Road Weary

The long journey home was indeed long. But not as long as the security line at Heathrow. I arrived at the airport 3 and a half hours before departure time and still, I had no time to spare in getting onboard the plane. Our pilot was flying his final flight before retirement so he seemed to be in quite good spirits and pointed out a sight that he always cherished on this route. The weather was cooperative and the whole plane jostled about to look down on Greenland in all of its splendor. It was spectacular. The whole vista was reminiscent of the ice ages unspoilt. Large and numerous craggy peaks laced with ice and snow, drops and valleys obviously crafted incrementally by glaciers, depth that was clear and contrasted by the landscape and areas of water sparkling with sunshine as a painter or filmmaker might craft it for maximum effect. Breathtaking natural beauty.

To top it all off, on our arrival in Vancouver, a tradition was followed. When a pilot lands his first solo flight, and when he flies his last, the entire fire brigade cruises down the runway and when the plane has thrusted down but is still on the runway, the fire crews hose down the plane. It felt like a nice tribute to someone who has had hundreds of lives in his hands on a routine basis.

It's nice to return to Los Angeles but when time goes by in another part of the world, perspective starts to set in. Seeing my local library, the place where I essentially learned to seek knowledge and immerse myself in thought and progressive thinking, startled me in its size. Is this tiny and wholly imadequate building really where it all began? Sorry to get philosophical but perhaps this clear vision is just a sign of maturation and an expanding that I wasn't aware was taking place.

Since then, I have been catching up with my brothers and relaxing. One part of that process was attending yet another Dave Matthews Band show in Irvine last night. They were truly on form, with Dave doing his dance that he breaks out on occasions when he is really feeling the grove. Highlights were a revamped Dream Girl, certainly a transcendant Proudest Monkey, the new songs Shotgun and a brilliant epic jam Break Free, the always spectacular Lie In Our Graves with Boyd feeling particularly inspired, and a spontaneous and unique jam session near the end. Quite extraordinary and a memorable night.

This trip home seems to be quite eventful. Tomorrow morning sees me going to Las Vegas for my cousin's bachelor party. Seems like trouble. All that's fit to print in these pages when I return.

Light In August

In the past five years, I have read a few books. Heh heh. Seeing as how that is what I am essentially doing for a living, I can safely say that. Of the recreational reading that I have done, only three novels have grabbed me so hard and never let go that I was unable to put the books down for long periods of time. The first was Crime and Punishment just after my MA year. Last summer, I spent my time lounging at my friend Chris's place, a two minute walk from the beach down in San Diego, and plowed through East Of Eden by John Steinbeck. A book I can't more highly recommend. Criminally underrated and the work of a genius, a masterpiece. Now a third novel can add itself to this recent list of books with an engaging plot and characters, moments of startling intensity and beautiful insight and description, and a genius writer in his height, writing at the top of his powers.

Light in August by William Faulkner is a stunning achievement. Thoroughly Southern but universal in its insight, moments where the senses are fully involved and lucid depictions of the character and plot grab your imagination, it also has the distinction to be a stream-of-consciousness novel that grabs you in its current and never lets you go. 500 pages that don't feel like half that many and a truly unforgettable experience. Awesome. I'm in awe that a person could conjure something like that up. And I study Shakespeare for my Ph.D.

I'm off to Heathrow tomorrow to catch a flight back to Los Angeles for four weeks. I have many things to do there: catch up with friends and family and participate in my cousin's wedding. I will of course update with moments of importance. But as an epilogue to my Irish excursions, I include a photo that just had to be taken. Never say that the Irish don't have a wicked sense of humor.

Land Ho

On the fourth day of our journey, we hitched a ferry over to County Kerry and the visual highlight of the trip. And I do mean, trip. As in out. The Dingle Peninsula features some of the most breathtaking vistas I will probably have the privilege to see. Some of these photos are taken from the bus and so you may see some spotting on the windows, etc. but I hope that they convey some of the incredibleness, and I do mean literally jaw-dropping, of this ring of Ireland.





















Now, the fates were on our side, considering that most days of the trip began with overcast skies, opening out into mostly sunny days. This crucial day, the sun decided to burn brightly all day, with a clear vision of islands miles off of the shore. Our guide told us how spectacularly lucky we were when she remarked that the islands nine miles off of the coast are never visible to the tour. So, lucky bastards we were. On a day like that, what better way to spend it then on the beach? This beach, on this particular day, was the best beach in the world.


Yet more unbelievable pictures.


















Here I am, perched on the westernmost piece of land in all of Europe. Behind me, the Atlantic and way off in the distance, you can see North America. Although I must have been off guard, because I look like the Kraken or some other exotic sea creature out of Homer.















I suppose that I should leave it there. I can't really put all of my pictures on the blog, and I have put quite a deal of the best ones up. We had a few more great nights out and the company as always was first class. Hats off to the Aussies, who are world class people. I must mention my bus mate, Jacqui, whose unwillingness to take a picture is here set in webstone for posterity, but a great companion and owner of the best dimples I've ever seen. Take a bow, Jacqui.




When you find yourself, come back and tell me what you found. Have a great time.
And the other characters on this bus, god bless 'em all:


















It was an epic journey and one I'll never forget. Now back to the real world yet again. Until the next time.

Top of the Edge of the World

The six day tour of the Republic began in Dublin, but the first day consisted of making a direct beeline for the West Coast. So, in one day, we traversed the entire lattitude of Ireland with not many breaks. It was also the day where we saw the most rain (all fifteen minutes of it) in a downpour on the bus. We stopped at the Hill of Tara, the crowning point for the ancient Celtic kings. We also hit up the Locke's whiskey distillery at Kilbeggan. There was also Knock, a town where the Church officially recognized an apparition of the Virgin Mary and now a pilgrimage site for many Irish. The night was spent in Westport, and a fine evening was had at the world famous Molly Malone's, where we were regaled by an astonishing traditonal Irish singer, doing acapella versions of Irish folk songs. I swear, it was like listening to the ancient lyrical ballad singers of yore and a truly magical experience alongside a few Guinnesses.

Day two began with some more magic. It all started with a climb up Cloagh Patrick, the mountain where St Patrick is reputed to have banished the snakes from Ireland. This climb was no mean task, as it gradually sloped steeper the further up one went. But, after a pretty strenous climb, (and certainly with a few thoughts of quitting), will power got me to the top. And it was well worth it, as the view of the peninsulas, islands and coast lines was like a photo from space. Here they are (note how the wind at the top seems ready to push me over the edge - collar breezing, face frozen, legs akimbo to steady myself).



















The major part of the day (in addition to recovering all afternoon) was driving through the beautiful valleys of the Connemara. This portion of the trip really reminded me a lot of Scotland: the wild and remote country roads, the breathtaking greens and the silver sunshine playing on the rocks. Some of the photos came out really nicely. Here I share a few.





















As if all of this wasn't enough, we stopped at Dog's Bay and played a little football (soccer) on the beach. Yours truly scored two goals...barefoot even. I still have marks on my feet from that one, I tell you.

Galway was a magnificent town, massive and collegiate. Late nights and traditional Irish dancing. Yours truly thought very hard about giving it a try, but the nature of it made me think twice. See, it wasn't the rhythm of it that daunted me. I could pick that up very quickly. It's just that there were about a dozen people there who knew what they were doing and they seemed to follow about fifty different rules, including flying around the dance floor. I knew that if I jumped in, I would only get in the way. Next time, I come armed with lessons.

The third day saw the fantastic Cliffs of Moher. You may have seen these on a postcard somewhere. Nonetheless, I don't even think my camera did them justice because the depth of them can't really be conveyed. You have to see them for yourself. Basically, I felt really wary of stepping too close the edge. Now I know how Jimmy Stewart felt in Vertigo. Here are futile attempts to get across their scale.






To offset Galway, we spent the night at another coastal town, the tiny Doolin (3 pubs versus like 97), the home of traditional Irish music. We crammed into a tiny pub where everyone packed in and whiled away the hours listening to a beautiful Celtic voice sing of yore and heart break. I swear, the kid playing the pipes looked like he was eleven and played like he was eighty-seven.

I must leave it at that point - but the final update will include the single most beautiful stretch of coastal land I have ever seen.

Dear, Dirty Dublin

I am now finally recovering from my Irish excursion and can relate those stories to you, my dear readers. But first, I saw Patrick Stewart in The Tempest last night. A.truly.amazing.performance. Wow. Worth a trip over just to see him alone. A really good performance of the play.

Now, I am going to divide my posts into three parts. Once daily, I'll deliver some news and photos. Just think of me as web Dickens. Part One is Dublin. I spent four days in Dublin to start the trip. I saw quite a bit and had quite a few Guinnesses. And yes, they do taste different over there. And yes, they are liquid crack. You know how they really fill you up and you can't pound them even with a will of a Greek god? Nope. Over there, you can't help but drink them in fifteen minutes and order another one while tapping the bar impatiently for your next fix. As was required, I visited the home of Guinness at St. James Gate.















Now, the brewery is a total rip off - 14.50 euro to get in. That's basically $20 and I was told it wasn't worth it. But I did get my hands on the real thing anyways.



Awesome. Poured the perfect pint. Now, to allay fears that all I did was drink, there were a few great things to do in Dublin. There was a fantastic Samuel Beckett exhibit at the National Gallery, displaying artwork that influenced his writing and plays. There was a superb William Butler Yeats exhibit at the Library that contained dozens of his poems written in his own hand, as well as tons of priceless memorabilia, including his Nobel Prize. And of course, the charming campus of Trinity College, which educated the likes of Oscar Wilde.















And of course, who can forget the river Liffey, crosscutting the city and [ahem] green.



Sorry, but I have to do this to you Liz. Here's me in front of Bono's mansion in the suburbs of Dublin:





















I saw the grave of Jonathan Swift in St Patrick's Cathedral. I also saw Christ Church, which is associated with the first performance of Handel's Messiah. I took a few day trips with my dear friend Anna and will share a few spectacular photos with you.









Ah, but on this cliffhanger, I must leave you. The best are yet to come.