the Hill of Tara

joost ootside, of dooblin toon,
i took a bike a book i had a look a round...

This one I was singing, riding the bike down the road Brid had told me about.  I followed the instructions of the old men: "right at this pub, left at that pub, straight on past those two pubs" and found meself in a wide green country with looks out to both sides.

There's a well up the road, said my hostess.  It's a holy well.  And it was.

Old Sos was sitting there when I came up, and he gave me that old thickest irish accent and the talk o the land, about the IRA and politics, the papers, votes, kids, beers, penny whistles, colleens.  He let me have some tea from his thermos and smoke from his bag and a try at his flutes.  And nobody came to steal my bike, while I was sitting there, drinking and thinking with ol' Sos at the well.

And the colleens come by, and the old man says "hey colleens, this lad's from America, he want's to meet some real colleens" and the colleens stop to chat a moment, and then they go on their way.

But I stop to chat some times too, with people on the road, walking the dog.  And they don't show no fear at'tal.  They just talk to you like you're the neighbor that you are.  And they are all real friendly to me with kind voices and smiles and they show me where I am looking to go.

And I was looking to go to a place called NewGrange, and when I got there I realized I didn't even know where or what NewGrange was.

Well what it is is a big mound in the distance with some carvings or light inside, or something.  I didn't go in.  It costed some euros and I haven't got but 30 to get me back to America on the plane tomorrow.  Instead I went up the road and asked a lady on a porch what she was up to.  She showed me around the garden.

Shannaed (I don't know the spelling) showed me the boats that her hoosband built out of wicker baskets and leather, joost like they used to do in the old times.  There was a little one for two people, a bigger one for oceans, and then: Holy May Flies, there was a BARGE sort of thing, made out of leather, and there was Clive the Builder of Boats and the Maker of Children, sewing the leather skins together to make the bottom.

So I sits and talks with Clive about an hour, and he gets out the words and we sing each other some irish songs we know (he speaking gaylga/gaelic with Sinnaed and the kids) and he tells me I can sleep in the corner there, but he eventually puts me in the loft.

So I spent the day walking up and down the road by the Grange, dodging all the cars on the left side of the road, and thinking in the river Boyne (spelling, again).  At night, the kids came back, and 3 little irish fellows played 3 little fiddles like 3 little kings, and I was quite happy because I found what I came out here to find.

PEOPLE!

Real ones, Jesus!  The people are good and I Like'em.

So Heres to you all, good people of mine
The journey is closin, I'm feeling just fine
I guess that I'll see you again some time
Til then it's been gen..uine....

dooblin

Aye!  It has been munths.  I am sorry, really, I thought I was writing it all in the journal, but I was just writing it in the Notebook, and that's not quite on the internet.

Trouble is, I been away from the internet a bit.

Last night (I just tell you last night)
I was outside a poob, in Dooblin Town, and some lads come up to me, calling me Jesus, you know, because the beard has gotten long, and then they offer me to drink a pint, called a pinta, and invite me out like, only I can't go out dressed like Jesus or they wont let me into the bars, see, but I didn't have any extra close is all, so one of them lends me his heavy leather jacket and I tell the bouncer that I am just going 'out with my lads' and I get to come in alright.

So it was what Isabelle would call a real European Experience, although not the sort of country town down home one I prefer so much.  This was more a big flashy bar and all the girls dressed like popsicles sort of thing, with the drinking and the shouting over the music so popular 12 years ago.  Like Spice Girls, yah?

Really, it was great, I enjoyed myself tremenssly.  The boys I was out with were top notch blokes, and I met some other ones, raving about the goodness of woman and the stupidity of man.  Two fellows, one pretty young like, and the other pretty strong jaw'd.  First one says to me

"you look like a really peaceful type, right?"
and I nod my head and say Yes I Am, but my words get smashed and crushed by the music from the amplifier, so I just nod the old head more vigorously.
"not me" he says "I've got this rage inside me, and its like a whole different side of me, and when it gets pushed, I turns on and I can't stop it" and he shows me by puffing up his chest and his arms.  Thats how he gets.  All puffed up like that.
So I tell him thats just his nature, let it be, to know his self is good.
"like maybe in a past life I was oppressed or something, and now whenever I feel threatened I just...I'm Free!"

and then we clasp hands like old brothers, him and me, and get to the talking about women, like this.

"so what do you think of the irish girls?"
Aye me, what can I say?
I can see some of them, maybe those are irish, under the popsickle suits...but it is undeniable, the truth...

"they're beautiful aren't they? Even the fat ones."

Yes.  They are beautiful.
So we talk women like this for a moment, how blessed we are to have them, and the beat goes on.

And I walk home to the hostel, feeling a little bit like a celebrity, with everybody calling me Jesus and shaking my hand.