FROCKSTAR: A Journey to the Middle of Nowhere :)

Good afternoon Frockstars :)

It's been a while since my last confession and my penance is a sore butt after a month of horse-riding 7 hours a day across the wilds of Costa Rica. I spotted a quote a while ago, sticking its buddhist-esque head out from the hopeful daily assault of inspirational thoughts on Facebook, that said:

"Sometimes, you find yourself in the middle of nowhere. And sometimes, in the middle of nowhere you find yourself"

It was accompanied by a photo of a bearded man in leathers astride a Harley Davidson, rats tail blowing in the wind behind him as he charged down a deserted highway somewhere in the States.
It captured my imagination and my restless soul and I 'came to' with my index finger hovering above 'book now' on a Harley Davidson *website for a tour across America. Thankfully the executive functioning centre in my brain rustily kicked in and I began to doubt whether I could manage it, you know, what with never having actually operated a motorbike before.

So I switched it for riding a horse which as memory served at the time, I used to be good at, and found the perfect spot up north in Costa Rica. The plan was to work on a ranch there just outside Puriscal and after some time bonding with my horsey, ride south and arrive at the Pacific Coast having navigated the wilds of this Central American gem purely on horseback.

It's probably a good time to mention (in case it wasn't already obvious) that this year I am trying to do a little soul searching, a little heart hunting and a little mind mending. Break open the boundaries that had gradually etched their way into grooves around my daily life, like little ninjas, with a cement mixer.
Once I spotted them and their sneaky little ninja masks, I began to scramble around my proverbial coop for freedom and do what many brave Irish men and women have done in the years gone by, LEG it across the Atlantic.

So off I went with my bag on my back (I'm starting to sound like Nelly the Elephant - I must tell you about the time I applied to join the circus) and arrived at Terminal 2 in Dublin airport, which is regarded as a treat and "you must be going somewhere kinda fancy coz Ryanair doesn't fly out from there" sic - kid on bus, 8yrs.
My first stop, 24 hours in New York. Holy mother of Mary and all of her angels and the patron saint of whatchacallhim. I knew I was going to like it but I wasn't prepared for the injection of adrenaline that basically sent me running, actually running around New York City. I walked out of my hotel on the Upper West Side and involuntarily broke into a sprint. I ran through Central Park, up Fifth Avenue, ran around Tiffany's (for the laugh - "no madame, we do not sell black diamonds") up past Rockefeller, Radio City and kept going until I got to the Empire State Building on 34th. I ran because I was giddy and excited and I didn't want to miss anything by taking the subway. I ran because I only had 24 hours and I wanted to see as much as possible. I ran because my father had filled my head full of the dangers of New York attackers before I left, and running would be off-putting for ill-intentioned folks. And I ran because it was -10 degrees and there was snow on the ground and it was the only way to retain heat in my puny Irish body.

I reached the top of the ESB…ok, if you're from Ireland that acronym does not work. Try again. I reached the Empire State Building at sunset and it was there, as the fiery rays of the sinking sun splayed their light across the city outline I had seen on TV all my life, I made a promise to myself that I would come back and live in this iconic city that buzzed with pure energy, enthusiasm and electricity. I wanted a piece of that. But for now… I was flying south.

TBC :)