All water toward the ocean

Now it has been a few days more. For those of you following my blog with bated breath, I am both sorry and amazed that you can last this long without breathing. You must not exist.

Let's see. Here I sit in Amsterdam, in Gab's Drake's beautiful high-cielinged single, with both Cindy and Gabs passed out behind me. The room is  warm and cozy, the sounds of quiet Amsterdam streets filtering in slowly, as water through the drawn curtains. I feel at home here, so comfortable in this specific place and especially with these people. It isn't just the weed, there are great vibes coming from all around. The city seems as if it naturally grew around people living naturally. Of course drugs are a part of it, of course art features prominently, of course some people see sex as a desanctified act. It all makes a lot of sense now that I am here and I see people going about their everyday lives without the separation of work-day and hangout time, of city and private. This city is truly built into these people's lives; it isn't just a space to move through.

But I must explain how I got here. When we last spoke, I had just barely survived the O'Connor Pass, traveling for hours through clouds and fog, wind and rain, treacherous passes and narrow winding roads to get to Dingle, and Dingle's dolphin. There I spent some good time with my Swiss roommate and met some London girls in an old leather-workshop turned pub. Here's a pic:

Later that night, I heard that the weather would be bad the next day, as I knew, but that it was supposed to  clear up early afternoon. I made the difficult decision to sleep in and see if I could do most of my biking in the sunshine.

I awoke around 10 to go to breakfast downstairs and quickly clear my stuff up. There was a very pretty red-head sitting alone as I silently ate my 4 pieces of toast ( I had been shunned by my table of parisiens after exchanging a few sentences in French), so I made the awkward move with all of my plates and bowls and things to her table. Turns out she is from cornwall, in Dingle for the film festival, because she works in the biz. The ring through her nose was distracting but she formed words with her lips in strange ways. Faces are so interesting to observe if you really are conscious of what is going on. We exchange kisses and I go on my way with a bounce in my step, or a whirr in my pedal as it were.

It rains for the first hour or so of the ride to Killarney. I'm on a more main road, the cars passing me are mostly filled with tourists. I get the feeling not many leave the Dingle peninsula inland unless they're tourists. Dingle was gorgeous, a nice seaside town with the vibe of somewhere in california, just more religious. You can feel the religion here; it's in every conversation, every home.

The road turns into a complete twisting downhill in the rain, skirting around the edges of mountains, it feels like a hotwheels track. The exhileration of riding through these beautiful passes, the gaps filled with tall grass and sheep is intoxicating, it is almost too much. I begin to cheer, and whoop, and cry a bit. I stop for some pictures, but it is difficult.

I have a small lunch. How am I not sick of this yet?

Peanut butter and nutella :)

The road goes by Inch. What a beautiful beach. I see a car doing donuts in the sand, it looks as if it has just been scooped out of the ocean. I take a break here, watching the ocean reach forward and pull back. How silly is it that our names for things have become so ingrained that we really see them as separate? The names have proven useful for mastering materials, but what's that? This conception and perception of separation deprives us of so much. To me, there is no space here. Waves, sand, cliffs, cars, people, these are all names for one thing. As I sit on steps of stone, the puddles travel from step to step down, like me, with the wind in their ripples. Always toward the ocean. All water toward the ocean.

Just as I leave Inch, the sky clears up. To the side, I see an island. Looking over my shoulder into the sinking sky dust I see the sun trapped in a rain cloud over distant mountains, glowing the ocean still around the island. This is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.

With the sun out, the rest of the ride becomes easy, though my ass can feel all these days of riding. With 20k left, I tell myself I have to suck everything I can out and into this experience. It is my last day of riding. I feel the wind in my eyes, the dirt which cakes my skin, the damp patches of my shirt clinging to my body on every pedal, my constant push of the seat up into my stomach through my butt. The cows always turn to watch me as I go. I say, "Hello messieurs!"

The farms disappear and woods take their place. I am in Killarney national park, very close to town now.
 



It reminds me of the forests of the northeast, though the birds sound quite different. The sun is different too. I keep telling myself this moment will never be past, it will never leave, it cannot. I must be present. Be Here Now. Cars pass me. Crowds of crows in murders in their nests cry above, like death on a sunny day, death in the afternoon. a huge gothic church of st. mary, stares benevelontly down on my ride. 
The happiness wells up. Some of the best days. I get into Killarney and quickly check into the Neptune Hostel. 4:30 pm, I have finished my ride. Galway-Killarney, along the coast. 340 kilometers.

I go into St. Mary's. Hail glorious st patrick, the shepherd, the sound of wind against stain glass, & the mother. A holy hat trick. I love the pillars which, thick set in stone rise up to hold to ceiling. 

A white-haired man quickly, boldly kneels before the center of the wheel of the church, bracing himself on a prayer bench. I find many beautiful prayers written in this place. For sleep, for peace, for grandparents.


As I leave, I pass under another group of crows. Murders gather here, in Eireann, all their nests in small clumps of trees along the road. Passing beneath them, death is a breeze, a loud, insistent calling in every possible voice. And then it flies out before you.

That night I make some friends just before dinner. A french canadian, patrick, and an auzzi, ashley. We get pizza then go in search of good trad music. We find it at the killarney grand, so we set up at a raised table for the night. The trad music is good, but when the rock/trad band comes on at 11, that's when everything get's going. It's about to be paddy's!




When the band gets going, I can't sit any longer. I go into the crowd to bounce and push and sweat and have beer dripped on me. A group of rugby boys who's team just won are all trashed in one corner. The other corner leads to a club. Weird. I hang out with the rugby boys, chugging beer and shouting the words to songs I barely know the names of. This is st. patrick's day. Every face is smiling, bouncing along with the tones of banjo, guitar, flute, and insistent beat of the drums behind. The place gets messier and messier, more and more crowded; it gets filled with merriment. The singer is wonderful and extremely talented on many different kinds of flutes. He is laughing; everyone is laughing and drinking and cheering and touching. I meet a girl who promptly kisses me. What a wonderful place. I spend the rest of the time in the Killarney grand with her, leaving around 2 for my hostel.

The next day I sleep in, pack up, leave my overfull backpack behind the counter. I walk a few miles into the woods, finding a castle which overlooks a lake. 
I run into the two london girls from Dingle. Crazy. The day is perfect. I hitchhike my first ride in Europe back into town from a man named Seamus in a BMW. His face is kindly cracked. The parade is a wonderful family affair, with face painting and different community groups all having floats and cheering for each other.

I catch the bus to cork to spend the night there and get to the airport for my early flight. Cork is a nice city. More Irish and better laid out than Dublin, not as dirty, but not quite as scenic as Galway.







I have my huge bag with me, which I stick in the corner of all the pubs I go into. I get a Beamish and watch the England-Ireland rugby game. IE loses, it's kind of heart breaking for some reason. I move from pub to pub, talking to who I can, getting a pint at each place and staying for about an hour. I meet some very interesting people

Interesting people, not forward girls.

 and some very forward girls (asking me to rate myself in the sack, whether i'm circumcised, etc.) I love the feeling of this day. All the pubs are handing out free hats and glasses, the place looks exactly how you would expect.


This night was wonderful. It was certainly not sober, so I have trouble relating all of it to you, and some of my exploits should not be published on the internet. Needless to say, at around 2 I catch a cab to the airport and have a wonderful conversation with the driver, beginning with me saying, "Tell me about your dreams." He's starting an advertising business on screens in cabs. Bloody brilliant.

I get into the airport and it is completely empty other than a security guard and cleaning lady. I set myself up on a bench in the restaurant upstairs and set my alarm for 430am. Flight is at 6.

I wake up for my flight still drunk. It all goes smoothly. I sleep a bit on the flight but mostly just stare out of the window as the dawn creeps over the wings, which reflect it back into the sky. Very beautiful but impossible to capture on my camera.



I get into Amsterdam centraal around 10. I wander the city for a few hours, always meandering towards Gabs.

I go into a park to sit and rest and see two guys (best friends) with their dogs (german shepherds) all playing. The dogs are playing keep it up with baloons. No lie. They aren't taking turns but hitting the ball up, running after it so that before it hits the ground they jump up and bump it with their noses again. So nice. I find an auschwitz memorial with a beautiful inscription. It's something to the effect of how it was impossible to look up at the sky then and believe it stood inscrutable, perfect, infinite blue while these things were scarring man, and the earth, and history for ever. So the memorial is cracked mirrors on the ground, which when looked into, make the sky seem as if it has cracked for watching such atrocities. It is no longer perfect.


It is so beautiful in the rain, with puddles and flowers connected on it. I go into a legit coffee shop, too tired to smoke before meeting people, and set up internet. Cindy meets me there. It is amazing to see someone I know and love after so much time on my own on road. She looks pretty, happy, settled. This is definitely her place. I am just so happy to have her here. Zeneva comes next, with Steven, and they look wonderful together. Stevens got really cool glasses on. They pour in and Zed falls on me in a hug. What a good hugger.

We meet up with Gabs in a little bit to drop our stuff off. Then from there it's food and a coffee shop to smoke. Though I of course understood what it was like here, it all changed after I smoked in a coffee shop in a public building like that for the first time. The reality of the whole situation came crashing down and a new sort of feeling of society settled on me. We wander around the city, gazing at benches which are art pieces, the canals and some very strange architecture. We get dessert waffles which are glorious. Going through the red light district, passing by the women's stalls, I am made a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps it is because I am a bit high, or perhaps because I haven't been here in sexual maturity before, but the women in the windows make me feel uncomfortable, strange, sad. I love nudity, but this isn't naturalized nudity, it isn't the wonder of the human body uncovered. This works for just the opposite reason. Because of societal rules and taboos and coverings, these women are doing this.

The rest of the city is amazing. A truly pedestrian city. We go back to Gab's apartment to say goodbye to Caroline and her friends from Prague. Very nice girls. We decide to cook dinner in the apartment and after a fiasco, finally find Zeneva to go grocery shopping. We make a delicious chicken and pasta meal and share a cheers to this moment before sipping the wine. So wonderful. Aferwards Zeneva leaves to meet up with Steven, and Gabs has to go work on a project for school. Cindy and I hang out for a while, but we are both overcome by exhaustion, the weight of St. Patrick's Day and several coffee shops weighs on me, and I fall asleep around 10 to wake up at 10 in the morning and write all of you.

Much much love from Amsterdam. Today will hold many coffee shops, museums, friends, and wonderful moments. I'll post the pictures from most of Amsterdam later. Then the hitchhike to Berlin comes soon.

All water toward the ocean.
Peace.