occasionally subtle
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Noah Kahan
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Keni
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@worldwonderlusterxx
Vulnerability and dissatisfaction
Realisation
Isn’t it amazing, how we can be surrounded by shows of love, friendship and affection, be entirely cocooned in them, but one shred of disinterest or sharp word from one person can tear the whole lot away from our hearts and are heads in a heartbeat.
The good stuff
Today, an old school friend told me he was flying out to see me in Nepal, he’ll be arriving on Sunday. On a whim. It was…
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Vipassana
What Vipassana is
Vipassana – pronounced ‘vi-pash-ana’ translates as ‘to see things as they really are.’ It is a meditation technique kept in tact from the days of Buddah, that teaches you how to reach enlightenment.
Arrival
The guy that greeted me at the centre was, I later found out, ex-military. After queuing in the none English type of queue, (meaning there was no queue, just a wishwash of…
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Becoming a local
The transformation
I’m becoming more and more local. I’m walking past the tourist cafes, understanding what prices should be paid for what, learning what to look out for to guarentee myself a good meal for a good price with good company. I’m learning where to stop and when, trusting my instinct for walking down this side street or that, staying where the locals stay and eating with them and…
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Nepali New Year’s Day - with batman
Nepali New Year’s Day – with batman
Well, annoyingly I feel I should go back before I go forwards, and fill you in on what happened after New Years Eve in Kathmandu before I paint the current fantastical Pokhara picture. So, are we sitting comfortably? Yes? Then I shall begin.
Morning
I’d woken up at 11:30am. 12 hours solid sleeping in my upgraded Aladdin room overlooking the rumble tumble rooftops. I nearly worried I’d slept in…
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My Morning Routine
Reasons To Be Thankful
My morning routine is this. Wake up at 5:30am, get up as soon after the alarm as I can. Stretch, put some socks and a lightweight jumper on and settle myself on the unkept veranda overlooking the lake. The vines are twisted around the tin roof and the flowers are slowly unfurling from their Spring time sleep.
The air is fresh. It’s just rained and the ground is full of…
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The Beginning Again
Nepal For Beginners
“Excuuuuseee meee!” ExcauuUUsseee meee ladies and gentlmaan. Mind your arms and elbows ladies and gentlemannn. Mind your arms and elbooowws! Excuuuseeeee meeeeee”
I woke up on the first leg of the Jet Airways flight from Heathrow to Delhi to a beaming waggly headed Indian steward pushing a trolley full of delicious smells in my direction. I smiled a massive salivatey smile…
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I made it :)x
The Obstacle Race
I made it. And I'm devastated. I have a really early childhood memory of being in an obstacle race on sports day, I must have been 5 or 6, or maybe slightly younger. I was winning and winning by miles. Suddenly, I realised how alone I was at the front line and was swallowed by a gigantic, colossal fear of thinking I wouldn't know what to do in the next part of the race. So I stopped running and I waited for all the other children to catch up. I remember hearing my mum and all the people at the sidelines yelling at me to keep going and what was I doing!? But I let the girl behind me overtake so I could watch what she did with the beanbag and how she walked along the upside down wooden bench, and I realised what a mistake it was too late and came second in the race. I think I've always harboured a fear of finishing whatever I start incase, in the end, it's not good enough or I can't make it. This is why I'll often end up with piano songs half written and half learnt, morsels of food left on my plate, sketches unfinished in my sketch book etc. etc. etc. For the first time on the trip I haven't wanted to write my blog incase it's the last entry. But, maybe the most important thing I've learned on this trip, is that it's ok to finish what you start and that in the finishing you'll accomplish amazing, overwhelming, incredible things. The important thing is to strive to reach your highest heights in whatever it is you're trying to do and when you get there, look further again for your next ambition. To strike down those demons that whisper up inside you telling you the finished article won't sell. To let the uncertainties that everyone chatters around you fall from your heart and hold only onto the strength of your own courage and convictions. What I've learned is that we can achieve great things when we put our minds to the test, and we can conquer the unconquerable. For me, from here on in there will be no half hearted sketches or unfinished songs. There will be no shying away from realising my best potentials for fear of seeming arrogant or different from the girl standing next to me. My pledge is to always strive to finish what I start and to know that there is no critic more important in my life than myself. I know now, that I will never come second again in any of my future obstacle races. X
Spring has sprung in Ireland x
Red vans and tractor mans
If you're Irish and not driving a tractor, chances are you're driving a red van. They LOVE red vans here. Of all kinds. It doesn't matter what size it is or if it's half car half van, as long as it's red, marginally bigger than a saloon and got four wheels it's legitimate. I'm back. Back in bramberly hedge and the shire. Back in the green where the cottages are covered so thickly in ivy you can't see the edges of the windows and the birds collect fluff and twigs to build their nests. Back where they say 'yield' instead of 'give way.' Back with the waggley waves :) Amy wine house is playing in the surf pub I've detoured to, the barman is singing and my teapot just poured me the most perfect cup of tea without spilling a drop. Tonight I'm meeting my brother and the live music will kick off in full swing for Easter. My only qualm is that I'm already half way to my end destination for tonight and tomorrow is the last day on the tour. I'm not ready for the journey to be over. Wanderlust is growing and pounding on the inner walls of my heart and I want the bleeping red dot signalling 'the end' on my map to be somewhere far away and unattainable. For me this adventure is only just beginning - suppose I'd better start planning how to make it last.
The real hippies
The real hippies don’t live in Brighton or Shoreditch. The men don’t have pony tales or braces, and they don’t wander around with one eyebrow raised if you’re hand isn’t half hand/half coffee cup.
The real hippies live in Ireland, at the edge of the north, 5 minutes from Belmullet. These are the people who’s bookshelves are filled with King Arthur and Tolkien. Who have stacks of old national geographics in the corners and hodgepodges of art and dragon statues pinned to walls and packed onto old wooden shelves. They’re intelligent, worldly, and honest. They talk politics and the environment but not because it sounds good, but because they genuinely care and want to do things to help make the world a better place.
They bring you tea on a tray with healthy cyclisty biscuits, put cadburys roses on your pillow and give you a warm and cosy welcome into their lounge and their lives. They sing in their old country kitchen as they finish their vegetarian moussakas, and the smell that wafts through the house is of winter and of home.
However, (and I know people are now reading my blog now so I hope this doesn’t offend) the landscape this far north, for me at least, is HORRIBLE. Someone said to me, in your harder times, make sure that for every negative thought you have you find three positive ones to counterbalance. Tricky in the last few days scenery. I cycled through the Birmingham of Ireland. Flat, nondescript, brown, bleak, empty, barren and bare. I took one photo all day yesterday. And the wind, oh my god the wind! At the top of one hill I stopped pedalling to see how far down I’d get before I started going backwards. This is a headwind that blasts at your cheeks and makes you grumble at the sky.
And the people here don’t wave. In the south you get all different kinds of waves. You’re average Irish middle ager will lift his finger off the wheel, the oldies will raise a hand up in salute and if you pass a farmer you’ll get a full cheery Irish arm waggle. Here they keep their heads down and chase after their lawnmowers, and in the shops people have collection jars out for their holiday funds and talk about where they’re leaving for at the weekend. There was a funny kind of feel to the place that I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe it was the recent helicopter tragedy that’s on the edge of everyone’s minds, or the strange Asian lady running up to me asking about my trip and promptly disappearing. Or the vampirey wing backed armchairs in the pub with the diamanté detailing that just don’t fit the brief.
But this is just me, and thank god we’re all different and have our different likes and don’t likes, because if we all liked the same things, I’d never have gotten to meet the real hippies of Ireland x
Coffee stops and cycle hops
Where the yellows burn the brightest
The point where The Wild Atlantic Way turns wild, is when you're a way out of Galway heading westward, the road ahead splits and you choose the fork that hugs the coast - this is where the yellows burn the brightest. It's the flowers on the roadside. They're made from the sun and they're just as happy and warm. They're more luminous than the dotted markings on the road and when the day is grey, it's these that sparkle it all back up. The town signs here are written in Gaelic and carved into slate, and the lakes are as deep as the blue in the necklace Rose wears in Titanic. In Leckanvy, I met the local Collie and a man called Peter (both equally friendly and helpful.) The collie offered to help me lock my bike up and wouldn't take no for an answer. She weaved in and out of my legs and around the bike in excitable circles and helped me get all the locks tangled, then sat on my feet and then on my bike bag. Peter, the man in the local outdoor sports shop, sold me some biking necessities and then gave me a gift, an Irish worry stone, to bring me luck, he said. He recommended the best pub I've been to so far in Ireland (that's won all sorts of awards and had a special mention from the wild Atlantic way people,) The Tavern, and off I popped for the best roast parsnip soup and cheese salad sandwich I've had since I was last with my Nanna and mum in Chester. I think that all the best men are Peters. I feel genuinely looked after here. Since the overtired meltdown the other day I have had calls from my new Irish/Dutch friend to check I'm ok, I've been made to promise to call other hosts if I run into any kind of difficulty, and to understand that no distance is too far away for them to come and lend a hand if needsbe. I've been given packed lunches, hard boiled eggs, been driven into town and swapped stories with cyclists and tractor drivers as we've travelled along the same lanes together. I've been given bowls of chips from old people in pubs when they've been too overloaded with the Irish portions, and business cards from musicians that have played with the Pogues. So thank you the Irish! May I take a three leaf clover from your book, and remember to always be as hospitable to the travellers I meet as you have been for me x
Mountains made of monsters
The route from Kylemore to Westport is made from a whole new kind of landscape - It feels like the mountains are made of monsters. The cycle path takes you around the edges of spectacular glistening lakes edged in billowing pearly grasses, and the mountains loom over you from everywhere. They're too big and too rocky and magnificent in their scale and form. They're ancient and mysterious and they're full of tales of travellers from years ago. When you pass them you move slowly and quietly so you don't wake them up, because if you did they would crack open and morph into living things. The mountains reflect your tiny size when you stand beneath them, but when they do, they do it kindly and with gentleness. They come from the same place as the Ents and the land of the BFG. They're strong, alive and they're risen from the ground. They're the guardians of their lakes and they stand firm when they take watch - immovable, unbreakable, dependable. They're landscape and memory; if you're lucky they'll whisper you good luck, I know they did for me x
The birds that bob
The birds don’t fly in straight lines in Ireland, instead they bob up and down so it looks like they’re hopping in the air. Everything is gentler and calmer here than at home, and I know it’s not just me delving into holiday mode because I can see it in the animals.
You know the way that cows, sheep and horses lie down in England is with their legs bent around them and their heads up taking everything in? Well in Ireland they splodge out in splats in the grass instead. Heads on the floor, sprawled out in whatever position they plopped down in - they are the purest, laziest idea of relaxation.
And the ponies are as chattery as the locals. They bray at you as you cycle past to come and say hello, and when you do they sniff you for treats then scratch their behinds on the brambelly walls. I’ve seen wild goats and their kids jump out from hedgerows to surprise me and nibble on the thickets. I’ve spied seals through the binoculars of my airbnb host’s grand designs waterfront bungalow in the late evening, and watched them swish around together to choose the best rock to spend the night on. The only creature with any sense speed I’ve witness in Ireland are the gnats. After the first assault, (and there must have been at least 700 of them pelting at me at double my cycling speed) I did ponder goggles. But then people already think I’m crazy for doing this journey…so for now I’ll refrain from giving them a real excuse ;) x