In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a walking connoisseur. It’s in my blood, just point me at a road or path and I’ll take it. When we were younger, we were the only children whose mother walked them to school in the mornings, instead of driving them to the gate. It was only 15 minutes down the road but other parents would stop on the way and ask if we wanted a lift, assuming that our car had broken down. That’s how unusual we were. When we went to Rosscarbery on holidays, we walked there too. To the beach and back, around the lake, to the pier and back. In first year of university, I met a girl who turned out to be from Rosscarbery. “I know who you are!” she exclaimed, “you’re from the family who walks everywhere”. When I told the others this story, Grace was especially horrified. “I knew we were weird!”
In Brussels, walking is my main mode of transport. Yes, I’ll get the bus and metro every now and then, but if there is time and the weather is on my side, I’ll stroll off, listening to my podcasts and smugly bypassing all the traffic.
At home for the past few weeks, I’ve been back on the roads, as well as around the fields and woods with the dogs. I still listen to my podcasts, but sometimes I have human company.
A grey solitary Rosscarbery walk (aside from that one cow):
A sunny Glenville walk, complete with Mom, dogs and water of another type:
These photos look incredibly tame compared to what’s ahead of me in the US and Canada in the next few weeks, but I’ll always be up for a walk, no matter where I am.