The Wrath of Eyjafjallajokull

I know it looks like I passed out and bashed my head against the keyboard, but "Eyjafjallajokull" happens to be the name of that pesky Icelandic volcano. Europe is absolutely crippled by the cloud of ash that has most airports closed until the eruption ends––and no one knows when that will be. Things are especially problematic in Ireland and Britain. Being islands, there are only a few other travel options: you can take a ferry, or the Chunnel. And from what I've been reading, all ferry and Chunnel crossings are sold out.

The eruption has been anticlimactic for us so far. All I see is a clear blue sky, no ominous cloud of ash! But that will change soon. According to the an article from the Washington Post, Scottish health authorities said that this weekend we'll see the ash "wafting to the ground...producing a dusty haze and a strong sulfuric smell akin to that of rotten eggs." Sweet! My first encounter with volcanic ash.

To recap, in Ireland we have seen the worst flooding in centuries, the coldest winter in a lifetime, and now a massive volcanic eruption. As far as natural phenomenon this trip hasn't been disappointing!

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Some of the cliffs at the entrance to the Old Head. Notice the ancient
fortification wall in the foreground.

Now for the promised report on my trip to Old Head. The work I was doing there, as predicted, was dull and I therefore won't talk about it. But the weather was perfect and the scenery beautiful.

The view from the clubhouse's patio. Not a shabby place to
play a €200 round of golf or have a €15 drink, is it?

I had to spend two work days at the Old Head Links. Not too long after I left on Monday a guy plunged to his death off of the cliffs––a very scenic suicide. This last photo was taken on Tuesday; apparently they were still looking for his body. The chopper was slowly working its way along the coastline. Anyway, it made for a neat shot with the lighthouse in view.

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I had an interesting cab ride back from the airport on Tuesday (I had to take cabs from City Centre to the airport each day, because that's the only place where one can rent a car in Cork!). The driver and I engaged in the obligatory small talk at first--he told me that he drives a Harley, and did a two-month motorcycle trip across the United States. He also told me about the way Old Head used to be before it was colonized by the upper-bourgeois. "'Twas a very wild place, Old Head. I used to go out there with me shotgun and blast away at the sea gulls. 'Twas cruel of me, yes, but I like to think they would have done the same if they had shotguns."

This is where the conversation turned from harmless to serious. Referring to the recent bank bailouts (see previous entries), my driver made it clear he was disgusted by the €54 billion hole Ireland dug itself. "For a small country, for a country with only one million full-time employees, 'tis a grave." He then told me his big plans: "I think it's time for some assassinations, starting at the top and working down the line. Somebody needs to take out these politicians."

"Still have the old shotgun?" I asked.

"Oh yes, I have plenty of guns. But a shotgun would be too good for them. The person that takes them out will be a hero to the people. I'm an old man [he was about 70] that has nothing to lose, so it looks like it will have to be me. They don't hang people anymore, so what are they going to do? Throw me in jail for the rest of my life?" He laughed at the prospect.

We arrived at my apartment. "I'm a real Cork man, a true rebel, and I'll shoot them all," he concluded. By this point he was also referring to the "foreign" cab drivers who undercut Irish cabbies, robbing the latter of business. All I could think to say was "Well, good luck with that. Your secret is safe with me."