Jennifer Carroll is a 21 year old actor and writer. She first began writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos in 2007 when she had the opportunity to share her experiences as a Canadian ambassador for an international conference for women in Dubai. At the beginning of 2008, she moved to Ireland to pursue a career in theatre and film. Far From Home is her monthly account on living and working in Dublin.
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Escape to the West
Back to it. To a wet, windy autumn. To leaves that refuse to turn or fall. To chilling air and shorter days.
Returning to Dublin is always bittersweet. I love the crisp smell in the air that the wind blows in from the Irish Sea, but it takes days to grow accustom to the chill it instills in your bones. As I brace myself against the autumnal chill, I settle back into my day to day. After a familiar, hazy summer of theatre and afternoon teas, I have to wrap myself against the harsh Dublin air and find my place again. It is the perpetual task of the actor: even if you have work, it won't be long before you'll be looking for work again. I audition in the cold fall mornings, in the vacant corners of the city where art is born and nurtured. It's cold, tedious, heartbreaking work, and I know it must be endured.
But first, escape. We journey to West Cork, for even the most devoted fans of Dublin need retreat occasionally. The drive south is calm and straight. As we bend west, the drive is wild and winding. The ocean threatens to open up beside us for miles, until suddenly a break in the dense forest to my left throws itself open to the vast, rocky black waters. A wave of salted air hits my face as I let my window down and welcome it with a deep intake of breath. I long for that salty air to pull down to the bottom of my lungs, into my belly, my toes. It intoxicates me. We drive, drunk with the fresh ocean air, into the hotel parking lot. We settle into the room, peeking out across the street to say hello to a friendly field of sheep, our temporary neighbours. The ocean stays anchored to the south, the mountains reaching up into the setting sky to the west. The sun softens from its daytime crystal formation and melts behind the mountains, as I say goodnight to the sunset and fall asleep, ocean in my lungs and my dreams.
The next morning brings fog. Dense and thick, it rolls down the mountains and into the water and the rain isn't far behind. But it matters little, as we have hills and space and time before us. My feet itch to lace on runners and force my tired body around the bay and over relentless hills. My belly aches for a hearty Irish breakfast. My imagination soars with speculation as to what lies beyond the mysterious fog and over the mountain's gentle peaks. We drive around the base of a mountain, stopping only to settle our hungry tummies with artisan Irish cheeses and stretch our restless legs. We want the car to climb, and veer right to begin our ascent. Wild sheep own the mountain roads, and we have to politely ask permission to pass. We barrel through tunnels blown out of the rocky mountainside. We lose cell service and disappear higher into the fog. A peace enrobes my mind as the car drives into the misty haze, and with an opportunity to pause we pull the car over to allow our eyes to catch up with our racing hearts.
We stumble upon a farm and take a walk with donkeys that love chocolate and a pig that loves anything. As we wander, the sun breaks through the thick clouds and streams down on the mountain fields and makes me full of life and full of possibility. It warms the back of my neck as we amble toward the car and allow it to carry us back to our momentary abode. I know we have little time to enjoy this corner of existence, but as the wind pulses wildly past our window in the dark, I know this pause will be enough to settle me, to find my place and myself once more.
We return to Dublin, and I know auditions will continue in church basements and pub lofts and the deepest corners of the city, and I will tackle them with everything I am. And if I lose myself, I know where to find it, just a few hours south, in the deep corner of Cork.
