The Reckonings

     Before I say anything this month, I'll say this: Big Ups to my man Steve for throwin' up this website for me out of the kindness of his heart. Thank you, Steve. I now no longer have to forward these whole long letters to everyone each month. You will now only recieve a neat little weblink to take you to the Dwanimal homepage! Kick ASS!! You can now read all the past updates if you want to. And if you don't want to, the most current one is at the bottom, as you've already discovered by getting this far.

     I've been reckoning things lately. I reckon I've been on the road for almost 11 months now, not counting three months in Mexico before that. I reckon that makes me a traveller, and no longer a tourist. It's come back around to the 'high season' for backpackers in Europe. I reckon that means I'll have to start making reservations ahead of time again. The people I meet now have mostly been "over here" for about two weeks. Since arriving in Ireland, it's less Aussies (although they're still around--everywhere), and more Americans. And lately, Americans on Spring Break. They all seem to have the same questions.
"How long have you been travelling?"
"What's you favorite country so far?"
"When are you going home?"
"Have you been working?"
"What do you do?"
"Yeah but..."
"How do you..."
"What do you ..."
     I reckon I've had the same conversation about three times a day for the past 6 months. I've started making things up, just to keep it exciting for me. Unfortunately, that sometimes causes problems. "I won the Lottery" doesn't work because they expect me to buy them drinks all night, and then get upset when I don't. "I'm an astronaut waiting for my mission assignment" doesn't work because I don't know enough about science. And why would an astronaut be travelling Europe anyway? "I work for the government" hasn't worked since September because it's hard to make friends when people are afraid you might toss them in Camp X-Ray for saying the wrong thing. When I "plead the 5th" the Americans assume I'm a terrorist-funded spy on a fact gathering recon mission, and no one else knows what the 5th ammendment is! So I have little choice but to stick to the truth. I'm a traveller. I'm not the first, and I reckon I won't be the last.

     Pamplona, Spain for the running of the bulls. Biarritz, France for the surf festival. Malaga, Spain for San Ferria. Munich, Germany for Oktober Fest. Edinburgh, Scotland for Hogmanay. And now Dublin, Ireland for St. Patrick's Day. I don't plan these things. Not really. They just sort of happen around me. These past ten months, I've just been stumbling into the biggest festivals and parties in the world. And frankly, it's starting to get in the way of my knowledge enhancing travels. Here I am trying to learn about the history and cultures of all these different countries I've been to, and it turns out the whole world is just having one party after another! What's a guy to do? Run away and hide? Close my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears waiting for it to all go away? The only option left to me is "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." So that's what I've been doing.
     Recently, there's been a new development to my little trip. I have been joined by (sorry for the cliche, but it's the truth) an old college buddy. As with many of my friends from college, he has many names. Bung, Mad Mike, the Jungster, Chemical Mike, and probably a few others I can't think of. The point is, he's here with me, and now there are two.
     But I didn't wait for him to show up before I did something that I'd been putting off and looking foward to for months until I got to Dublin. The heart of it all. I had to have some of the Good Stuff straight from the source. Straight from the cow's udder.
     Ahh, the Good Stuff. And when I say 'the good stuff,' for the first time in a long time I don't mean Natural Light. I'm talking the original Good Stuff. The Blonde in the Black Dress. My Goodness, My Guiness. Oohh, that's good Squishy. And as I sipped my first Pint sitting in the Sky Bar at the top of the Guiness Storehouse with the theme song from the X-Files playing eerily in the background looking out over the fair city of Dublin, I realized where I was. Dublin, the home of one of the great rock & roll bands of my time. Full of poetry, soul, a love for their homeland, and always up for a good party. Of course, I'm talking about The Boys. Thin Lizzy! The Boys are Back in Town! And I reckon if the lead singer was alive today, Thin Lizzy would still be topping the charts.
     After a sample of the Good Stuff at the Guiness Storehouse, there was more good stuff to be had. And I don't mean beer. The Good Stuff isn't always beer. There was Trinity College, home of the Book of Kells, one of the oldest bibles in the world. Good stuff.
     We took a trip to Newgrange, to see a stone altar type thing along the same lines of Stonehenge that was older than the ancient pyramids of Egypt. Good stuff.
     We saw the power and felt the impact of the murals in Belfast, and the Bloody Sunday and Hunger Strike memorials in (London)Derry. Pro-IRA Graffiti, police patrol cars that were fully armored and bullet-proofed, Police Stations surrounded by steel cages, barbed wire, lookout towers, and CCTV cameras that would feel right at home in a Mad Max movie, or in the future-Earth scenes from the Terminator movies. Good Stuff? It depends on how you look at it, but...yeah. A not so subtle reminder of the terrorism that plagues the world, and doesn't just breed in the Middle East.
     We stopped off at the "Peace Wall" in Belfast. The wall that seperates the Protestant from the Catholic areas of town, and we took the time to write our own well thought-out messages of peace to the world. I couldn't think of anything more appropriate then my own trademark signature phrase, "Peace on the Mothership." Signed, dated, and proudly in Belfast until the next time the wall gets painted over.
     We went to the Aran Islands. We hung our heads over a 300 foot cliff that looked into the sea. There was no barrier. No rope. Just the straightest vertical cliffs I've ever seen. Good stuff.
     But (excuse me while I try to get back on track here) with all the excitement and build up of St. Patty's Day in Ireland, it turned out to be nothing to write home about. Ironically, here I sit writing home about it. I had heard time and time again that the real Patty's Day parties were in Boston, Chicago, and --according to a guy from Virginia-- Savanah, Georgia. From what I have seen, I have no doubt that this is probably the case. It started off promising enough. A weekend-long festival with fireworks, a parade, bands in the park, something called 'the glimmering', and tourists from around the world were all planned for our entertainment. Except the tourists. No one actually plans tourists as entertainment.
     To kick-start the festivities on Friday night, we went to the river that runs through town and stood in the very cold , but light rain for about an hour anticipating 'the glimmering.' It was to be a dazzling display of flaming stars and circles and who knows what else floating down the most polluted river in Europe. We put up with the rain and cold for about 45 minutes past the scheduled start time, hoping that the final display would be worth it. And when the time came, the music built up, and the button was pushed to kick the whole thing off...it didn't work. The first two stars in the line flickered and eventually caught fire, but the rest of the line of about 15 shapes just floated dead in the water, like a sad little boy whose 4th grade science project volcano fails to erupt. We didn't wait around to see if they were going to try to salvage it or not. Strike one. We were wet, and there were warm pubs waiting for us with good craic to be had by all. Besides, the Fireworks display on Saturday was the big thing.
      Saturday. We lined the street by the river again with the mass of other people to watch the fireworks. Again, the evening's event was late to get started. And when the fireworks finally did begin, the entire display was hidden from view by a cluster of buildings, unable to be seen by the entire population of the most populated area of Dublin. Strike two. Back to the pub. Back to the Craic. Sunday. The parade was meant to be the real crowning achievment for the organizing comittee. We put up with the light rain, again. The parade was 20 minutes late getting started, but by this time we had expected that. What we hadn't expected was the 15 minutes we had to wait between each group in the parade. Strike three. I'm sorry Dublin, but after growing up watching the New Year's Day Rose Parade and the 4th of July Fireworks at Dodger Stadium, I guess I've been spoiled.
      Off to the pubs for one last time to fight our way through the crowds of American tourists to finally get our hands on a green pint. Not exactly what I had expected from Ireland on St. Pat's day, but like I said, I had already been told that the real parties were in the U.S. However, if St. Pat's Day was less then what I expected, most other things in Ireland have been as good as or better then what I expected.
     And during these trips by train and bus, we constantly find ourselves surrounded by something else Ireland is known for--rolling green hills. Everywhere you look, there are lush grassy hills, pastures, and fields broken by small brooks, streams, puddles, ponds, bogs, and wetlands caused by the nearly ceaseless rain that falls. Rain, drizzles, sprinkles, whatever you want to call it, it's water falling from the sky. And it's starting to get old! I know, it wouldn't be green if it didn't rain, but come on!
     Growing up in LA, I used to love the occasional downpour that was an excuse for sitting inside on a Saturday with a cup of hot chocolate and a book or a movie. Or the storm that could be watched through an office window or the windshield of my car as the wipers sloshed it away with that soothing tempo. I used to love walking to class in my shorts and sandals during the summer monsoons in Arizona, because they only lasted 1/2 an hour at the most, and then the sun came out and dried you off again.
      But I reckon rain causes quite a different set of emotions when it starts the minute you step out the door of the bus station, and gradually gets heavier as you walk a mile to a hostel with a 22 kilo pack on your back, a 10 kilo pack on your front, and a nice gentle, freezing wind in your face. And when that rain turns to hail, boy how I long for those days when I can just sit in my Lay-Z-Boy with a hot drink and a book. But I reckon I'll have that chance again someday. And I reckon gettin' a bit of hail blown in my face is worth it. For the Good Stuff.
     Besides, lately a strange thing has been happening. The sky is occasionally a strange color. Not always the flat grey or white that it normally is. Sometimes it almost appears (and if I didn't know better, I would swear this was true) blue. I know, it's just as strange seeing it in person as it must be to read about it. But I'm tellin' you, the sky actually looks blue some days! Good STUFF!
     Meanwhile, I've missed the Superbowl. I've missed the Oscars, again. I've missed March Madness, again. It's just not the same reading about it the next day on the internet. But it's impossible to find an American College Basketball game on TV in Europe. But I reckon that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. In exchange for the Good Stuff. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Props to my Peeps and Peace on the Mothership,
The Dwanimal