Ten of us got together for Thanksgiving at the family farm in Nashua, Iowa: my grandparents (incidentally, my grandpa’s 90th Thanksgiving, most of which celebrated in this same farmhouse), my aunt and uncle from Detroit, my cousins from North Carolina and Chicago, my parents from just down the road in Waverly, my sister from Denver, and me.  We had the traditional spread, in additon to a veggie and tempeh shepherd’s pie I attempted as a main dish for us vegetarians, my sister and me.

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And with food on everyone’s minds this week, here’s a wonderful photo essay on slow food from the New York Times today.  I just happened across it and it’s a fun, whimsical read, but also offers a strong message of being aware of food.

http://kalman.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/26/back-to-the-land/

Portland’s been a grand time though, kept plenty busy and did just about everything…except find a place to live or a job, but priorities.  So glad to spend time with friends, for those I didn’t catch this time I’m looking forward to seeing them when I take the train back in January.  Still I managed to fit in a trip to Eugene for an Oregon game, went caving with Chris and Jenny near Mt St. Helens in the Ape cave, a volcanic tunnel of sorts.  Met someone from Missoula through couchsurfing and had coffee, met some others at a Potluck I got invited to on a whim.  Spent lots of time on Alberta in coffee shops and such, including a lunch at Vita with Austin and a bar crawl with a bunch of folks for Sarah’s birthday.  Met Sophia for food twice, at Por Que No on Hawthorne and at the food carts downtown.  Made a couple of the hash group runs around town.  Got to play with about five different friend’s dogs at various points during the week.  Had brunch with Whitney and a couple of her friends at the ever popular Screen Door.  Biked around east side while the weather was still nice.  And probably a few things in between that got lost in the shuffle.

It does make it easier to leave again knowing I’ll be back soon.  And looking forward to the traditional Thanksgiving at my grandparents’ farm in Iowa.

Now that’s a stretch I admit, but it helps explain how I’ve randomly run into old friends not once, but twice in just a space of a week here.  And this wasn’t in Powell’s Books or any bar or coffee shops I used to frequent.  First I was meeting my friend Whitney for Happy Hour at Gold Dust Meridian on Hawthorne.  Never been there before, but not five minutes after arriving three friends from my old office come walking up shocked to see me.  And it happened again yesterday in an even more off-beat place.  I was walking down a quiet residential street near where I’m staying by Alberta and I ran into my friend Celeste, haven’t heard from in a year.  She was walking her dog and just glanced up at me with a puzzled look and said hi.  We exchanged numbers and continued on our separate ways.

Laura moved out to Denver about a couple months ago (Dad drove the van out with her) and is settled into a cozy little apartment there.  After helping out my grandparents for a while I got ready to head out for a visit myself.  My parents and I drove down to Des Moines to see Wicked (well worth it and great music and set, though the book may be better), get a nice dinner at Django in Hotel Fort Des Moines, and tour the new sculpture garden at Gateway Park.  From there we drove the hour south to Osceola to drop me off at the Amtrak station and then they drove back to Waverly.  Took the train through Iowa and Nebraska and met Laura the next morning at Denver Union Station.

It’s actually the second time I visited her there, the first being back when she was interning over the summer there a year and a half ago.  But it was great to be back, I enjoy it there and now I got to see her new abode.  It’s a cute little three-story brick job, she has a studio on the second floor with plenty of space, a patio, and even a view of the downtown skyline.  So she’s not suffering any.

I’d done the Liebeskind designed art museum and a couple of the hot spots on my first trip so this time was more relaxing, spending time with Laura and her friends, cooking a little, going out a couple times for some nice meals.  I also found this amazing used bookstore, Kilgore’s I think.  It’s small but they’re very particular about what they stock so everything on the shelves looks really interesting or is a popular title.  Bought a couple things at Buffalo Exchange, lounged in Cheeseman Park, biked and ran around town, checked out the Stapleton neighborhood (a New Urban-ish place that came up in my architecture classes), went to a haunted house, toured a small contemporary design museum, and drove her friend Betsy’s truck for dinner in Idaho Springs and a short hike in the hills nearby.  Laura and I also met up with my college friend Clint and his partner Deryk for dinner at Watercourse, and got to have drinks with Liz, Niner, Betsy, and some other friends of Laura’s, and went bowling with her co-workers (I got a personal best, 147 I think!).  Oh, and I best not forget Sullivan, her rabbit!

Took the train back to Osceola, Iowa again.  I had breakfast and read my book until my friends Katie and Carl drove in.  They were in Kansas City and were happy to pick me up on their way back to Waverly.  So that worked out really well.

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Next couple weeks were mostly quiet, spent some good time with my parents and dogs, including one night at Harmony, a contemporary American style place that recently opened there,  great chef and an impressive restaurant for such a small town.  I also drove to Strawberry Point to go for a run in Backbone State Park, always a nice escape in northeast Iowa.  And the last weekend before my Portland trip I made a couple drives to Rochester, Minnesota with my Grandma.  First day it was me and Dad, I took Grandma into the Mayo Clinic for her appointment while Dad drove the rest of the way to Minneapolis to pick up Laura at the airport (she was coming back for the weekend to be in her college friend’s wedding).  Then the next day I drove to Rochester for my Grandma’s next appointment, this time with Mom.  Rochester is actually a fairly cosmopolitan little place, I roamed a little downtown through an antique/relic store, went in the Barnes and Noble that’s in a beautiful old theater, and got a portabella sandwich at a swanky little bistro.  Meanwhile the temperature dropped and we got pummeled pretty well by a thick blanket of snow, leaving town was a little sticky.

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And then Portland.  I’d been itching to visit ever since getting back to the States.  I thought about taking the train again or a flight, but decided that since I had the free time I felt like making the road trip with my parents’ spare car (after wrangling with some misgivings about using all that gas).  So I arranged places to Couchsurf in Gillette, WY and Missoula, MT.  The trip went smoothly, zipped across Iowa, Minnesota and South Dakota the first day and got to Wyoming just in time with snow flying and making for tough driving.  Great hosts there, chatted for a while in the evening, had some of their vegan chili, and was off in the morning.  Stopped in downtown Gillette for a coffee on my way out and tread slowly across the snow-blown interstate.  Luckily the weather warmed up and the snow petered out, it was a good thing I’d taken I-90 because I-80 was closed through Cheyenne.

Montana is such a vast place and an amazing drive just north of Yellowstone.  It took me that whole day to reach Missoula with a couple stops along the way.  I pulled into Billings for gas and a look around, even stopped in the St. Vincent DePaul’s and found a great $4 sweater.  Got into Missoula and called my Couchsurf host there, a University of Montana student.  I met him at his friend’s house where there were about 10 or 12 people milling about having a drink and making dinner.  I was tired but enjoyed mixing in, I think only one of the students was actually from Montana.  There were dogs running around everywhere, including the two biggest huskies I’ve ever seen.  The owner was actually taking them to Alaska the next day for a mushing competition.  Went back to my host’s place where his roommate introduced me to Flight of the Conhords TV series, somewhow I’ve never heard of it but was definitely amused.  He also took me to the store across the street to buy some Kettlehouse Scotch Ale, which he said was the best of the local Missoula brews.  In the morning I drove by campus and around downtown, grabbed a breakfast burrito at a buzzing little cafe and made the final drive to Portland.  More Montana mountains, a stop in the little panhandle tourist town of Wallace, Idaho, through Spokane Washington, down to the Tri-Cities and finally across the Columbia into Oregon!  Weaved through the gorge and finally pulled into my second home.

So I’ll be staying here two weeks or so before heading back to Iowa for Thanksgiving at the farm.  My friend Dawn graciously put me in her guest room and it’s been exciting to see so many friends again.  Went to a Halloween party, watched some football, ran the Wildwood trail, met Whitney for Happy Hour and spontaneously ran into friends from my old office.  Plenty more people I want to see before I leave too.

As usual a longer entry than anyone wants to read through but eh…it’s as much a chance to write for myself as anyone else.  But I’m looking forward to the next few days back in Portland and seeing some more people, feels all warm and tingly to be back here again.

So now all the volunteers will hopefully be safely spirited out of the country and move on.  And perhaps in the meantime Guinea will sort out its political ills and find a way to hold safe and legitimate elections for a country and people that desperately need a stable and supportive government.

I’ve been home now for a few weeks, long enough that Europe and Africa seem fairly distant already.  I spent some of the time with my family before Laura moved to Denver and visited my dad’s mom in Davenport, but I also spent quite a bit of time with my mom’s parents in Nashua.  Just a few days after I’d gotten back from Spain, my grandpa went to the emergency room to have a pacemaker installed.  So during his recovery I stayed at their farm in Nashua with my grandma, helping with her with meals and errands and spending the nights.  We had a lot of time to catch up and I had a lot of time to reflect on my return home and mull over what’s next for me.  It was also pleasant to relax in the place I’d spent so much time growing up, especially during these last best days of summer weather.

So I chatted with Grandma, visited Grandpa in recovery, spent time in Waverly with friends and my parents, sketched a little, napped a little, read a little, tried some bread recipes with my birthday breadmaker, picked the tomatoes, made tomato sauce and tomato soup and tomato sandwiches.  I went to the Big Four Fair and experienced a glimpse of rural Iowa life, I visited the grand opening of an Iowa State experimental farm building just a couple miles from my grandparents’ farm, I bought postcards in the Nashua Pharmacy, I ordered a malt from the little ice cream parlor, and I made a couple trips to the nearby town of Charles City for a cappuccino at the coffee shop there, Aroma.  I’m not ready to move to a small town farm, but I always enjoy my time visiting this particular corner of Iowa at least.

And now Grandpa is back home with Grandma at the farm and things are more or less as they were.  So I went home for a few days before getting ready to leave for Denver.  I spent the time exhuming my old resume and trying to breathe new life into it, as well as beginning to pore over and reorganize my project portfolio, all to begin preparing for a yet unplanned trip back to Portland.

That brings me to today, when I drove with my parents to Des Moines to see Wicked at the Civic Auditorium.  They took ample liberties with the book’s storyline of course, but the music and artistry were great and we really enjoyed the show.  Afterwards we took a walk to a nearby French restaurant called Django, one of the few places open  Sunday downtown.  It was a good choice, and I had one of the best vegetarian dishes I’ve ordered in Iowa, a spinach and mushroom crepes.

Before leaving town we strolled through the Gateway sculptural park that had just opened that afternoon, an impressive collection of outdoor art.  Then we drove by the river and through the lively East Village neighborhood and past the Capitol.  And now I’m on the California Zephyr Amtrak train heading west to Denver.  My parents drove me the hour or so south of Des Moines to Osceola, a small town that happens to be one of the few Amtrak stops in Iowa.  I’d boarded there once before, but it was early in college and I’d forgotten what a throw-back the train depot is.  I walked in with my folks and we were greeted by a dark paneled room with long rows of empty wooden benches.  The attendant was sitting quietly behind a large gated conductor’s counter and there was a western movie running on a TV in the waiting area.  A photo isn’t even necessary, because it’s exactly how one would imagine it 40, 60, 80 years ago, perhaps with the exception of the television.  Just as we came in the attendant walked slowly to the arrival board and rearranged the letters to indicate the train was twenty minutes late.  Yes it’s a far cry from the high speed trains of France or Spain and their bustling stations, but at least our rail system still has its charms!

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2009/09/19/travel/20090919-why-we-travel-reader-photos.html?hp#/17516

If you can’t pull up the website, here’s the caption I wrote for it:

Jumping around excitedly on the dusty soccer field, these young women earned the celebration.  They were the victors of the first women’s match ever to take place in the remote village of Mankoutan in Guinea, West Africa.  It was a small, but enthusiastic crowd of villagers who turned out to witness the unusual event, which a friend of mine serving in the Peace Corps had helped organize.  Men, women, and children were seated and standing along the side and gave vocal support to their daughters and sisters, despite the women’s inexperienced style of play.  Afterwards official certificates went around, speeches were made, and candy was handed out to the participants.  I played no role in the preparation but was still given the opportunity to award one of the team certificates.  As I handed it to the designated woman she caught me off guard with a quick cheek kiss, to the roaring delight of her teammates.  I was quite surprised by the move, particularly in a Muslim region, but now I only wish I could repeat the performance next year.

After meeting Fed in Madrid we had a day or so to explore on our own.  We stopped by the big Saturday flea market in La Latina, wandered through Plaza Mayor and Plaza del Sol, and had lunch at the Thai restaurant my friend Hilary took me to.  Fed also had a friend from high school who lives there so we met him and a couple of his friends for dinner at a Cuban restaurant and joined the Saturday night masses for a beer out in a plaza before heading to a couple clubs and capping off the night with churros and chocolate at the famed San Gines.  We didn’t last until dawn but we made a valiant effort, walking back at about 4:30am.

The next day we met my parents and Laura at the airport and helped Dad navigate our rented Audi wagon through the impossible streets of central Madrid, finally parking underground near the hotel.  We found a nice cafe nearby with some safe and familiar Italian food for their first meal after a long night and day of flying.  Then we were off on a walk to the churro place to meet the Smiths, my parents’ friends from college.  The main reason for their trip was to attend their daughter’s wedding.  Hilary met Ricardo at college back home and they were finally getting married in Spain, where he grew up.  I’ve known Hilary on and off most of my life and I stayed with Hilary and Ricardo earlier on my trip so I was excited for the wedding.  So my parents wanted to see their friends before we darted off the next morning for north Spain.  It was a nice spot to chat and afterwards we took a short walk to see the royal palace at night.

The following morning we packed the car (no easy feat with five people and lots of luggage) and struck off for La Posada del Valle, a small guesthouse on an organic farm in Asturias.  I’d stumbled across it on a vegetarian website and everyone seemed really excited about the idea.  It was probably the best place we stayed the whole two weeks, with amazing views, great weather, and easily the best food.  The rooms were large and cozy (and certainly had more material comforts than I’ve had most of the time) and there was no shortage of things to see – walking around the farm or on trails through the surrounding hills.  The first thing I did was take a walk along the farm trail through the orchard and down to the creek, where there was an old church hidden amongst the trees.  And it was my birthday so I was really looking forward to the meal.  Every day they offered a choice of a vegetarian or meat dish, so Laura and I of course reserved a vegetarian plate and my parents and Fed opted for the meat.  I picked out a red wine and the seat with choicest view out the window.  The first course each night was a buffet table crammed with salads, beans, and bread; the entree that night was stuffed bell peppers and zucchini; and for dessert I picked the creme brulee.  I don’t remember what anyone else got, it was my birthday after all, sorry.

We took a leisurely pace for the next couple days there in the hills of Asturias.  First there was a drive to the beach where we all managed to got our pants wet wading in the surf.  Then the next day Laura, Fed, and I went on a hike from the farm down and out into the valley to the nearby town.  Along the way we got a little lost, but had some great views, fed a couple donkeys, and gave a dog some water.  When we got to town we bought food to take back to the farm for lunch and met Mom and Dad at the park for a cold beer out in the shade.  When we got back we spread our lunch fixing out on the table on the bedroom balcony overlooking the farm.  We ended up drinking wine every night (!) with our meals and coffee and tea afterwards on the back veranda, but I think the breakfasts were my particular favorite.
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We were off to the wedding, the main excuse we all had for enjoying ourselves in Spain.  It was about a three or four hour drive south toward Burgos and just a ways west from there to our hotel in Carrion.  The hotel was a restored monastery and was a convenient place to stay since the reception was there afterwards.  After arriving we zipped east through the wheat fields to the small town of Melgar, where the wedding party was camped out.  We met the Smiths and followed them to the even smaller town nearby where Ricardo’s parents were from.  It’s a beautiful, deserted little spot, with only nine permanent residents remaining.  Most of the buildings and homes are empty and collapsing, so it’s a striking picture of rural Spain.  One of the relatives still lives there and hosted a big tapas meal for all the visiting Americans and Spaniards.  Then there was a tour of the town and an old wine cellar.  It was a lot of Spanish being spoken all at once (particularly after staying at the farm in Asturias where the owners were British), so it was a lot to digest for my parents and Laura.  But I was able to help translate some and Fed served as a go-to translator for just about everyone there (making him rather popular).  Mom and Dad got to try some authentic Spanish tortilla (essentially an omelet), empanada, and other dishes, there was wine, cake, and lots of halting, broken English and Spanish spoken.  Once things wound down we migrated back to the rented house in Melgar where there was a pool table.  Dad, Laura, Fed, and I teamed up for a game.  I hadn’t played since Guinea so that was fun, though a little frustrating since Laura and Fed kept beating Dad and me.  Any frustration was smoothed over though with a delicious, homemade coffee liquor they had on hand!

The wedding was the following afternoon and they’d chosen a wonderfully rustic church far from town and surrounded only by trees and open fields.  It had once been the principal church in its own village, but the inhabitants and buildings have long since disappeared.  We got there surprisingly early (for our family) and had loads of time to take photos and pose on see-saws with each other.  Once more people started arriving we were able to admire all the fashionably dressed Spanish attendees as they walked up.  Inside the ceremony was crammed into the lofty, but tight quarters of the old church, the darkness, the gilded altar, and imposing stone columns lending a sense of importance to the occasion.  Hilary and Ricardo alternated speaking roles as Hilary did her best at the Spanish and Ricardo the English, then much of the wedding was conducted in Spanish with the English printed in the programs (after all, the Americans were the distinct minority).  When everyone piled back outside there were flower pedals and toilet paper to shower the bride and groom, toilet paper apparently being a solemn component of any proper Spanish wedding.

There was a brief lull as everyone drove back to the monastery.  Appetizers were served in the portico courtyard along with drinks before filing into the dining hall for the kind of meal one could only expect in Spain: heavy on the food, wine, and raucous singing.  Laura and I both had separate vegetarian dishes that Hilary had requested for us so that was greatly appreciated, and compared very favorably to the meat dishes (at least from the looks of it).  There were lots of boastful challenges from some of the younger Spaniard tables wondering why the Americans weren’t making much noise (surprisingly our repertoire of Spanish football taunts to respond with was sparse) but the whole affair was good fun.

The dancing took place down the hall and was a little slow at first but quickly became rather raucous, raucous being the natural state of equilibrium at any Spanish event.  Our crew lingered on the edges, sipping on the remainder of our dessert liquors.  Laura, Fed, and I decided to get some air and took a walk into town for a beer at a bar, sitting out in the evening sun.  We got back to the monastery in time for a little more mingling before the day happily exhausted itself.
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Once the wedding was over we had another week to enjoy Spain.  There were three nights in San Sebastian and three more in Madrid.  San Sebastian in one of the furthest points northeast in Spain and is in the heart of Basque country, a region all its own culturally, and would be a country all its own if some had their way.  ETA is the terrorist-affiliated group that has been active there for decades, though they of course lack the support of the majority of residents.  And oddly enough our visit coincided both with an annual two week cultural festival as well as ETA’s 50th anniversary.  So we were surprised by the crowds until we realized the festival was taking place.  Our rented rooms were in the very center of the old part of town so we parked in a ramp long enough to unload then drove the car out to a residential street to sit there for the next few days and took the bus back.  Then we found a good pizza place I knew of for an easy dinner.  Part of the festival included an international fireworks competition, and that first night we weren’t up for heading back outside but we managed to see the top half of the display peaking over the roof from the courtyard balcony of our rooms.  The next night we caught it after our Chinese dinner across the river and our last night we finally walked right up near the beach for the full show.

Since we were so close to France I suggested we hop on the Basque regional train and get off at the last stop just across the border in Hendaye.  I had been there the last time I visited and thought it would be a good place for lunch and then Mom, Dad, and Laura could say that they visited France as well as Spain, if only for a couple hours.  So we walked to the train station and zipped over to France, no passports required.  Unfortunately the festival was taking place all over the Basque region, which extends into that part of France, so things were quite crowded and no one would seat us at any of the restaurants in the village center.  Still it was a nice walk through town and we headed back toward the train station where there were plenty of bars that served food and we had a nice meal outdoors on the sidewalk.

That evening Laura, Fed, and I walked around to soak up all the excitement.  We sat for a while on the levee overlooking the Atlantic and watched the waves.  Then we cruised around the back side of the large hill just off the edge of the water and walked along the carnival that was set up there.  We didn’t plan to jump in but the bumper cars were too tempting, and it was the first time Fed or I had “driven” in months.  So that was fun.  Then as it started raining we headed back through the festival revelers toward our rooms.

The next day Fed and I took a quick side trip via bus to Bilbao.  I had missed my chance to visit last time I was in that part of Spain and was anxious to visit the Guggenheim Museum, designed by Frank Gehry.  I’m not necessarily a fan but the building is monumental and one of the more well known contemporary structures in the world.  The art exhibited inside was well worth the visit, too.  The building is credited with stirring a revival in the formerly declining, industrial city.  As we walked around afterward we got lunch in the old town by the cathedral and headed back to the bus station for the ride back to San Sebastian.  While we were gone I think Dad took the chance to walk up the big hill that overlooks the city and Mom and Laura did some shopping.

The rest of the time we just enjoyed the atmosphere.  Every night the streets were packed with parades and bands and people wandering around.  A couple times after midnight we’d wake up to a drum corps playing on the street below or a band of people singing “Yellow Submarine” in the early morning after the bars.  During the day there were even some large patrols of Basque police dressed in full riot gear to stave off any violence or overt support of ETA; they tore down lost of posters and banners that called for the release of ETA prisoners.  But everything was calm and enjoyable while we were there, and we were really quite fortunate to see all the excitement even though we hadn’t planned it that way.
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Finally we were back on the road one last time for a short stay in Madrid before the flights out.  Mom had arranged an apartment rental right off the fashionable Gran Via in the heart of Madrid so we had some nice digs, complete with a living room and kitchen.  Everyone got a reminder of how hot the weather is in the rest of Spain is compared with the north coast, but the apartments had air conditioning and there’s plenty of cold drinks to be had.  We had some great final meals too: one at an Indian place right by the apartment, another meal we brought back from an amazing vegetarian buffet, and easily the best meal was cooked at the apartment by Fed, which was fettuccini with goat cheese and asparagus.

For Mom and Dad’s benefit we went through the botanical gardens, which were extensive but looked a little water deprived.  And another day we set aside for exploring the Prado, one of the worlds best collections of paintings.   I usually prefer contemporary art but it was more absorbing than I anticipated and we were glad for the visit.  And that evening Laura, Fed, and I had a night out and went to a couple casual bars and walked around in the Chueca district.

When it came time to leave we hailed a cab early in the morning for Mom, Laura, and Dad and shipped them off to the airport for their flight home.  Fed and I had a little more time that day and walked by the royal palace and the cathedral, went for lunch at a great sushi bar, stopped in a couple shops, and got loads of groceries to take back that are impossible to find in Guinea.  For our last night out we went back to Chueca to a gourmet burger place and then a mojito nearby.  We headed back to finish packing before he caught the last metro train to the airport for his early flight.  That left me to collect our deposit on the apartment in the morning and catch my own plane to Dublin.

Dublin was just a two night stopover on my way home.  It wasn’t direct but I couldn’t find anything at a decent price from Spain to Iowa.  So instead I flew Madrid to Dublin to Boston to Chicago to Cedar Rapids and Dad and Laura drove me home from there.  But since I was in Ireland again it was a nice, relaxing transition from Spain to the States.  I stayed in the same hostel I’d been to twice before and the guy that checked me in actually recognized me as a regular.  So it was nice to be somewhere familiar.

I was well past any eagerness to museum-hop or anything so I mostly walked around town and had some last good beers and food, including a great Indian buffet and a dinner at a vegetarian restaurant I’d liked before.  I spent Sunday afternoon lounging in a grassy park, closing my eyes on and off while a brass band played.  Since I was making a two night detour I was glad to be back in Ireland.
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I don’t have any final words, what I wanted to say I’ve said.  I didn’t write about everything but I enjoyed describing what I could and was always happy to hear from people who took interest in my accounts.  It’s the close of this particular trip, but I still didn’t make it to Morocco or Turkey, and then there’s South America, Australia, and… well there’s other destinations on the horizon.  In the meantime I may still use this venue to post things on occasion, whether it’s about places, food, or anything else.  Viajo por viajar.

Hopefully at some point I’ll write some more about my time there, but here’s a fast rewind…

Flew into Dublin and stayed there a few days before heading west to Galway and then south to Cork.  In Cork I stayed two weeks with Annie and all the other WWOOFers and guests who were constantly coming and going from her house.  Enjoyed seeing Bantry and hiking priest’s leap and all the great evenings spent over good food and company.  Oh, and we did fit some time in to help in the garden and with the reconstruction of a stone ruin there.

My last weekend Florian, Mark, and I took a two day trek west down the Beara peninsula.  Annie’s friend Neal drove us into Glengarriff (just a few miles form Annie’s) and we had a drink there and pitched our tent (a very small one Florian had for himself, so it was a tight squeeze for three) tucked in a hidden corner of their municipal park.  We were slightly concerned we’d be awakened by an officer first thing in the morning but we got in and out without anyone noticing.  Then we had an all day march up over a high, rocky pass along the Beara Way path.  It was raining and we had full packs but it was still a fun hike.  We were rewarded when we came out on the other side of the hills and had the rain and clouds slowly drifted off to reveal all of Bantry Bay stretched out in front of us.  That’s also when we realized how much further we had to hike.  From there we made it as far as Adrigole for some food, but realized we’d need to catch a ride if we were going to make it as far as Castletownbere, our goal.

We stuck our thumbs out for 20 or 30 minutes with no luck, but then two women who walked out of the small store there gave us a lift.  They were hiking and had WWOOFed once also so they were glad to help us out.  They took us all the way into Castletownbere, and we even had time for a quick pint before the last ferry left to Bera Island.  On the island we found an amazing labyrinth of an old military concrete training area, which was now a cow pasture.  It was a little protected from the ocean winds so we pitched our tent in there.  In the morning the views west over the Atlantic were incredible.  I had some of best best photos of the trip that day.  We took our time doing a short loop around the end of the island and then took the mid day ferry back across to Castletownbere.  We found a good place for fish and chips, where I had the fish pie.  Then we took the bus back and got off at a bridge that’s just a short walk from Annie’s house.

The next day Annie drove me around the bay to Ahakista, where I was staying for the next week and a half with Peter and Amanda.  They have a beautiful house on a few acres just a little ways in from the water.  I was their only WWOOFer at the time and they were great hosts.  Again, great food of course, especially the fresh salads from the polytunnel.  I helped in the garden and also with a couple small projects.

My first weekend in Ahakista I had another amazing hike, this time down Sheep’s Head Peninsula.  I walked from Ahakista through Kilchrohane all the way to the light house at the end, which was perhaps 12 miles in all.  I had a great lunch in Kilchrohane and ran into an Irish couple from Tipperary.  I told him my great-great granfather Deegan was from County Tipperary and he said he was related to the Deegans as well.  So I guess we were cousins of sorts!

After Kilchrohane I got further up in the hills and the best part of the hike was when I got high enough to see the water on either sides of the peninsula and the land beyond.  To my north was the Beara Peninsula that I’d hiked the weekend before and to my south was Mizen Head, which is the furthest point southwest in Ireland.  And to the west was the Atlantic and New York City.

I finally reached the end and there was a small cafe where I got a piece of apple rhubarb pie just before they closed.  They I took the last short leg down to the lighthouse, which was so small that you don’t see it until you’re right in front of it.  But it was neat to think that there was nothing else in front of me for miles.  At that point it started to rain and it would be getting dark in a couple hours, so I was hoping to find a ride but I was the only person out there other than a couple farmers.  Oddly enough though, a car coming the opposite direction pulled up and stopped next to me.  It was actually someone on holiday from Dublin and he was lost driving from Bantry to Schull.  I have no idea how he ended up at the far tip of the peninsula in one of the most remote parts of Ireland.  So I told him he had to turn around and drive back toward Ahakista and Durrus, and just as he was about to pull away I asked for a ride.  I gave him directions and he gave me a lift.  Got back to the house in time for a late dinner.

Aside from the usual day to day at Amanda and Peter’s, I also got to see a neighbor’s art gallery, checked out the Tin Pub down the street a couple times, took a trip into the Friday market in Bantry and picked out some good local cheese, and we drove to Dunmanway to watch a great selection of international and Irish dancers perform. West Cork is certainly one of my favorite places now, and something tells me I’ll be back.

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So that more or less catches things up.  I left out some of the fun details, but I have some of those covered in my Facebook photo albums.

As for my last two weeks, I’m now in Spain.  I flew into Madrid yesterday, it was almost like coming home since I’ve been to Madrid quite a few times now.  I quite like the city.  I’ll be joined by my parents and Laura and also Fed while I’m here.  We’re going to some friends’ wedding next weekend and traveling the rest of the time.  I’m excited to show off Spain now and see everyone, should be a good way to wrap things up before I finally fly home.