Newsletter Number Five

This week I look at travel as a seeking out of novelty, the effects of embracing the unknown road on our minds, strange dreams, and the wonderful feeling of hating your close neighbours

Hi all,

I hope you’re all doing well.

The lockdown crawls on, though at this stage I’m not even sure if exists any more. This is not a moralising jab at anyone who may or may not be ducking the ropes on the rules for whatever reason, whether they work for the national broadcaster or simply be a bored and fed-up twenty-something year old who backs himself to not get sick drinking cans on the streets of Dublin with a November wind blowing. I’m more interested – and concerned about – the effects the lockdown might be having on those who must endure it.

I’ve started to lose track of my sense of what a week is, often forgetting days. The worst thing is, I’m not sure things will be much different when the rules relax – nominally, at least – for our government allocated December shopping spree. This is the effect of shutting us off from being able to travel and move – and interact with other people – freely. It is the effect of oppressive order, of a routine so stifling so as to make one forget how to do things out of the routine. It is vital to remain with some spontaneity of spirit when one senses that things are tending towards stagnation.

One sign of progress is getting this newsletter out while it’s still daylight out, so that’s a sign that times are changing, at least.

This week I’ve written about Travel and Novelty – and why engaging in actions of spontaneity that expose us to novelty – by going new places, trying new things, meeting new people – has the effect of opening up our awareness of the world around us – and ourselves.

It's a theme that’s running through my travel articles, at the moment, as I’m quite interested in the topic of procrastination, and why we do it. Whether it’s writing an essay, packing for a holiday, doing the Christmas shopping, or leaving on a bike trip, to me it all comes down to some sort of fear of the unknown. And it’s the same reason we cling to the safety of our routines. The problem is, in moments like this, our routines – which includes our real-life relationships – get taken away from us. But if we are willing to expose ourselves to the new order, and to let go of how things were and how you expect them to be, and to accept that we don’t know what we’re doing or where we’re going, then it can have quite the calming effect on our minds.

This week’s travel article, I’m still on my road trip, this time arriving to the north-eastern city of Cao Bang. The province is a couple of days drive from Hanoi but is worth a visit for travellers. There’s some nice waterfalls at Ban Gioc straddling the Chinese border, and also Pac Bo cave where Ho Chi Minh lived for several weeks upon his return from 30 years of exile, before leading the Viet Minh independence movement to free his country from French colonial rule. It’s a protected shrine of sorts now, though you can visit and have a look.

I didn’t visit any of these so-called tourist sights. Instead, I did as I usually do in new places: I ate, I drank, I talked to people, and drove around a bit. After a hesitant start and journey into the unknown, I was starting to embrace the change and ease into it all. I felt at home not knowing where I was going, in new places every hour and every day and night. As we uncover things in the world around us, and as time passes, things uncover within us as well. The result of all this was that I had some mad dreams. And of course, it’s never just about me, so there’s plenty more of the usual observations on life in north Vietnam. Enjoy.

Finally, continuing on from last week’s rant about the irrationality of being a football fan, I’ve also uploaded an older article about climbing Diamond Hill in Connemara National Park, in which I look at the various ways in which we pledge our home loyalties – to town, county, or country – depending on when it suits us.

Slán, agus Maigh Eo abú í gconaí,

Gav