Alone

So after close friends come and go you tend to reflect a little. Or a lot. Both Vee and Shantelle are the kind of friend folks who know me to the bare bone: They aren't afraid to dive in and call me on my shit and will always hustle up to save my ass from my own misgivings and hold my paw whilst I stumble through fears and idiocies on the way. Seriously. I have some hardcore GOOD pals. I must've mentioned them horseshoes I got stuck up my ass at some point in prior posts - To be honest they represent the fantastic people who rule my world. I have no clue how I hang on to 'em, just that my heart is over-filled with bursting love for those loving few and that I'm willing to do ANYTHING for them in return. Cause love is like an ocean.

I am going home soon. SOON. But as I won't be able to stay permanently I am already mourning before even getting there because I won't get back all that I used to have and now crave to have.
I miss having my own home, with my stuff out and about. I want to be in that special sacred space again, that personal canvas that is my own - It grows whenever I add a lick a paint. That place where my awesome sauce sound system, records, art, objects and kitchen rule the days and evenings, transforming reality in my own private world by giving me peace and a sense of belonging.

The sheer pleasure of a woodstove roaring again during cold nights; I want to go outside cursing the rain while chopping the firewood in my negligee; to plant, grow and revel in my own vegetable garden jungle filled with goodness all year round once again, calling slugs villainous names; and to hear crunching noises by my treasonous conspirator Crackhead, who has been my feline companion since I got to Canada over a decade ago. She's the mice/rat/squirrel/mink Killer and 'Pitbull Whisperer' (read: Torturer) who tolerates me as her human sidekick. I long to have that little flea vehicle purring at my side at night, indicating that while I fall asleep all is safe and good in the world.

I want to have it all back again, the freedom and privacy of one's own finger print. Once fellow island folks I loved knew it too and they dropped by without notification or warning, to revel in good times or to expose their heartaches, hashed out on the couch on the front porch, in that fragrant orchard on the bay with candles, incense and music.
Cheeky raccoons, stealing fruit and Crackhead the Cat showing her (unexpected) soft side by sniffing a fawn's nose in Spring time when the yard had an army of daffodils and Black-tailed Momma deer grazing the greenness of it all.
I have missed it all so incredibly much, and sometimes ask myself why did I leave? To loose is to gain an awful lot -  but was it worthwhile to leave behind all that for a journey that might not end as clearly as it started?

The children of the heart, growing up so fast. Will there be a chance to catch up with all that I have missed? Will it still be valuable and worthwhile.
Only a few weeks left, and so many questions and concerns are now trying to kick my pure joy and longing out of the limelight.
So I went a-walking, here in lonely Northern Ireland, the island where I don't know many a soul. The beaches here I do know well. Meeting the ocean, and all that loving I got inside of me for those who are the world to me was right there rushing in with the tide, at my feet. Ready.

Stepping stones

Beach treasure

Home Bound

I AM GOING HOME!!!!!!!!!!!!
In June.
See ya soon.

Map derived from web

Scottish Coconuts

In the days Shantelle and I roamed Scotland we had so much fun and even encountered a fruit mostly associated with palm trees and tropical beaches: Coconuts.
Our second destination of our road trip was legendary Doune Castle and although I have never seen Monty Python's Holy Grail movie (Shock! Horror! I know!) I asked the kind museum clerk for coconut shells. We found out that she hides them from pesky tourists such as myself under the counter, so now you know where to find them.
Next to being a national monument the castle is currently being used in the filming of the series 'Outlander' based on Diana Gabaldon's books. Now I hold Shantelle responsible for getting me addicted to these books. While I was still in university they certainly helped me procrastinate writing academic papers immensely. It's been a while since I've read them and although I love devouring 700 page books they don't always fit in one's rucksack. After traveling for the last three years I have loved and lost many books due to airline luggage restrictions and surprisingly not many Arabic countries have an English language library or book exchange stocked with erotica so I've had some dry patches where my inner bookworm cried and shriveled up. Shantelle came to N-Ireland bearing amazing gifts: A highly portable, lightweight magical eReader! With tons and tons of Diana Gabaldon on it and many other books! She also brought me her digital camera so that I could take pictures again (my last camera bit the dust), and patiently guided me through my technophobic tendencies and showed me how to use both. I am still floored.

But back to the coconuts.

Although I had previously told my friend Vee that it was called Thistly Thorny Plant Thingy when she asked me what that yellow Broom-like plant was, Blair informed me that it was actually called Gorse and during our visit it was blooming everywhere in Scotland: A bright yellow flower blanket coveted by bees and mindful of the sharp thorns we leaned in and sniffed the flowers.
It smelled exactly like coconuts.
A day later Shantelle spoiled me with a three hour horseback ride through the gorgeous Scottish hills and at some point the horses took a break, munching on the Thistly Thorn Thingy whose delicious coconut fragrance will now forever remind me of Scotland and the most amazing great friends.

Doune Castle amid daffodils

Yep. We did.

Gorse in bloom

Horseheads and Water Spirits

The Kelpies are Scotland's tallest art installations, standing at thirty meters high in Falkirk, Scotland. I had no idea they even existed until Shantelle told me about them and her desire to go and see them on our way to visit our buddy Blair. Man, they are humongous. The exhibit only opened up recently and the artist Andy Scott who is responsible for their creation made them as a monument to Scotland's horse powered heritage and past. The names of these two magnificent metal structures hint heavily towards folkloric myth though, one I quite like. Here's Andy Scott's artist statement and website.

Glorious Glasgow

On the day that Vance flew back to Canada Shantelle and I left too. To Scotland. And afterwards all I can say is 'WOW' (and mentally kick myself for not going there earlier).
We arrived in Glasgow and decided to wonder about on a self-guided pub crawl and when one of my boots broke they were replaced by cheap flipflops and onward the pub tour commenced. We got stuck in the seventh underground bar, the Bier Halle. It had over a hundred beers from all over the world...Naturally I got overly excited about this and together we were in our element there, refusing to budge for a while and merrily drank and ate the night away. The other bar we liked was the Nice 'n Sleazy Bar where the walls were scribbled full of insults and the menu/music line up descriptions were hilarious and the White Russians were bad. On our way back to our beds we walked past the King Tut's Wah Wah Hut where we planned to go on our last night in Glasgow, solely because when a band calls themselves 'Grousebeater Sound System' and mixes trad Scottish instruments with hiphop, electronica and lord knows what else you gotta go see that in the flesh.
In the beginning our travel goals seemed simple: See the Kelpies, visit Doune Castle, go hug and hang out with Blair (my former roommate in Canada), see Culloden and Inverness and then end our last night in Scotland in King Tut's Wah Wah Hut listening to a local band with an irresistible name that includes 'Grousebeater'.
Nothing ever goes exactly according to plan. And that is the best thing about traveling. Looking back on where we ended up made me fall hard and heavy for Scotland.
Which would've never happened without Shantelle. We travel real good together.

En Route

Dubious Dublin

I have been to Dublin before but it has been a long, LONG time ago. So long ago I don't really remember much at all! So when the three of us decided to go there for a day I was looking forward to it. Shantelle bravely drove on the wrong side of the road into the busy city and we spent our hours walking mostly around the Liberties area where I came across Lucy's Lounge Shop which has everything from secondhand vintage items, awesome art and a tattoo parlor stashed inside. Naturally I fell in love with it.
Vance was magnetically drawn into every secondhand bookstore we came across and I indulged in one of my favorite things to do which is photographing street art and gig posters that have creepy Justin Bieber lookalikes on it. Time flew fast, so fast that we reluctantly had to leave to bring the rental car back to N-Ireland.
One thing I know for sure. Before I leave Northern Ireland I will go back to Dublin by train. To admire the old architecture and places we did not get to see and to visit some of the art exhibits.
And to spend an exorbitant amount of time reveling in Lucy's Lounge, of course.

Hands down best store ever

Irish Bieber Dobbelgangers

An alley in Dublin

Canucks in Northern Ireland

Two Gal Pals of mine came all the way from Canuck Land and spend ten days traipsing through the cities and countryside of the Emerald Isle. On the route to the Giant's Causeway lies Cushendall Caves, not advertised on the touristy thingy brochures that I had gathered up for their visit but Shantelle pointed them out, and told me that it was one of the locales where 'Game of Thrones' was filmed. I'd never been inside a cave in N-Ireland before and we drove there - past some goats - to the ocean where we came across some magnificent caves. The three of us also visited Tollymore Forest and gazed over the Mourne Mountains which have been featured in the same HBO series. I even saw my first cork tree! The castle gardens of Antrim revealed fresh fiddleheads (yum) and Belfast satisfied the visitors with food porn in the shape of Ulster fry, baps and who knows what else at the famous St. George's weekend market.

Cushendall Caves

Fiddleheads in Spring

The Adoration of Craft Beers

A good pal of mine and I take snapshots of beers encountered and we e-mail them to each other with a short description. This has been going on for years, and each place I travel to I am on the lookout for finely crafted deliciousness on tap so that I can send him a detailed report whereas he makes me jealous with BC brews he runs into along the road. The apple of his eye is a crisp IPA whereas I like darker brews with unconventional ingredients and we both dig microbreweries big time.
But when it comes down to having a favorite it is like taste in music: Variety is key thus sticking to one type of beer would be akin to playing one record over and over again. Ugh.  Below are a few of my most recent infatuations here in Ireland and Scotland. Cheers!

Broken. Again.

...While trying to photograph Cedric the Gnomad among the charming crocuses that are popping up all around here the camera decided to go on strike and once again I am faced with the same issue that my last Canon had: The lens wouldn't open. My old camera was brought to the camera doctor but after finding out that the repairs would amount to the same price of two basic cameras (the exact words of the technician were that it was so ancient and outdated that they might not have the parts to fix it) I decided to buy a new one.

It was an old camera, I was emotionally attached, that's all. We had some good times travelling around and of course snapping some saucy shots made me treat it like it was more than the giant silver dinosaur it really was (and after ten years I still hadn't figured out what most of the buttons did, but I really liked its swiveling screen thingy)

I bought a no-frills compact replacement for eighty dollars and happily started snapping away until the crocus incident and now I have to replace this sucker as well. It might be a sign that I should move on and get up to date with some iPhone Instagram Plan but my mobile phone works just fine (it's a dinosaur too), doesn't take pictures and for some reason I like that.
Cause when I am having a drink with someone my attention is focused on that person and not on some fancy touch screen, apps, texts and lord knows what else.

...I think I really need to get over my technophobe tendencies.

Photo derived from web

Gone

Vee has left and I feel somewhat forlorn without her. Our visit lasted five days and I was filled with such joy to have somebody I love and who knows me so well by my side in this rainy land of green hills. The more time spend away from home the more a certain amount of sadness seeps into my soul, and Vee's gift of traveling all the way here meant the world to me and lifted my spirits enormously.
Don't get me wrong. Northern Irish folks are plenty nice. And kind of reserved.
Back home we don't do reserved. There is an openness spread throughout the community that has become part of being. Often accompanied by a generous sense of kindness.
I miss that a lot.
Friends hold each others' hands and provide loving shelter when life's storms have knocked the breath outta ye. This I know. And I am one fortunate woman, to have such a strong base back home who rally around me every step of the way and who are willing to cross the Atlantic to hold me close. Damn.

That thing about finding pots of gold here under the Irish rainbows? I'm not even gonna try. I already got the Motherload back home.
See ya soon(ish), Gabriola Island.

V-Rock

Daunting Cliffs, High Winds and a Rope Bridge

A few miles from the Giant's Causeway there is Carrick-a-Rede, the rope bridge. My sweet pal Vee and I clambered onto it and although I threatened to jump up and down on the middle part when she was crossing I behaved most ladylike and we made it to the other side just fine. What a beautiful place!
In April two wondrous friends are coming and one of them is already shitting bricks but is adamant that she will attempt to cross it. I know she will be marvelous at it and I will be a good girl and not make the bridge sway like I did with Vee...

Ancient mustard-colored seashore lichens adorn the cliffs and gulls nestle on little perches, unaffected by the strong wind gusts and cold weather. The ocean here is as always roaring and wild, bashing against the rocks. After Vee and I made it to the other side we had to go back. With an entire schoolbus of teenagers right behind us on the bridge...

Carrick-a-Rede

Roadside Attraction

I love this.
On the side of the road, somewhere in Northern Ireland

Towering Heights

You can spot Scrabo Tower looming above everything else from miles away. It was build in 1857 as a memorial for some marquess (Imagining some architect in the 1800s: 'Hey! I have a great idea! Let's haul shitloads of building material up onto that big wicked windy hill with cliffs there and build a very tall tower! It will be a pain in the ass but it will really stand out!') Yeah.
Veronica came all the way from Canada and together we hiked around Scrabo. The 360 vista there is lovely, and although the tower was closed to the public for the day we gallivanted around the hiking paths and when she asked me for the name of the bushes that grew around there I promptly named them Thistly Thorn Thingies. It was windy and sunny and I was filled with utter happiness because a piece of home was walking next to me.

Vee amid the thistly thorn thingy thistle bush

Cedric goes Dutch

24 Hours in Holland with Cedric and my awesome Dad!

Cedric vs. Douwe Egberts Coffee

En Route

Irish Cedric

Cedric is in Ireland and has not been out much, mostly so that folks around here don't think that I'm batshit crazy for carrying a small gnome on my person wherever I go. Rolling green hills aplenty but here he is seen frolicking in the enclosed yard instead (for obvious reasons)

Green grass gnome

Writing Devices

From to-do lists to letters, a large amount of time is spend writing. I enjoy penning it all down. Recently my Mom gave me a gift that she herself received almost twenty years ago: A limited edition 14k golden Mont Blanc fountain pen. My own Parker ink-stick in need of repair is back home in Canada so when I opened the package I was stunned with silence...Her thoughtful gesture put a lump in my throat.

Next to having the most beautiful handwriting EVER my father collects unique fountain pens and has the counter part of this particular Mont Blanc which my parents both received when we all lived together in Gabon. I can't wait to buy ink and start scribbling away! Hand-written letters are going to be mailed! Dipped in cerulean ink...

My new scribbler

New Beginnings

Local Northern-Irish Dulse will be part of my diet in 2014. Next to local bacon, smoked Irish brie, finely crafted beer and other rural delicacies that make life seem so much more vibrant after leaving the Middle-Eastern desert (insert wink)

Kelping it