Journey

 I got back last night from a three-night trip to West Kerry. Short skip down to Cullybackey train station, then Belfast, Enterprise to Dublin Connolly, Luas to Heuston for the Cork train, change at Mallow and detrain at Farranfore. Then the drive to Dingle and beyond. I started my journey just before six am and was sitting in Kerry Sister's kitchen at half-four. 

The return journey wasn't as straightforward. Started at eleven in the morning, and had an hour's gap in Dublin. Then the Enterprise was running late and I missed the train I'd hoped to get in Belfast. Then when I got off the train at Cullybackey Bert wasn't waiting for me! Bad husband. He turned up ten minutes later and poo-poohed my annoyance because it wasn't even cold. 

And between those two journeys, I had the loveliest time with my Kerry family which I'll share tomorrow and maybe a picture or two as well.

The Camino Voyage

Last night Bert, Zoe and I went to Belfast to see a film. To say that the three of us had a fair good idea of what it was all about would be an understatement.


The film was called The Camino Voyage and it was about four men from West Kerry who thought it would be a great adventure to follow in the steps of their Irish ancestors by going on the Camino pilgrimage in a naomhóg.







A picture of the four intrepid adventurers lifted from The Kerryman website. It was taken by my sister and they never gave her a bit of credit for it. However, I will. Thanks, Tricia - it's a wonderful shot. One of your best.


Now, as I said, I knew a great deal about the film before I watched it. I had heard about the proposed adventure before the documentary was thought of. I fretted along with the rest of our family as the rowers made the long crossing from Rosslare to the Welsh Coast. Did I forget to say that one of those Kerrymen was my brother-in-law, Brendan?


The journey was made over three years, each stage lasting around six weeks and beginning in May. The first stage took the crew as far as Brittany. The second year they rowed around the coast of France until they got to the Bay of Biscay, at which point they took to the canals and rivers to avoid those treacherous seas. And we were glad to hear it after what had nearly happened the previous year as that tiny boat was crossing the English Channel. I shan't tell you. See the film.

Just as the crew were preparing for the third and last stage of the voyage Brendan got a permanent job offer that was just right for him and he was very conflicted. But he took the advice of a fellow crew member and accepted the post. Brendan's place on the boat was taken by this guy. He brought a lot more to the journey than just his strong back and arms.


Anyway, enough spoilers. Over the three years, I followed the journey on Facebook, heard bits from my sisters, watched the promo, was delighted at the finish, enjoyed the photographs, went to the event at the Ulster Museum to hear the five crewmen talk about their adventures, heard what happened afterwards, sympathised with Tricia and Brendan snowed in for days trying to get to the Glasgow Film Festival in a blizzard, babysat our Joe's dog when he went to see Camino Voyage at the Galway Festival.


And yet, knowing as much as I already did the film was so fresh, so engaging, so beautifully photographed. Sometimes thrilling, often funny, always inspiring and in places very, very sad. Laughter and tears.



Our Brendan re-joined the crew for the last leg of the journey and was there in the cathedral at the end along with his wife and daughter. I felt so proud of them all.


The film should go on general release in October of this year. If it comes to a movie house near you go and see it. You won't regret it.

The Phone Call

On the evening of the shopping trip, I received a phone call from Ganching requesting a favour. A very good friend of both her and London Sister had to return to Ireland because his mother had died and both my sisters were coming over for the funeral. Would I pick them up from the airport?

Of course.

Would I go to the funeral?

I would.

In Ireland, funerals are generally held two days after the death unless of course, close relatives need to travel from afar in which case it might be three days until the burial. In country areas, the funeral is usually preceded by the wake. It is a very busy time for the bereaved.

I wouldn't be going to the wake but I would be trying to straighten up the house in preparation for my visitors. Swisser had stayed the night and the spare bed needed to be changed. I was starting to realise what life must be like for Kerry Sister who runs an Airbnb. After a quick and largely futile (four dogs, wet weather, and Bert) sweep and mop it was time to pick Ganching up. She had arranged with Our Joe to attend the wake outside the city of Armagh, a little over 60 miles away. That left my evening free to continue tidying the house but I was so exhausted from the previous day's outing that I fell asleep on the sofa.

My sister returned sometime around eleven o'clock  and we stayed up until after midnight hemming funeral skirts and chatting. I checked my route on Google Maps and printed it out then went to bed feeling a little anxious about the next day's journey. I have a horror of lateness, the road was not familiar to me and a lot hinged on London Sister's plane being bang on time. I slept badly and woke far earlier than I needed to - maybe four hours shuteye. Not enough.

Still, my early start gave me an opportunity to have a sensible chat with myself and I was calm enough as we set off. The plane was dead on time and all was looking good. London Sister had printed out a far better itinerary than mine and she has the reputation of being an excellent navigator so I was feeling confident enough. Until I messed it up at the carpark. I couldn't figure out how to use a credit card to get out of the damn place. Panic bubbled up. But not to worry - my sisters were there.

You can do this Nelly! You can get out of the airport! You're doing great! 

With this encouragement ringing in my ears, I gathered up two pounds and fifty pence and went to the parking office, explained my predicament (stupidity) paid over the cash and they raised the barriers. We were off!

And it all worked out well. We got to the church half an hour early. The service was sad but lovely and afterward had a delicious bowl of soup in the church hall. The priest sat beside us but didn't annoy us. Then this thing happened. A man, a very nice man, sat down beside me and informed me that his wife reads my blog. If she happens to be reading it now maybe she'll tell him how welcome I felt in that place I'd never visited before. And, seeing how decent and good his family are I would have loved to have known his mother.