“Hello.
Where are you going?,”
the man in the car asks.
“I want to go
to the Aran Islands,
so I need to get
to the ferry in Doolin.”
“I’m going that way,”
he says,
looking at his watch.
“I may only have time
to drop you
in town, though.”
“That’s fine,
thanks for the ride.”
The man appears
to be in his early sixties.
His grey hair,
glasses, and brown sweater
give him the look
of a friendly teacher.
“Are you enjoying Ireland?”
“Yes, I love it here.”
“Have you tried our Guinness?”
“No, not yet, I’ve only
been here since yesterday.”
“Oh, you must try it.
And don’t even think
of having less
than a pint.”
“It’s been a long day
of hiking and hitching,
perhaps I’ll try it
this evening.”
“Good, good.
There’s a wonderful pub
there in Doolin.
You should try it there.
There’ll be
some good craic there tonight,
live music and such.”
It takes me a moment
to realize that,
by craic,
he meant a good time,
not a narcotic.
“Well, I’m hoping
to be on Inisheer.”
He looks at his watch.
“You might miss
the last ferry.
You should just plan
to stay in town.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
I then ask him
what weather
to expect
and he briefs me
on the unusually
rainy Summer
they’ve just been through.
He also gives me
a few suggestions
on places to go.
As we drive into Doolin,
he looks at his watch again.
“Well, I think I must
drop you off here.
The ferry is at the end
of this road.
This here is the pub.
Good luck
and enjoy the Guinness.”
“Thanks for the ride,
God bless.”
After I get out,
I watch him drive
in the direction
of the ferry
and wonder why
he didn’t take me
at least as far as
he is going before
he turns around.
Oh well,
a little more for
the souls in Purgatory.
-------
After about a mile’s walk,
I get to the dock
just in time
to watch the ferry
float away.
I let out a sigh
of disappointment,
then notice that
the man who gave me a ride
is talking to
another gentleman
in the parking lot.
No wonder he kept
looking at his watch.
He just wanted me
to stay in Doolin.
I bet his brother
or some other kin
owns the pub.
Oh well.
I check the times
for the morning ferries,
then walk down to
the rocky shore
to rest for a while
and snap some photos.
There are several boys
surfing out by
the small island just offshore.
I watch them
and admire their passion
for their sport.
Desire or lunacy
are the only two things
I can think of
that would move one
to brave such cold water.
Of course,
they’d probably say
I’m every bit as crazy
for walking all over Ireland
with such a heavy pack.
It’s getting close
to evening now,
so I hike back
toward town
and stop to get a room
at the first
bed and breakfast place
I come to.
-------
After unloading my burden
and resting for a moment,
I finish the trek
into town
to get some
much-needed supper
at the fish and chips place.
I sit at the
picnic table outside,
enjoying the cool air,
and watch daylight fade.
This is an anticlimax
to today’s earlier
image of grandeur.
There is no
brilliant orange sunset,
only the undramatic
and gradual passing
of dull-grey
into deep black.
I feed my last scraps
to a small puppy,
toss my garbage
into the can,
then head over
to the pub to finally
try the Guinness.
-------
I walk into
the sounds of hospitality
and scents of great food.
There are men
in one corner
playing a flute,
a guitar, and a violin.
They are surrounded
by a crowd of people
singing and laughing.
I order my pint
and prop up against
a support beam to watch
the entertainment.
I take my first sip
and discover that
Guinness is an
acquired taste.
After about ten minutes,
my body is insisting
that I get some sleep.
I’m too embarrassed
to take a half-full
pint of Guinness
back to the counter,
so I deposit it
on a vacant table
on my way to the restroom.
Afterwards, I press
through the growing throng
around the musicians
to the door
and somehow manage
to drag my weary body
to the waiting bed.
By now,
my feet are blistered,
my lower back aches,
and my shoulders sting
at even the slightest touch.
I take off my boots and shirt,
crawl into bed,
and make a final offering
of the day’s pains
for the souls in Purgatory.
I’d like to think
I’ve helped at least
a few move on.