off of Porcelain china in a Norman Rockwell setting, I really love coming back to this kind of life.

When food like this comes home from the supermarket, you know what’s in store. 

We arrived at the house with our boxes of fish and chips. I did my best to adjust my ear to the thick northern accents as I was welcomed back and handed the first of many cups of tea. The house isn’t a mansion, but I would be assured that a sleeping spot for me would be found for me. I would have been happy on the floor, but before I knew it the parents were heading out the door to stay at an aunt’s house overnight- so I could stay in their bedroom! I felt bad, but there was really no effective way for me to protest, and there was no bother about it. To them, I was just another family member stopping by, and they were adjusting accordingly. Really, can you see this happening in America?

I wake up in the morning and decide that after my fish and chip supper that I need to check out the countryside. I’m off for a run.

It’s a beautiful day outside.

Mountains in the backgrounds, there’s really no one up and about.

I’m not long down the road before I see a sign pointing to a pasture that reads “Ballynoe Stone Circle”. For me, this is mildly exciting, because I learned about these things fifteen years ago but never actually got around to checking one out. I take a detour to see if I can apply some withered knowledge to my run.

During my freshman year at the University of Vermont, I took a year-long course entitled “Visions of Ireland”. From the title it seemed like it would be the best class ever- but the class’s enthusiasm was quickly deflated as we spent what seemed to be the first semester or so studying the concepts of the sacred and profane. When we finally moved on to actual Irish subject matter, we read the Táin Bó Cúailnge, studied holy wells and learned about stone circles. 

It was pretty wet in the fields, and my shoes were soaked as I walked around the circle to check it out (apparently these places do not pull in the tourists like they do at St. James Gate).

Although not completely known, it is thought that this circle dates from the Bronze Age. It was excavated in the 1930s, and pottery as well as burnt bones of several adults were discovered around. It could be a passage tomb.

It was really cool to see though, these things are old and really give you a sense of a country’s life before Christianity.

After leaving the pasture I was back on the road. I’m not really sure where I am going, but my de facto family has just assured me that if I keep going left, I will eventually make a loop that will bring me back home. 

 

The road sometimes seem to become private farm roads, but I still continue on undeterred.. I figure the worst thing that can happen is that I knock on one of these doors and ask, “can you tell me how to get back to Olivia’s?” (By the way, the houses are far more modern than this, I just liked this one because it was old and crumbly).

 

Happily, I do find my way back and get in a gorgeous five mile run in the fresh air. I could move here, in case I haven’t already said that before.

The rest of my trip would seem to be filled with everyday, unbloggable elements. I have what was probably a hundred nonsensical conversations with an infant, and I spent time alternating between the glorious sunshine and rain that encompasses this country. For me, it was great down time.

 

 Right by the ocean, this place reminds me of home (less the mountains).

 

It’s not exactly related, check out this scary thing. It’s a punching bag of some sort, that looks like a twisted Halloween sentry that stands guard outside the house where I stayed. My friend tells me that her brothers would put this in front of her bedroom window to scare the crap out of her when she would wake up in the morning. I love big families.

 

Sunset back at the family homestead, this is the view out the kitchen window (granted this is at about 10:30pm). I was headed back to Dublin the next day, and accordingly my brain was already switching gears and preparing for my departure and resumption of wandering tendencies.