Between (re)organising all the travel and cycling gear I’ve collected over the years in my mothers attic, packing my panniers and picking up the last bits here and there I just manage to sit down for a blog.
It feels like I’m cycling in Central Asia. The landscape is wide and wavy with brown and green tones and a lake here and there. I’m in Connemara. From Killarney I headed north.
It’s been three months since I told you ‘how I burned out riding a bicycle‘. And it’s been over five months now since I broke down, and I finally feel like the end is almost in sight.
I arrive in Ireland by ferry in the late afternoon. My only plan for the day is to get away from Rosslare city and harbor and find a place to pitch my tent. In England people told me the wild camping would get easier getting to Wales and even more so in Ireland, but I’m surrounded by farmland without a farm in sight.
As I’ve told you in my previous blog, my arrival back in the Netherlands (due to a broken collarbone) didn’t go very smoothly. Two days after I arrived I broke down and spend three weeks in a haze.
It has only been two weeks since I got on my new bicycle in Tilburg to head south. First into Belgium, then France, England and Wales. Now I’ve arrived to Fishguard, my last stop before getting on the ferry to Ireland.
After three ‘turbulent’ flights I arrived in Calgary in (two) pieces. Stan, who follows my blog, picked me up from the airport. This Polish man opened his home to me and before I put down my head we had a (typical Polish) lovely light meal of bread and butter, different cheeses, meat and pickles. The next morning I left for Banff.
2 months in the Netherlands after 13 months living as a nomad. What’s that like? First of all, it’s great to talk my native language again. No matter how fluent my English is, it’s still different to express myself in the language I grew up speaking.