I left my heart in West Cork

If anyone can believe it, the last time I was in Ireland was in 1980! I was a rambunc-

tious 6 year old who managed to get her foot stuck in the spokes of a bike wheel and crack open her skull after falling off a door in the space of about two weeks, prompting my relatives to request that my mom take me home and never bring me back! So, I haven’t been back since and now I don’t know why I ever stayed away.

I know I went on about how Africa feels like home to me, but within just a few minutes of my arrival in West Cork, I knew my spirit was home. The quilted hills that look soft enough to bounce on, the low-lying clouds that really make you feel like heaven is only just out of reach, the colourfully painted storefronts alternating with enough pubs for every hour of the day... I know you’ve heard it all before, but it is all true! I guess I’ll have to live 6 months in Africa and 6 months in West Cork! Although it is possible that the Guarda (or cops) in Skibbereen might take objection to me living there if they realise I was the one belting out Hey Mickey right at them while they were trying to close an illegally open pub or that I, too, was the one dancing on the table to Summer of ‘69 (justifying it with ‘C’mon, he’s Canadian!) while my cousins and little brother Brian looked on in horror and concern (Brian was very concerned that my dismount off the table would be very dangerous). Long story short, if I can get past the cops, I will definitely be back in Skib!

Highlights for the rest of Ireland have included:

-Brian and I realising (a little too late, cuz we were in the middle of some wonderful tunes in a Limerick pub) that not all Irish people sing as much as we Duffys do.

-Inspiring mass hooliganism as my cousin and I hopped the fence (read: broke into) the most westerly point of Ireland.

-Sleeping in a hallway on Christmas Eve cuz there was literally no room in the Inn!

-Treating Aman (and most of the street) to another performance of the Duffy Family Singers during the Literary Pub Crawl in Dublin (the poor girl couldn’t get a word in).

-Going head to head (and losing) with my big brother Conor in a trivia contest at the end of the above mentioned Literary Tour. In my defence, he IS a literature teacher.

-Stepping into The Dragon on New Year’s Eve in Dublin and very quickly realising that Karen, Aman and I would have to keep a really close eye on Sean, because the boys were far too pretty and the music was way too good!

-A trip to Belfast where, despite the sobering effects of this beautiful and sometimes troubled city, Aman and I managed to take in 6 pubs in one day (including the test-your-Fate pint in the often bombed Europa Hotel). And just to show you how generous the Irish are: they ordered up a blizzard for us to drive home in, so I could get all prepped for frosty Edmonton!

-The culmination of a fantastic journey on Dec 31^st, 2007, as The Jacket of the Clan of the Travelling Black Gold returned home to The Guinness Brewery at St. James’ Gate in Dublin. It was a beautiful experience that would have brought tears to a glass eye. It was made even more beautiful as Aman was accosted by what she assumed were the kids from Angela’s Ashes. That pic (and others of The Jacket) coming soon on facebook.

Yesterday, the last day of my trip, me Faaather and I decided to take in a little archaeology (in a desperate attempt to balance all the heretofore debauchery) and headed to Newgrange, a magnificent mound tomb built in 3200BC (that’s 500 years before the Pyramids, folks!) to align perfectly with the sunrise during the Winter Solstice. Then on to the Hill of Tara, the magical Druid seat of Irish power until St. Paddy came in a screwed them all over. It was a fantastic end to a fantastic journey, and we managed to find a pint anyway!

So there is it: after taking the decidedly long way home, I return to Canada. For those of you still reading, thank you for sharing in these 8.5 weeks, 600 pounds of pasta, 1000’s of works of art, one pasty Jesus, 14 tonnes of chocolate, 1000’s of birds that might or might not retake the world, gallons of sangria, one Atlantic Ocean, one Sahara Desert, 1 million sheep, one absentee Muffin Man, one millilitre of Ewan McGregor spittle, 5 million gallons of Guinness, 732 potatoes, and the best cousins a girl can ask for.

Love,

Jen

Le Petit Prince, The Muffin Man and Obi Wan Kenobi

This was my third trip on to the continent of Africa and although there is no way to lump the thousands of languages, tribes, and cultures into one, nor to assume to know anything after such a short time there, the whole place feels like home to me. Perhaps it is because people as a species came from Africa or perhaps it is because every country I have visited here has offered me a completely life-altering experience.

Senegal was no different. Now don’t get me wrong, there are some interesting aspects to a vacation in Senegal: sheep outnumbering people on buses and on the street, the constant need to pray to the Sphincter God to help you with control, the chihuahua-sized cockroaches. But there is also the oddly comforting call to prayer five times a day, the wonderfully bulbous baobabs making the place look like a young Fangorn forest or the dream home planet of the Little Prince, the fire of the sunrise over the ocean and the pastels of the sunset over the desert, the friendly and open nature of everyone you meet, the meticulous tea making ceremony designed not only to make good frothy tea but to ensure that there is time for good conversation while it is being made, the fact that waiters assume you are American if you get too excited about ordering a Long Island Iced Tea, the birds who are far more in tune with their magnificent dinosaur ancestry, and the colour everywhere as nobody is afraid to mix and match patterns!

Aman and I had possibly more fun than we deserved, realising that with all we have seen in our young lives we are, in fact, the luckiest (or most spoiled) gals in the world!

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It is surprising even to me that I have never been to London. After 35 countries or so, I suppose I can recognise the pattern that I tend to gravitate to non-English speaking countries and away from big cities. So, being the biggest English city, London was not at the top of my list. Man-o-man, does that list need to change as in one day I fell in love with London. It is seriously the world at your feet. My brothers Conor and Brian met me Saturday morning and we proceeded down to the theatre district to try to see either Ian McKellen in King Lear or Ewan McGregor in Othello (how are those for choices!). King Lear seemed futile, so we headed to the Dunmar to see if there were any tickets for Othello (surprisingly undaunted even after hearing that they were going on EBay for $2000!). During our wanderings, we came across a street called Drury Lane. So, I did what I am sure all of you would have: tried to find the Muffin Man. Sadly we were unsuccessful (even after strategically placing a Starbucks muffin as an offering), so we contented ourselves with some nice shots of the muffin, the Guinness Jacket, and the Drury Lane street sign.

Things looked futile as we reached the Dunmar, the show was sold out and it was unlikely that there would be any tickets returned on a Saturday afternoon. Feeling somewhat whimsical, however, we decided to wait and see. How lucky were we: three seats, pretty much on the stage (in a theatre which held only about 400 people)! I was so close that as the actors entered and exited the stage their cloaks and swords hit me in the knee! At one point, Ewan (who played Shakespeare’s villainous wordsmith Iago brilliantly) was standing right beside me and I could feel the spit as he emphatically delivered his line. Creepy and cool!!! The guy who played Othello, Chiwetel Ejiofor (Kiery Knightly’s husband in Love, Actually and, more importantly, the bad guy in Serenity) was also bloody brilliant! To have seen Shakespeare put on by such amazing players in such an intimate setting is one of the coolest things I have ever done!

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My first day in Ireland consisted of this: me faaather picked me up from the airport, took me to a pub he was banned from as a young lad (we couldn’t actually get in so I am pretty sure the bouncer recognised my dad and quickly locked the doors), then to the baptism of my newest cousin, after which we watched Man U beat Liverpool 1-nil in a dreadful game and then Arsenal beat Chelsea 1-nil in a beautiful match whilst drinking Guinness, followed by trips to two separate pubs to drink...wait for it...more Guinness (I figure I’ll drown whichever stomach parasite I contracted in Senegal with Guinness). So, within three hours I had had three Guinness, been to church and watched football; the quintessential Irish experience!

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The Jacket has made appearances at the Atlantic Ocean; in the Sahara Desert; at the two major tourist destinations in London: Big Ben and Drury Lane; and has now made it home to Ireland. I did think very seriously about having my brother take a picture while I tackled Ewan McGregor and forced the Jacket on him, but thought that might be a bit over the top... But you do get to see the Jacket worn by someone other than me on this trip: Aman, my very wee cousin Jessica (who proves that the thing does not actually fit everyone!) and my wee brother Brian. So, enjoy that nice change of scenery on facebook.

I hope this finds you all well and happily getting ready for Christmas.

Love,

Jen