The first day of Christmas is gray. I pour coffee into a orange, travel cup and tea into a thermos, wrap four pieces of poppy seed cake. We go to Connemara. Can’t imagine to visit her on Christmas, actually I can’t already imagine to live without her.
Beige hills, raw rocks, wet khaki colorued grasses and white-blue sheep awake me to the authenticity.
Galway is Irish city inlet of Atlantic. City full of shimmering colours, heavy rain, sincere tolerance, culs-de-sacs, flowing to the heart songs, and loud cry of gulls. My no perfect city with some spaces, which make really antidepressant effects. One of them is:
It is a very local place but also international. You can find there thousands of books, even in the sinks in the bathroom. People come here to take a moment for themselves, to read a book , to write something, to dream, or have a chat with somebody, who sits at the next table, and have a really good coffee.
In the basment, which has brick walls and arches is a sizeable space for coffee shop among bookshelves.
Belive that a further shore is reachable from here
When I landed in Bucharest was very late, so I was worring a bit how I will get to the city centre, where I had one night accommodation. But to my surprise the ticket office was still open (at 22pm) and I found a bus which took me to the centre of mysterious city. While the ride I was still thinking how I will find the apartment in the middle of the night. Meanwhile I met an angel – local girl, who has led me to my place. She also hugged me and gave warmly wishes, so much needed, when you are alone in foreign country.