How the west was won

So recently I took a break from this, mostly because i spent four days down in west cork. The second trip was new. I landed into rosscarberry at ten in the morning. Everyone on the bus was giving me dodgy glances, they can smell a city boiiyy a mile off. So on I went over to Eimear’s house, turning heads everywhere I went like the town’s most famous visitor. To be honest, for all I knew, I was. At twelve we set out on a road trip that was planned to take us to Killarney and back. Down in west cork, and in any country setting really, going spinning actually has value. In the city, you drive from one part to another, and never really accomplish anything except shouting something remotely funny to a woman on the footpath.In the country you actually have to get to point B. If you haven’t been to a country setting before, go watch the lord of the rings. Now imagine every actor has a really thick accent, like a man whose love of chewing gravel knows no bounds. Now sprinkle in a couple of americans, because after all what is any beautiful landscape without some americans coming to shout all over it. Give yourself a really hard punch, so that everything gets greener by a factor of fifty. Take one city road and leave it to be unused for several centuries. Scatter its remains around your location in a fashion that corresponds to no modern principles of transportation. Throw in mountains, MANY MOUNTAINS. Signpost every square foot with a name. In west cork, everything gets a name; the townlands, the farms and the rocks. Call every second man John and every third girl Mary. You now have a working model of west cork. You havn’t drove until you’ve run your car down one of these roads. Driving the back roads of Leap is how they train SAS tank squadrons. Road builders in west cork don’t avoid gradient changes, oh no, they fucking love them. Why build around the hills when you can climb them. It is said that the term bóithrín was coined by an irish man who stood over west cork and was asked to make a sound. Hills aren’t enough for road builders here. The history channel should be filming reality shows about the stuff going on down here. Page 1 in the council handbook, If your road isn’t going over a hill, put a million consecutive bends in until it does. And if it does in the first place…put them in anyway. These roads are a thing of beauty. You can go flat out and there isn’t a speed camera for miles. There aren’t other cars for miles either, mind you. If you can sit in a car seat and gaze out into a valley, slashed with rivers and riddled with forests, all nestled under a mountain that has warded off housing for miles, then maybe the americans aren’t freaks for coming here after all. You don’t often get to say “wow Ireland is class”. If i could list a couples of places I’d throw in Priest’s leap, the gap of dunloe and the lakes and waterfall in killarney. It’s nice to take a car journey that rarely brings you into a place filled with more than a hundred people. It makes it feel like an ACTUAL journey. Priest’s Leap isn’t in the middle of nowhere, it’s on the top of nowhere. Driving up a mountain pass covered in mist with a three hundred foot drop baying for you only a couple of steps to your left isn’t exactly easy. It gets frightening when you make the trip at around fifty kilometres an hour. There’s a lot of one wheel on the road driving, alot of praying and a fuck load of bumps. And when you hear the driver say “But sure it’s normal to burn oil” in response to the toxic aroma seeping from the engine, you really know you’re in west cork.

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