04 Apr 2004, Back in blighty
(The tranquillity of Ireland - which now seems a long time ago.)
I came back from Sligo a week ago with a restored liver (month of no alcohol) and a headful of new philosophical ideas (month of intensive reading). I was happy and healthy, but mentally I was away with the leprechauns, ill-suited for the avalanche of reality that awaited me.
Homelessness loomed. I'd outstayed my welcome with my great mate Phil, especially after I inadvertently locked her out last Saturday and she had to spend the night with friends. It was time to move out, but I had nowhere to go, and no money to pay rent.
I had a call from the police to say they'd found my car, 4 months after it was stolen. This was bad news, as I'd already spent the anticipated settlement on my laptop. Instead of a substantial cash injection, I was now facing insurance premiums, MOT costs, and financial disaster.
And there was a major project due to be completed in the next 2 weeks - I'd initially rejected the job as incompatible with my more important objective of organising my next expedition, but now it seemed it was financially necessary.
For the first few days, life was a challenge. My head was up in the clouds and there was so much to cope with. I had to take it one moment at a time, and keep asking myself, 'What would a normal person do now?' I was faking it.
But I am happy to report that everything has worked out beautifully, and with no compromise to my new ideals.
I now have somewhere to live, as a result of a chance conversation in a shop where I was trying to sell a couple of items to raise cash. I have to be discreet, as it's slightly unofficial, but suffice it to say that through someone's great generosity, I have somewhere to live, in Richmond, rent-free.
With the car, I agreed with the garage from whose forecourt it was stolen that they would recover it (now sadly trashed) and pay the agreed settlement. The car is now theirs to repair and dispose of as they see fit.
And with those two things taken care of, I was able to turn down the unsuitable project, Someone else has already taken it on instead.
As a bonus, there's a sniff of interest from a literary agent who has read the sample chapters of Three Peaks in Peru and now wants to read the rest of the manuscript. I'm still a long way from the book deal, but it's an encouraging sign.
So life is good - welcome to the unpredictable but wonderful world of Roz!
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19 Mar 2004, Sligo, Ireland
A quick administrative point - it seems my new internet service provider is having a few problems with my e-mail, as I know of quite a few e-mails that have been sent to me that I haven't received. So if you've written to me, and you think I've ignored you, I haven't! I just haven't received the message. But don't re-send yet, not until we've got these teething problems sorted out. I'll let you know.
Technology - pah!
Meanwhile, in my otherwise very low-tech life in Ireland.
It was St Patrick's Day on Wednesday, and even though the buses into Sligo weren't running, it seemed a shame to miss out on the festivities. So I walked and hitched the 12 miles into Sligo to see the parade. Loads of marching bands, floats, jugglers, local Scout groups, the Sligo Swimming Club. the great and the good, and probably also the not-so-great and not-so-good - they were all there.
The luck of the Irish held true, and the weather was bright and sunny - a single day of sunshine sandwiched in the middle of an otherwise wet and blustery week. St Patrick must have pulled a few celestial strings to make sure it didn't rain on his parade.
No doubt many pints of Guinness were consumed that evening, judging from the slightly fragile state of many of the aforementioned great and good the next morning. but I was collapsed in an exhausted heap back in my cosy cottage, having taken it into my head to walk the whole 12 miles back home. I find it hard to believe I could happily trek, at altitude, for 7 or 8 hours a day while I was in Peru, but found a stroll through the Irish countryside so completely knackering. never let it be said that walking is an easy form of exercise.
So it's been over 3 weeks now since I had a drink. But worry not, a normal alcoholic service will be resumed as soon as I get back to London at the end of the month!
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11 Mar 2004, Sligo, Ireland
Around the time I decided to visit the southwestern USA, I happened to pick up Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in a Peruvian book exchange. "You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other," I read. "In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realise that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming."
My decision was made. Just one minor hurdle - I didn't have a motorcycle licence. I liked motorbikes and had been a pillion passenger on occasions, so now seemed the right time to be in the driving seat. So I enrolled for a Direct Access course - 5 days of intensive instruction, hopefully culminating in a successful test.
Day One - Basic Training. Two guys on my course were just 16 years old - younger than my driving licence. I realised I was an old dog to be learning this new trick. But the day went well, and I passed the first stage. Theory test the following week - passed that too.
Days Two and Three - practicing on a 125cc machine. No problem.
Day Four - my first day on a 500cc bike. Catastrophe. Ever have one of those unco-ordinated days, when you're inexplicably clumsy and drop things and knock them over? Not good to be having one of those days when you're sitting on a huge throbbing motorbike. The day reached its nadir when I managed to topple over at a busy right turn and a passing car missed my head by inches. My instructor was ashen-faced. "That's the closest I've ever come to losing a student," he quavered. "Maybe we'd better put you back on the 125."
Day Five - Test Day. I've been demoted to the 125 for my own safety and that of all other road users. I'll be trying for just a restricted licence, which will allow me to ride anything up to 33bhp. But I'm having a technical problem - my bike keeps cutting out. During the test it inexplicably stalls twice, and the second time it refuses to restart. "We've run out of time," says my examiner. "I'm going to have to terminate this test due to mechanical failure." So I neither pass nor fail. I'll have to re-take.
My second attempt starts out well. The nearest examination centre that could fit me in before my departure for Ireland is in St Albans. It's snowing as I ride up there with my instructor, but I'm riding surprisingly well, and I start to feel cautiously optimistic. I even seem to have finally cracked the U-turn.
We arrive at the test centre. "We don't have anybody booked in to take a test now," we're told. "Are you sure it's today?" We check with the motorcycle school. They have a faxed sheet confirming the time, date and place. There's been a cock-up at the examination centre, but nothing can be done. No test for me today.
So I'm still licence-less. Maybe third time lucky.
In the meantime, I've had another idea. As I'm going to be in the US to learn what the white man can learn from the Native American way of living in harmony with nature, maybe I should be thinking about a more environmentally friend mode of transport. An electric scooter.?
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04 Mar 2004, Ballyconnell, nr Sligo, Ireland
Welcome to my new, re-vamped weblog. I'll be posting regular(ish) updates here in the run-up to my next expedition.
Top o' the day to ye! Ireland is famous for its Guinness and its friendliness, so it may not seem like the obvious choice of place to get away from it all, but I'm trying...
I've fled from the distractions of London to spend a month in a friend's cottage at the back end of the Irish beyond. The cottage is the white building, bottom right, in the photo above.
This is one of those places where everybody knows everybody (and all that ails them), houses are known by who lives in them rather than by their address, and the pub looks like somebody's living room with a beer mat stuck over the front door by way of a sign.
I'm here to get some peace and quiet and plan my strategy for the rest of this year. My main focus is the motorbike expedition around the Four Corners states of the USA - Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona - to learn more about the Native American culture and religion. Another book, and a video diary, are in the pipeline.
A few minor hurdles stand in the way, e.g. after two attempts I still haven't passed my motorbike test (not as discouraging as it sounds - more of that in my next update), and I don't have any money, but I'm not one to let such piffling trifles stop me.
I can't remember when I last had so much time to myself, but so far I'm feeling pretty chipper. The coffee shop withdrawal symptoms have been less severe than expected, and I drivel away to the cows in the field next door when I feel in need of conversation. I suppose I'm cheating a bit by having internet access, but a girl can only stand SO much of her own company... and the cows can only stand so much drivel.
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