We arrived in Ballybunnion on the end of a nylon rope attached to a Land Cruiser driven by a farmer called John. I took this picture there, and if you like it you can buy a limited edition print for $40.
John, a solid middle-aged man with nose hairs and practical clothes, found us by the side of the road somewhere in County Kerry, our van broken down and our hands on our heads. He pulled over in a cloud of dust, exchanged some words with the women in the nearest house and offered to tow us into town.
At least I think that’s what he did, because to be completely honest, I only understood about 15 per cent of what John said.
Not only did his thick accent sound like the wind whistling over the Kerry cliffs, his delivery had a strange, sing-song quality reminiscent of a nursery rhyme. When he borrowed the blue nylon cord from the man next door (also named John) I think he said: “I’ll have this back to you, John. It might not be today, and it might not be tomorrow, but surely you’ll have this rope next time I pass this way.”
When it came time for him to tow us, what little I understood of his instructions came mostly from context clues: occasional phrases like “you’re the man on the brake”, “not too close” and “clutch”.
In any event, the only hitch in the towing process was the John tied around the van’s front bumper. The hair-raising 10 mile journey down the narrow road into Ballybunnion managed to hiccup the engine into life, and by the time we arrived she was purring like a jaguar with sleep apnoea.
“Dirty, dirty diesel” was to blame for the breakdown, according to John, who drove away with a wave, refusing our offer to buy him a bottle of whisky.
We set up the van’s bed - which was behind the seats and parallel to the bonnet, an arrangement which defied all laws of spacial reasoning, sleep hygiene and common sense - and set out to explore. Ballybunnion, we judged, was a pleasingly dilapidated Atlantic resort town built around the kind of beach you wouldn’t cross the road for in Australia.
Relieved to not be camping by the side of the highway, Hannah and I wandered the clifftops in a daze. Murmurations of swallows wheeled above us before dropping like pebbles into the wind-hewn caves below. Nearly a month in Ireland and we got half our Vitamin D that afternoon in Ballybunnion - the sun must have been out for at least 30 minutes.
I got this photo of a toilet door in that brief sunny window. It’s somewhere between landscape and street photography - you can see the ruined castle on the point, and the distant figures of determined sunbathers on the beach. I like the geometry, the colours and the shadows. Maybe it’s not the best photo I’ve ever taken, but at least for me, it’s evocative of relief and determination.
Eventually, the sun will come out. And when it does, you can walk hand-in-hand with the person you love or get your kit off at the beach.
If you like that kind of romantic crap, you can shoot me an email and I’ll get a print done for you.
Snaps I liked this week
At the risk of highlighting how second rate my pictures are, I’m going to start doing some shout outs to other local street shooters whose work is inspiring me. Here are two.
I’m constantly in awe of the images that Lewis Warner is making, and his series from the Melbourne Cup this week is no different. I think it takes a special photographer to approach a subject as well photographed as “drunk people at the race track” with such originality.
I had the pleasure of meeting Zarni Tun while I was out shooting in the city last week, and I’ve been enjoying going back through his stuff. I especially like this street still life from Sabai, the newspaper/zine he released earlier in the year. He’s got an exhibition opening in Newtown on Sunday as part of HeadOn Photo Fest. Go check it out.
I love these posts Alex!