A Travellerspoint blog

Entries about greystones

day 7: in our end is my beginning

in which the cast performs a highly technical modern dance move entitled 'the swampoodle scatter'

sunny 42 °F

How strange, unexpected, familiar, slightly bittersweet, and overall quite pleasant it is to be writing from this bedroom on the coast in Greystones, about an hour south of Dublin, a room where I stayed with my ex during my trip here in August of 2008. During that trip we had the chance to stay with Peter, a terrific gent (and Irish Times editor who Kirstin’s father had met while walking the Camino in Spain) and his lovely wife Moira, responsible for one of the most legendary meals these eyes have ever feasted upon. (I can’t believe I never got photographs of that spread!) With the uncertainty and last-minute changes to travel plans this weekend (Rachel and Stacy and I had initially, albeit loosely, planned to hitch a ride to County Kerry with Collette), I phoned Peter this morning and asked if it would be OK to come and stay, and I’m quite fortunate this seemed a good weekend for an under-announced visit.

But perhaps I should start with the morning. After snagging only around 3 hours sleep Saturday night, I woke and decided that though my body certainly craved more rest, it’d be more worth my while to get situated for the day’s travels. I began by throwing a week’s worth of clothes into the tiny kitchen washer/dryer. Having really only brought a fairly small amount, this was a bit of a necessity, though I should’ve known the dryer would take approximately forever to dry anything, thus holding up my morning plans. (Also notice the photo of me in a t-shirt and towel; I put everything in so was wandering around in this get-up while Jo and Tom came over to reclaim the bed they had set up for MJ in the downstairs bedroom.)


While Tom took MJ to his train, I tried to dry just a few items and talked with Jo a bit. Tom had come in that morning with a copy of the Irish Times, announcing that Jo had just been nominated for Best Director in the country-wide drama awards! (Performance Corporation also snagged nods for Best New Play and Best Actor!) So that’s fun to discuss, and certainly well-deserved, if our process is any indication. Tom comes back and I pack my final things, including a backpack full of still-wet clothes; I’m hoping to dry them in Greystones.

[INSERT STORY OF CRAZED MAN ON TRAIN HERE. Cuz that kinda needs its own entry.]


Peter walks over to the train station to get me in a light drizzle, and I’m starting to feel tired and headachy from last night’s fun. We get to the house and its just as I remember; Peter and Moira are a delightful, worldly couple and it’s terrific to see them. There’s a subtle and slight personal sadness in the air, however, as when I was here last (slightly under two and a half years ago) it was through a connection made by my ex, and stayed here with her. It’s fascinating to be back in a place where I suppose I assumed I wouldn’t ever be back again, and my hosts are just as gracious and welcoming as before. Also like last time, their son is away and their now-in-University daughter is around.

Especially after the shenanigans on the train, it’s nice to settle in and catch up. I sit at the dining room table with a glass of water and tell the story of the week’s rehearsal, and the story of the train, and I’m amazed at how much adrenaline I still have pumping through me because of the near-incident. I sit at the long wooden dining room table, site of an epic feast in my memory, and also the setting where I heard the news that Barack Obama had chosen Joe Biden to be his VP running mate during the 2008 election. (I about leaped out of my seat at that news – I’ve always been a fan of Joe!) I’m still reeling a bit from the train incident, and feeling pretty queasy, so after a glass of wine (ha!) and some quick catching up on the rehearsal week and train story, I go up to take a nap, and sleep soundly for about an hour. When I return, Moira has some tomato lentil soup, feta salad and beans made and it’s all delicious. After some lengthy, erudite discussion of politics, the Irish economy, and the ills of social media, we head to the anteroom where a nice fire is keeping the Irish winter chill away. I ask Peter for the book that we gave to him on the last visit; it’s a book of photographs of then-candidate Obama taken by Pete Souza, and we gave it at the time in the desperate hope that he would become President. It’s nice to sit and actually browse through it, which I hadn’t taken the time to do previously.


I turn in early and spend some time catching up on blog writing. The bed is incredibly comfortable and the electric blanket is a godsend and I sleep like a fallen tree. The following morning I sleep in, and write more before getting up. I've got a full week ahead of me, and I'll be in Spain and France! And nothing will involve the word planks.

Posted by coolmcjazz 17:43 Archived in Ireland Tagged greystones Comments (1)

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