Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
Jack Kerouac, On The Road

This month is Jack Kerouac’s 102nd anniversary, he was born in March 1922 – and we could be going anywhere. There is no map, there are no orientation points, nothing behind us, everything ahead of us, just waves and an endless horizons. If the ship’s compass is working and the captain gets his bearings right, we’ll arrive in Santander very early this morning, having spent two nights and a day on Brittany Ferries.

The crew is almost entirely French, some only speak French. After all, this is a French ferry company. Most passengers are, naturally enough for a ferry going between the two countries, English- or Spanish-speaking. So, it’s like the old saying: when in France…  and brushing up on your leaving cert French if you ever took it.

The sea is beautiful and calm. There is a bit of sunshine outside. Great cloud movement. Our two-berth cabin – there are only two-berth accessible cabins on this ship – is big enough to pace a very thin, self-inflatable mattress on the floor. We are all together, with not much to do but taking it easy.

Very different from St. Patrick’s Day last week. Every city, every town, and most villages had their parade and big celebrations. The Dublin parade is as big a tourist spectacle as the Carnival in Rio of Cologne is. There are hundreds of thousands in town struggling to get close enough to the road to see the bands, the floats and the dancers.

We went to Leitrim. It wasn’t hard to stand right on the edge of the footpath in Mohill if you were prepared to move a little bit up the hill on main street. We were standing almost in front of one of the old pubs. Some of the customers emerging as the parade approached, clearly had had either a very bad night or a rough early morning.

The parade passed right in front of our eyes and we could see every detail of the lovingly restored tractors, immaculately maintained vintage cars, and shiny new super trucks passing by. The parade went up the fill, around the church and back down the hill. When the parade had passed after about a quarter of an hour, we didn’t wait for the second turn, took advantage of the break in the parade, and made it back to the car.

All this is already becoming a distant memory as we look forward to a week of walks along the Atlantic ocean, plenty of Pádraig’s favourite tapas, especially pulpo, a few visits to our neuro physio and exercise friends in Torrelavega, lots of time together, and all with a timetable set entirely by us.

Nothing behind us, everything ahead of us, as is ever so on the road.