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In August of 92, after working at Kanbay, I went to Ireland for a month. My mum's friends Betsy Hearn and Michael Claffe, and their daughter Elizabeth, live there for a few months a year; they helped me arrange a sweet setup.
For the first two weeks, I lived alone in a two floor cottage by the sea, an hour's walk from the town of Bantry. I spent a lot of time at the local pub, the Anchor.
Otherwise, I would wander the countryside near my house, reading and writing. I had three donkey neighbors, Ink, Bink and Slow, we had an uneasy relationship. I wanted to be close, petting friends, they wanted to knaw on either grass, or my fingers.
One night, I had a terrible nightmare.
After two weeks of settlement, I roved around the country by thumb, bus and train. In Killarney, I met Donald.
I ended my travels in Belfast. A college town, where heavily armed polarmy roam the streets, or roam in tanks, and helicopters are always overhead. There were twenty four foot high fences surrounding all police stations, train stations, airports, any building of intrastructural importance. There I met Kim, and finally had some Irish romance. Sort of.
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