Ironically traffic was no punishment today. In my rearview mirror I witnessed a huge ball of fire slowly rise above the seemingly endless flow of automobiles as it submerged everything in its salmon colored glow. Ahead of me a neon rainbow arched high above my journey's path, one that lead into a dark gray horizon. East and West the prism touched down on the earth. It's the second time in my life that I have seen a rainbow in January.
The first time was in Ireland. After Rick and I gathered with friends and thousands of other Dubliners at the Christ Church to countdown 2005 and celebrate the new year, he returned home to prepare for a business trip to India. I stayed in the country for a few more days.
The first day alone I decided to take it easy, so I bought a day-ticket and took a train down the coast. I got out in a town called Bray, just as a train going to Graystones pulled into the station. It sounded interesting, so I jumped into that train and off to Graystones I went. The train climbed up the mountain just at the end of Bray. At the top it carefully slinked alone the lush green cliff’s edge, winding along and through the massive rock. There was nothing up here but an occasional goat grazing on shrubbery and a group of boys mooning the train. On the other side of the mountain the train sneaked into Graystones.
There wasn’t much to the town, just a gasping view of the sunlit, florescent green velvety mountainside and a beach of, yes you’ve guessed it, gray stones. I sat down on the bed of silky smooth cobblestones and looked out to sea. You know the sound you get when you turn a kaleidoscope and the pieces inside cling and clang as they fall over each other? That is the happy sound the waves here make as they splash and flow over the shiny wet stones.
That evening I stopped in the seaside town Bray to get a bite to eat. I picked an old house converted into a restaurant. Upstairs there was a glassed-in porch and from there you could see the whole stretch of beach all the way to the mountainside. As I sat down, the woman at the table next to me said “Was it rainin’ when ya cem in?” I looked at her confused. She swung her head in the direction of the window. “Thare’s a rainbow over the sea. Rainbows mean rain,” she explained. I looked out over the water to see a vibrant rainbow stretched out across the horizon. 'That would be a hard pot of gold to get to,' I thought. And sure enough, it began to rain.
That night I got to see an old friend, Laura. I told her I wanted to see some more nature, so she came up with the brilliant idea to send me to Powerscourt Falls. “You just take the line 44 to Enniskerry. The bus will take you straight there. It’s a bit out in the country, so I’d take a bus to the falls if I were you. You don’t want to be walking about the woods by yourself.” So the next day me and my camera were off to Enniskerry. Or that is what I thought.
It did strike me a bit odd that the bus destination said 'Balliogan'. But I was standing at the Enniskerry bus stop, that I knew for sure. So the worse thing that could happen would be that I would have to get out at this Balliogan place and wait in a pub for 30 minutes until the bus to Enniskerry came, right? Wrong. See Balliogan isn’t really a place. It’s a field with a few low-income houses. And no, this bus wasn’t going further than this field. After the bus driver informed me of my misfortune, he opened the door and let a bellow of wind in that wailed and screamed through the double-decker bus. Childhood tells of Irish banshees ran through my head as I pulled my coat tight around me and forced my way past the wind and into the outdoors.
There was nothing to do but wait for the next bus. I turned my back to the wind and tried to become as small as possible in my fat suede coat. Just then I spotted a rainbow in the distance. 'That pot of gold is too far away,' I thought, 'but aren’t they always...' The corners of my mouth started to turn up, but then I remembered the old woman in Bray. Like magic the next gust of wind brought sharp drops of rain that stung my bare cheeks and ears.
The bus did finally come and I was off to Enniskerry and the Powerscourt Falls. The winding road went up into the mountains and ran parallel to a shallow brook that tumbled over raw rugged rocks. Mist hung between the tall majestic pines, and if I thought the bus away, it was just like being in Virginia. Enniskerry, however, was typically Irish. It was a quaint little village nestled between the crevices of old mountains. The Victorian style houses, pubs and stores, all painted a different pastel color, stood around a traffic circle with a fountain in the middle. I asked the bus driver how to get to the falls. “Oh there no busses goin’ this time o’ year. But it’s jus op de hill. ‘Bout a twenty minute’s walk,” he guessed. I knew what Laura had said, but it had taken me almost two hours to get this far and there was no way I was going back.
I decided to have something to drink before I went to the falls. Inside the old pub, I was the only customer. There was an old man behind the bar polishing glasses and a younger man mopping the floor. I sat down in front of the fireplace and ordered a cup of hot tea. Despite the fact the place was deserted, the scent of the wood fire and the Christmas decorations made the pub cozy. I sat stirring the tea with a silver spoon, watching the television. There was a crime investigation program on. It was about a British man that murdered two women in their mid-twenties in the woods. I took a sip of my drink and turned away from the television. 'I was going to the falls and that was final.' But then shivers went down my spine when I realized what song was playing on the radio. “Knock, knock, knocking on heaven’s door...” 'Do you think people get signs the day they die?' I thought.
I started to squirm a little in my seat. I shot a glance across the room. For a split second I made eye contact with the man who was mopping the floor. His eyes shifted to the ground and he continued to yank the mop back and forth. ‘Maybe I should stop by the police station before going to the falls.’
The police station was a light blue gingerbread house with white curly trimming along the roof’s edge. There was a black iron lantern hanging on the house’s front with 'Guard' written on the glass. The reception area was nothing more than a desk, a bell, a brochure rack and a poster that stated: “Stop violent crimes against women.”
“May I help you?” the copper behind the desk asked.
“Yes, I’m going up to the falls and I wanted to know if it’s safe to go up there alone,” I replied.
“Is it ever safe for a woman to go walking in the woods alone?” he sounded annoyed.
“Going up to the falls, are you?” a voice sounded from behind me. I turned to see a scruffy, bearded man with blue overalls covered in mud. “Hello Frank,” he directed his glance to the police officer. Then he turned his attention back to me. “It’s an awful long walk. I’m going up there if you want a lift,” he offered.
I looked at the police officer, who didn’t blink an eye.
“Don’t you trust me?” Tom asked.
“No,” I replied with a weary smile. The two men laughed hardily, but they seemed friendly enough. “Sure why not,” was my answer. “Oh, but was it the alarm number in Ireland... just in case I fall and break a leg or something?”
“Don’t actually know,” said Frank.
Perhaps at this point alarm bells should have started ringing, but it had become a personal mission to get to those falls. Outside I climbed into Tom’s muddy 4x4. After we started rolling, I peered over my shoulder and saw large, jagged tools, including a chainsaw, in the back. “So, Tom, what do you do for a living?” I tried to sound casual.
“I’m a prison guard. I’m on holiday just now and I’m doing odd jobs for people around here.” Meanwhile we had gone up the mountain and back down the mountain. And I started to get worried. 'Are the falls this far?' He must have sensed that I was uncomfortable because Tom said: “The gate is about 4 miles from town. It’s another mile from the gate to the falls. I’ll drive you all the way in. It will take you at least an hour to walk back into town, unless you can hitch a ride with someone.”
I was trying to remember the way and keep an eye on Tom at the same time. It started to sprinkle. By the time we got to the gate it was pouring. Tom let me out close to the falls. I wrapped my scarf around my head because I had no umbrella. I watched Tom’s SUV disappear down the path to make sure he was really gone. Then I turned to face the amazing work of nature called Powerscourt Falls. Water crashed down the front of a high cliff to be distributed between vibrant green moss-covered boulders. The water rejoined in the form of a creek that disappeared into a dark, evergreen forest.
Mist rose and hung between the trees gathered around the falls, as if to admire the fluid energy. And how enormous these trees were! No wonder tales of leprechauns are told. If the tiny people of Ireland stand beside trees this big, then yes, they would look like leprechauns. One of the trees had a cubbyhole that I crouched into to get out of the rain, but standing still made me cold. I left my hiding place and stood in the open space between the trees and the waterfalls. I was small and I was completely alone.
I started the five-mile walk back into town in the pouring rain. By now everything was soaked, everything but my woolen Icelandic sweater. No one was going to offer me a ride as wet as I was, so I trudged along the winding mountain road, all the way back to Enniskerry. And even though I was cold and tired, I wasn’t miserable. The wet earth and woods smelled sweet and rich. Deep down, I felt very happy. Being away from worldly distractions and worries was mind clearing. During the long hike back to Enniskerry, I felt like I was reconnecting with simplicity. There was no quick fix that would get me back into town dry and also no media that was telling me how I should feel. For a while, I didn’t feel crippled by uncertainties.
When at last I climbed the last hill, nothing looked as inviting as that little Irish pub in Enniskerry. I draped my soaked coat over a chair, took off my drenched shoes and socks and sat before the open fire with a bowl of soup. As the feeling slowly seeped back into my bare toes, I was flooded with a sense of bliss. I realized that I was right where I wanted to be in life. That can be just as terrifying as not being there or not knowing what you want. However, I would be a fool if I dared to complain. I have great friends and family that offer great advice. I have experience, a drive to explore and I have my health.
So maybe I didn’t find a pot of gold or catch a leprechaun in Ireland. But I found peace of mind. And that is real treasure.
