Part 1
I was somewhere around Béal na Bláth on a winding country road when my mobile turned itself off. No idea why. The battery was good. Maybe it was the unusually warm weather. It could have been the twisty roads as I turned off the main Cork – Tralee road and drove through green countryside towards the southern tip of Ireland. Perhaps it was some weird technological stray sod. It switched back on again straight away but that was not going to do me any good.
I pulled into a petrol station and thought about what to do next while I waited for the screen to ask me for my access code. My phone had a brand new sim card in it and the passcode for it was 300km back in Meath somewhere. It was only four random numbers. Probably written down on a scrap of paper. All I had in my head was my old access code which meant that my phone was now useless. I had cash in my pocket so I wouldn’t go short of food. I had my bank card so I would be able to put fuel in the car. Communication and navigation were the issues.
I had to meet people tomorrow in Baltimore and their numbers were in my phone. I had never been in Baltimore before and although I had looked at it on a map I had no real idea where it actually was. Worse, when I tried to remember the phone number of any human I knew in the world I could only bring one to mind, and Delphine was 300km away too. I wrote her number down quickly before my brain wiped that too like the times I would suddenly completely forget my pin number just when I get to the top of the queue in a shop.
I had to get to Durrus tonight. Durrus, I was familiar with, although I had no idea exactly where in Durrus I was staying as Delphine booked it for me and then sent me the details by Whatsapp. I know all this could have easily been solved if I actually spent more time going through my plans before I left the house earlier on in the day, but life gets lifey. I passed through Durrus on the Sheepshead Way a few years back but I wasn’t too sure how to get there. In fact, I wasn’t too sure where I was. Cork is a big place. I knew Durrus was on one of the peninsulas. I also knew from previous visits that Bantry was the nearest big town to it. I asked the guy in the filling station which way was Bantry and off I went.
My next plan was to maybe find a library so I could access my emails. As I drove over the spectacular Cousane Gap on the way to Bantry I realised that I probably wouldn’t be able to get into my emails either. Most of my email accounts automatically send a security code to my phone if I try to log in from an unusual location. Not for the first time that day I started to curse my over reliance on technology. Besides the library was probably closed. I wondered if there were still public pay phones in Cork. Doubt it.
The Garda in Bantry Garda Station was very helpful. Although he did give me one of those Garda looks when I told him that basically I had no idea where I was supposed to be going tonight. I explained the deal and he gave me the lend of his phone to go through all possible solutions, like ringing Eir to get my phone unlocked. None of them worked because I didn’t have my account number or PUK number so I rang Delphine and got her to email the Garda station with the details of the place I was staying in Durrus. At least I would have a bed for the night. I also got her to send me on ALL (don’t ask) the sim codes in my folder. Delphine rang Tina and Mam and told them that I would be uncontactable but that I would meet them at the ferry in Baltimore the next day.
After that, I just had to follow the Garda directions to get to Durrus (not as easy as I thought) and then find the correct house with the lockbox containing the keys to get in the door which I could open with the code that Delphine emailed me.
Durrus is a small West Cork village, famous for its sheep cheese. It was better than I remembered, as my previous visit was wet and grey and rainy. It was transformed now with the glorious evening sunlight on the still calm waters. I wish that I could show you the pristine images from there but there were no pictures because no phone = no camera. I found a pizza place (Cent’anni Restaurant) where I got some fine food and chatted with the waitress about how to get to Baltimore. I returned to the house to try and spend the night without my phone. Readers, let me tell you, it was a dreadful experience. I scoured all the books in the place but sure there was no point in reading any of them because I wouldn’t get through one in a night. I also searched high and low throughout the house for a pin or a thumb tack or something tiny and sharp that could open the sim card holder in my phone and take out the new sim because none of the sim codes were working for me and I suspected it was because I had a dual sim phone. No luck. I stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep wondering what the other 7 billion people on the planet were up to at that moment. I wondered if any of them had also left their little first aid bag containing safety pins at home because they figured they wouldn’t need it.
Next morning I drove to Baltimore. I knew I had to meet Mam and Tina but I had no idea where they were apart from we had to get on a boat to Cape Clear Island at some stage. I had no idea what time the boat was leaving so I got there early. Too early. I checked out the impressive tower castle overlooking the port and the famous Baltimore Beacon overlooking nearby Sherkin Island. Then I read up on the history of the town which includes a fantastic tale about the English Puritans who took over the place in the 17th century and the North African Pirates who stole the population away to become slaves.
I drove around the hotels in Baltimore looking for Tina’s familiar orange car, not knowing that she was driving a different car. In the end I pulled into a hotel and went for breakfast. I found the pair of them there eating porridge and looking out over the bay. I sat down with them and pulled out a box of thumb tacks that I picked up in Skibbereen and opened my sim while enjoying a fry. Wonder of wonders, my phone started up when I took the new sim out but only the camera worked so at least my trip to the islands would not be totally textual.
Part 2
Taking the brightly coloured Orange boat to Cape Clear was a pleasant experience. We passed Sherkin Island and in 45 minutes were pulling into the waist of the hourglass shaped island that is Ireland’s southernmost inhabited spot. 110 people live here normally but the population swells in the Summer time for the Gaeltacht and the Storytelling Festival. The island is known for its whale-watching, goat-milk ice cream, cactus reserve and monkey puzzle trees. In earlier times, this was the home of St Ciaran who preceded Patrick. He preferred talking to animals instead of converting the Irish. Lavender appears to be the latest crop being exploited on the island and there is a shop selling lavender gin now. It has that sultry atmosphere that all southern islands have from being warmed by the Gulf Stream that swings up from Mexico. There is a heat in it.
Tina had tickets for a Storyteller from the Orkney Islands and I had a 5km hiking route that I wanted to do so we made arrangements to meet for lunch and a swim. I head North, passing the old An Óige hostel and leaving the road I follow a worn earth trail through purple and yellow heather up a hill overlooking the bay. On the other side of the bay are a bunch of yurts like bright white space ships from another world. I chat with a guy who has been snorkelling this side of the island and he tells me that the harbour is a clearer spot. A lone ship is in the bay appears to be dredging. The trail goes up and up, following an old wall with jagged stones to stop the livestock from throwing themselves into the blue beyond.
There are plenty of stop off spots to visit sea arches or have picnics but I stay on the trail. Seabirds wheel about above me while nesting ground birds patrol alongside me to make sure I am not interfering with them. It’s a lovely trail with 360 degree views. I pass through stiles and across walls and then head down back to the road. Suddenly my foot slipped too easily on the descent and I go down like a sack of potatoes, slicing the palm of my hand on the edge of a rock sticking up through roots and muck. It squirts blood. It is deep enough and I will have a teardrop scar to remind me of the fool that I am for not bringing my first aid pack with me. I’m able to wash the cut out and fashion a bandage from a spare t-shirt. The trail crosses the road and goes up again into more wild heather but I head back downhill on the road to Mara Farm where I borrow a first aid kit from the helpful owner.
Disinfected and stocked up with muffins and plasters I head back down to the harbour to meet Tina. I have the lunch roll that I brought with me and we sip tea and eat Tayto crisps for dessert. There is a tractor and trailer bringing people on tours of the island. Then we get changed and use the harbour slip to ease ourselves into the water. It is cold but it’s the first time in a long time this Summer that the sun is hot so I quickly warm up. My cut gets an extra numbing clean. There are a few kids jumping in and out off the slip and a few couples doing a circuit of the harbour as the ferry comes in and out. I have my snorkel with me. The water is pretty clear. I see spider crabs down below in the rocks and fat blue/green fish bundling through the ropes of seaweed that make the underwater look like a forest.
We dry off and head up to Pobail Cleire for the main event of the day. On the way we fall in with one of the organisers who informs us of more storytelling workshops that are going to happen on Whiddy Island later in the year with someone from Norway. One of the many free island taxis picks us up and drives us up the steep hill to the event. We are late and the doorperson holds us with some other latecomers until the tale ends. The story waits for no-one she says. The story ends and we slip inside quietly and grab a pair of seats.
Kerryman Padraig O’ Briain takes the stage and acts as MC to all the acts as only a Kerryman in Cork can. First up was Hjorleifur Stefánsson who tells us some tales about the Huldofólk, the hidden people of Iceland. Then we were treated to some Persian stories from Zahra Afsah who travelled all the way from Tehran. They had a philosophical flavour about searching for meaning. This is my first time at a storytelling event. It is good, not as twee as I expected. There is a quiet and a respect for the people on the stage. There are no phones. People listen. John Spillane accompanied Zahra on guitar and sings a wonderfully odd and sweet song about talking cherry blossoms. John has an unusual energy that is all his own and the world seems all the better for it.
Then we all take a break and go outside for tea and cake and ice cream and wine for the visiting politicians and Arts Council folk. When we go back in Clare Murphy takes to the stage. She moves some props out of her way because she has a habit of flailing about when telling a tale. She puts her own energetic spin on the old Cuchulainn tale about his training in Scotland and then we all race off downhill to catch the last boat back to 21st century civilisation with all its technological marvels.
Travelled in August.
