It had that tear-y, wrench-y sense of "ending", that feeling of Last Time, of We'll Never Do This Again.
It was 2017, and our thirty year overseas travel adventure was about to close. You always knew it had to happen some time, but now the reality was on us. It was time to hang up our haversacks and boots and passports. And, fittingly, we were in Ireland, that grand and green and all-embracing place that had stolen us away right from the very beginning. And we were not just in Ireland, but six weeks in West Cork/Kerry where part of us will live as long as we're still breathing.
We were in Kenmare, a small country town down on the Kerry coast, where we were always made welcome and felt exceedingly comfortable, and in our favourite bungalow, a house we've used many times, mountains all around, and a five minute walk from the town's three main streets, with its pubs and shops and people. People like David and Marian, and Chris, and Gerry and Maeve and Megan. And Mick.
We'd done six weeks in Kenmare several times of recent years and, as is always our way (same as at home), each time we've quickly stepped into the routine of an 8am second breakfast every morning at one cafe, where the real bonus is that it gets you in with the locals, as any cafe in the world has a full set of regulars at 8am. In the past it was Prego, where we'd struck up quite a friendship with Gerry the cafe-owner, and every Sunday morning we'd sit and sort out the problems of the world together and he'd use me as a crash test dummy for his latest culinary idea. And there was also Maeve and Megan, two of the loveliest lasses you'd ever be likely to meet, both local and about 18 and took turns to tend Gerry's 8am regulars. Including us. And Chris the hairdresser, a lady who made hats - 'fascinators' I think she called them.
But in 2015 Gerry was gone and Maeve was in Queensland, and Megan was only on fill-in. But Chris was still a regular, and the new manager was Mick. Mick who'd been a firefighter in the US for some years but had settled back home in Ireland to raise his new family. An all round great guy.
When it was our time to go home we found we still had a souvenir left over - Herself likes to spread a little Aussie culture as she goes, and always takes a few bits from our local touristy gift shop, like little koalas and stuff. For kids. Gets a conversation going quicker than anything. This time we had a talking kangaroo left over, done out in a beach hat and a denim jacket. Yep, crass and ocker but what can I say - you press his belly once and he says in ya best Strine - "G'day mate!" - and press again and it's - "Ow ya goin'?" - doesn't get more bogan than that.
Anyway, we had it there, and on out last morning asked Mick to give it to his chef, who had small kids. Mick squeezed that roo several times and was smiling like a big kid and right then we weren't at all sure if the chef was ever going to see it. And then him and Chris shouted us our breakfasts and hugs all round and we were gone. Lump in out throat, as usual.
2017. First morning there, we find that "our" cafe is permanently closed. Deflated we try another one, but not really our style, so already thinking that travellers should never try to recapture a "moment", but just be thankful they had it once. But we run into Chris, renew our friendship, and she tells us that Mick now has his own cafe, up the street, doing it with his brother. So next morning, 8am, the church bell chiming the hour - it starts up every day at 8am to remind all good cafes that they should be open - and we head round to Mick's.
Now, two years had passed, and we wondered if Mick would remember us - I mean, cafe manager, we only breezed through his life for a short time, and let's face it, Irish country towns see an awful lot of tourist traffic, people must become just a blur. But we push through the door, and Mick is there, sorting out his till change. And we're at least ready to explain who we are, and that two years ago we were... but Mick takes one look, and his face lights up, and he says "Ohmygod it was only yesterday that I pushed the kangaroo's stomach!" and he grabs Herself and hugs the stuffing out of her and then he's shaking my hand like I'M his long lost brother! Geez, you don't get a better Irish welcome than that.
We had just the best six weeks. And every morning of it at 8am in Mick's.
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