Unforgettable Embrace (15 page)

Mike had travelled all over Ireland and Europe in his trusty campervan. He had many tales of his travels, usually revolving around his many escapades with women. He seemed to be a bit of a woman magnet, which Rachel couldn't really understand. “It's the campervan,” Mike explained, “the ladies just can't get enough of the old girl.”

Rachel's favourite character, of all the characters she'd met so far on her journey, was Maureen O' Shea, who liked to be called Mo. Mo didn't like using people's full names and within minutes of meeting Rachel had already shortened her name to Ray. It wasn't an abbreviation that Rachel had ever heard before, the usual was Rach, but nonetheless it made her smile. Mo was a fifty three year old woman, who'd been “on the road”, as she liked to call it, for the past three years. Her adventures started when her youngest child left home to go to college. She couldn't stand the empty nest feeling and hated rattling around the big, family home all by herself.

“
Creepy,” Mo described it, “all those rooms and nobody in them.”

Every noise seemed magnified and she just couldn't cope with the loneliness. Mo's husband had left her years ago, when their children were very young, and she hadn't heard from him since.

She hadn't realised how much her life had revolved around her children, and she really hadn't known what to do with herself until she watched a documentary on television about a man who went travelling all around the world on his motorbike at the age of forty five and again at seventy two. If he could have an adventure like that, then she certainly could too, she decided. She didn't fancy setting off on a motorbike, but thought a caravan and her Jeep would be an excellent, more comfortable alternative.

Mo had travelled all over Ireland and the UK with a few months spent in Spain and Portugal, but she couldn't take the heat in Europe and preferred Ireland and the UK.

“
At least we all speak the same language and understand each other,” Mo said to Rachel.

Nobody would ever think that Mo had spent the past three years living in her caravan. She looked like she just stepped out of the spa. Perfectly coiffed platinum blonde hair, French manicure, natural makeup. She looked far younger than her years and Rachel realised that there was no excuse for letting her appearance go, just because she was on the road. She made a silent promise to herself to retouch her roots and sort out her nails as soon as possible.

Mo and Rachel met when Mo rescued Rachel from the scourge that are “spinners”, an irritating breed of mostly young men who like to drive their cars around and around in circles at high speed. The spinners probably have a much “cooler” description of how they drove their cars, but Rachel thought they were the biggest bunch of ignoramuses she'd ever come across. Who on earth, in their right mind, would think it was cool to spin their car at high speed, for fun? Rachel just couldn't understand it.

She'd had her first introduction to the renowned boy racers at Rosses Point, where she'd parked up for the night. She was safely tucked up in her night nights when she was rudely awoken to flashing lights and screeching brakes. She didn't know what was happening outside and felt her heart beat pounding in her chest. She scrambled reluctantly out of bed and peeped out the window.

There were two racer cars circling at top speed and three more cars watching and waiting for their turn to spin next. She was petrified one of them would spin out of control and crash into her beloved campervan. She'd be devastated if anything happened to her new home. She crept to the couch and contemplated dialling the police, when she suddenly heard a light tapping on her door. She almost jumped out of her skin with the fright.

“
Hello?” Rachel whispered hesitantly.

“
Hiya, lovey, I'm your neighbour, parked in front of you for the night. Are you OK?” came a rather posh voice from outside.

The woman sounded a bit like Rachel's mother. She could have cried with relief. She swung open the door and asked the woman inside.

“
I'm Maureen O' Shea, but you can call me Mo,” the kindly looking woman introduced herself. “There's no need to be afraid, lovey,” she continued, taking a look at Rachel's ashen face, “it's just the spinners. They're a scourge to the campervanner. I've called the police so they'll be moved on shortly.”

They spent the next few hours drinking tea and eating several rounds of delicious buttery toast.

Mo was a great storyteller and quickly took Rachel's mind off her earlier fright. Mo was fascinated with prehistoric settlements and was planning on spending a few days in Sligo to explore Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery and Carrowkeel Passage Tomb. Carrowmore Megalithic Cemetery is the largest Stone Age cemetery in Ireland and the second largest cemetery in Europe. It has a vast array of stone circles, passage tombs and dolmens, about sixty altogether. Apparently, the site pre dates Newgrange, in Co. Meath by seven hundred years.

Carrowkeel Passage Tomb was sacred in prehistoric times, with its view over the whole county of Sligo from high in the Bricklieve Mountains. The site is scattered with around fourteen cairns, dolmens and the remnants of other graves. It has been dated to the late Stone Age, between 3,000 BC to 2,000 BC.

Rosses Point is a picturesque sea side town in Co. Sligo. It's filled with grassy dunes which roll down to the strand and is home to many of Ireland's birdlife. Rachel stopped at Rosses Point for the night because it is known as Sligo town's backyard, and as much as she enjoyed the buzz of these country towns, she preferred to sleep overnight where she could wake up to a beautiful view in the morning and Rosses Point certainly offered that view. She was looking forward to spending a few days in Sligo as it was the home of the famous Irish Nobel laureate, poet and dramatist, William Butler Yeats and his brother Jack B. Yeats, who immortalised Sligo's broody, dramatic landscapes in verse and painting. She planned on going to the Sligo County Museum which hosted the Yeats room, containing photographs, newspaper cuttings, letters and drawings by the Yeats brothers.

Rachel and Mo spent a few very pleasant days exploring the delights of Sligo. They enjoyed each other's company so much that they decided to head further north along the same route together. They spent a night in their campervans at Mullaghmore, Sligo's only blue flag beach. Rachel even took time to cycle the scenic coastal route which winds around Mullaghmore Head, where she was intrigued by the wide shafts of rock that cut into the Atlantic surf.

Donegal town was the next stop on their travels. Both Rachel and Mo were fascinated by its history. The O' Donnells were great chieftains who ruled the Northwest of Ireland from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries. Donegal Castle was built by the O'Donnells in 1474, from where they ruled until 1607. Rory O' Donnell torched the castle, ahead of the English attack, before fleeing to France in the infamous Flight of the Earls. The castle was rebuilt in 1623 by Sir Basil Brooke. A lot of the castle is in ruin today, but enough has been preserved to make it an interesting visit.

They decided to give the sea-side resort of Bundoran a wide berth as neither particularly liked amusement arcades or fast food diners.

The breathtaking sea cliffs at Sliabh League were a high point of Rachel's trip. The cliffs are thought to be the highest cliffs in all of Europe, plunging some six hundred metres into the sea. The two friends parked at the car park right at the top of the cliffs, from which there was a winding path all the way down to the beach below. They spent a very pleasant afternoon splashing about in the water and clambering among the rocks in the hopes of being able to explore the caves which were close to the shore. However, the tide started coming in quite rapidly and Mo couldn't swim so they called it a day and watched the sun set far out over the Atlantic, from the safety of their campers.

Glencolumbkille was a must-see stop for Mo, as the area has been inhabited since 3,000 BC and there were lots of Stone Age remains scattered throughout the collection of tiny settlements. Glencolumbkille is the English derivation of the Irish “Gleann Cholm Cille” meaning the Glen of Columba. St. Colmkille is believed to have founded a monastery there in the sixth century which is still the site of pilgrimages today.

The town of Dunfanaghy in Northwest Donegal was Rachel's favourite town. The town has a population of about three hundred and fifty people and is clustered around a very pretty waterfront. Mo and Rachel had an exhilarating hike where they walked along a well-beaten path to Tramore Beach and on up a winding path to Pollaguill Bay. They followed the coastline until they reached the stupendous view of the twenty metre Marble Arch, which had been carved out by the sea.

Mo bumped into an old friend, Jim Foley, who she hadn't seen in many years. He was a fascinating character who regaled them with stories for many hours. Jim was born and raised in Dunfanaghy, and was a fluent Irish speaker. He was a doctor who risked his life to work with the poorest people in Africa. Some of the tales he retold to Rachel and Mo were spine chilling. He said he had been threatened with gang rape on several occasions just for trying to help the sick. He always had to wear a bullet proof vest and carry pepper spray wherever he went in Africa, as there was a very real threat that he could be killed or seriously injured at any time.

Jim told them a truly horrifying story of a pretty sixteen year old native African girl who had been given some dresses by a kindly neighbour. She was walking down the street and another older African woman took offence for some unknown reason to the young girl and ordered that she be gang raped “to teach her a lesson”. The poor girl was dragged away and untold things done to her, and Jim and his colleagues were forced to wait until it was finished before they could help her. If they had tried to help her they would have been shot dead themselves and would have been of no help to anyone. Jim said the outside world had no clue at the extent of the misery and corruption that was endemic throughout Africa.

Jim's wife Mary had died suddenly five years previously, leaving Jim utterly devastated. He'd gone into a deep depression and had even considered ending it all. He'd started drinking heavily to try to numb the pain somehow and was taking antidepressants too. He said his life changed miraculously one evening when he was driving home half-drunk from the pub. A hitchhiker was thumbing a lift and Jim pulled over to offer him a lift.

The man got in and he and Jim continued on down the road for a few miles chatting away about life in general. Suddenly, the man looked over and said “Jim, you'll be alright now” and got out of the car. Jim didn't know how this stranger knew his name as they hadn't introduced themselves. He never saw the stranger again but from that night on he never took another drink or antidepressant. Jim said he'd been filled with calm and peace after the stranger left him. He said he'd never experienced anything like it before or since, and was convinced that the man was an angel sent to help him.

The travel bug had well and truly bitten Rachel and the more stories she heard of other's people's travelling adventures, the more she wanted to explore and see of the world, and not just in the usual short vacation way, but more in-depth. She wanted to take her time and really get to know a place. She wanted to experience different cultures, taste new food, explore the history of each place. Slowly but surely her senses were starting to come alive. She was allowing herself to connect with all the sights, sounds and tastes that the world had to offer. It was an education, a real education and she felt high on her new-found freedom.

If she wanted to stay one day or three days or even a month in a place then she stayed, but her only promise to herself was that she would do travel slowly and appreciate everything. It had only been a few short months that she'd been living in her campervan but she was starting to realise that she had only been half-living before. Everything had been such a rush in her old life, she was constantly on the go, there was always some deadline to be met at work, a gym session to attend, trying to fit in time for family and friends. Her old life had become such a chore.

She was so proud of herself for taking a step into the unknown and removing herself from her old habits, instead of just plodding along. She wondered sometimes how many people just got stuck in the whirlwind of life, how many people tried to get out of the rut but were too tied down with family commitments that they had reached a stage in their lives where they couldn't do anything, but had to live through it until they came out the other end. She understood why people had a mid-life crisis. The build-up of all the years of predictability and sameness just got too much for some people to endure. She realised that not many people had the freedom or the finances to set off on the sort of journey on which she had embarked, and she was grateful for her opportunity.

It was the first time in Rachel's life that she truly understood the craving of others to see the world. Previously, she'd always thought there was no need to travel. She'd even astonished her mother when she was eight years old by declaring that she would never leave Ireland and would quite happily embark on bus trips around Ireland. She had managed to escape slight further afield, and usually took a two week annual vacation in the sun, because there was no guarantee of sunshine in Ireland, even during the so-called summer months.

There were two seasons in Ireland, Rachel often thought, the rainy season and the not so rainy season. Spring and Autumn had a lot of rain, some cold and the very rare sunny day, Winter was fairly cold with a lot of rain and summer was generally a total wash-out. Everyone complained about the Irish weather, especially the Irish, but they really didn't know how to deal with the sun when it did beat down occasionally. Lots of pink, sunburnt bodies and faces would quickly emerge if the sun had been anyway hot at all. Rachel secretly liked the Irish weather, she complained about it with the best of them, but she didn't really know how to handle strong sunshine either. She found the intense sun of other climates a little difficult to endure. She spent most of her annual sun holiday sweating and dehydrated, all rather uncomfortable.