Boating in Eire Dolmens and Blarney, feeling of plunging Water, eXhilaration Adventure continue… July 25, 2008
Posted by dodo in : Africa, Air Tickets, Airlines, Asia, Cairo, Cars, China, Round The World, Sightseeing, Thailand, The Nile, Tokyo, Tour, Travel Gear, Travelling Bag, Trip, Victoria Falls , 3commentsLooking nervously over his shoulder in case the priest should hear, he scratched his head and rolled his eyes, all the time muttering that terrible word. Then suddenly he clicked his fingers and spat the word out.
“Pagans! Dere’s an old Protestant graveyard, overgrown now, you understand, up dere, by de old crossroads, as used to be dere.”
I waited patiently while he told me forty different ways to get there. Then, thanking him, I beat a hasty retreat to the sacristy door and knocked. (more…)
Boating in Eire Dolmens and Blarney, feeling of plunging Water, eXhilaration Adventure July 25, 2008
Posted by dodo in : Aquarium, Art Gallery, Coliseum, Dolphinarium, Hotels, Motel, Museum, Oceanarium, Planetarium, Restaurant , 3commentsIt was a bright, clear spring morning when the boat docked in Rosslare and I disembarked in Eire.
Finding the roads almost traffic free, I decided to push on as quickly as possible towards the harsh and romantic west coast.
I was making good time when my eye was caught by a small, wooden sign, on which was written, “Harristown Dolmen“. I pulled up opposite, wound down the window and stared. At this point I might as well confess to being what is called in the trade a “megalithomaniac”. Any stone, no matter how small, if it has the tag “megalithic”, then I’m hooked. (more…)
Aboard the Trans—Siberian Express July 25, 2008
Posted by dodo in : China, Embassy, England, Moscow, Rail Pass, Restaurant, Russia, Sightseeing, Tickets, Tour, Trails, Travelling Bag, Trip , 3commentsShe started sobbing three hours before the border. The conductress tried to console her with a glass of sweet, strong tea but without much success. She remained in the long druggeted corridor, a crumpled figure in a pink dressing gown watching the forests spinning madly by. The tankard holding the glass depicted a Slavic swordsman defending a child and she held it tight as a keepsake.
It certainly was a crying matter. The birch forests of Siberia, so upright, so elegant in autumn, had been broken by this winter campaign. Brought into perfect arcs by wind and snow, the younger birches littered the track-side like ribs and tusks while the old and brittle, unable to bow before the onslaught, rose into the air like splintered spines. (more…)
