Bound for the Emerald Isle

Very, very brief bio and introduction - my name is Debra, I'm 34 and having spent the past almost 8 years working in the bush in South Africa, my home, and more recentlyfor the last 5 years in Tanzania, in the Serengeti district, I've taken a 4 month sabattical from work to fulfil a dream I've had for years - to complete the 12 week Certificate Cooking Course at Ballymaloe Cookery School in County Cork, Ireland.

Everyone has asked, why Ireland, and especially during the winter and to be honest I'm still not entirely sure - my gran is Irish and I've an Irish passport although (and I hate to even admit this) I've never been to Ireland before. My gran, whom I adore, visited Ballymaloe years ago and spoke of it so fondly that it's just stuck in my mind since then and I love the idea of rolling green countryside and fat, happy cows and the Atlantic coastline and being on an organic farm for 12 weeks and learning to cook at the same time, all of which is Ballymaloe to a tee - perhaps it's the years of African savanna, which don't get me wrong is beyond description and just so special, but a change is as good as a holiday and so it's all "Out of Africa" for a short stint. As for the cooking, well I've wanted to be able to do that properly for as long as I can remember - I can cook basically but whenever I try something fancy, normally having been privileged to eat it at one of the lodges I've worked at and tried to re-create it later at home, it just does not come out the same way and that's putting it nicely - pastry in particular is my nemesis and if there's one thing I master on this course, that'll be it.

And so, although it means being away from my husband for 3 months which is going to be awful and working for most of my sabattical, it's worth it a 100 times over and with any luck, by December 11th I'll be whipping up mouth-watering tarts and croissants with my eyes closed (smaller ambitions include hoping to still have 10 finger tips..........).

September 18th, lunch time....................oh my word, can hardly believe the time had finally arrived to pack the winter woollies, forget about sludge-coloured bush gear and flip flops, negotiate with my brand-spanking new set of (way too sharp) kitchen knives and head off to Ireland for three months cooking at Ballymaloe Cookery School, where they promise to take you from not being able to identify a wooden spoon to professional level cookery skill in 12 weeks flat, no easy task!

And so having paid half of my family to sit on the world's largest suitcase to get it closed, and wearing an extensive assortment of clothing better suited to arctic exploration than to Durbs-by-the-sea, all in a bid to reduce the overall tonnage of my suitcase, we headed to the airport. And not five minutes from home ran into the mother of all traffic jams - stuck around for about 5 minutes (literally, movement was in millimetres rather than the preferred kilometres) and then decided that the time had come to negotiate the central section to get onto the other side of the highway and find an alternative route. Brand new little Toyota Yaris did very well, certainly not what it had in mind I doubt for it's first week with Deb and Stu but that's what you get when a pair of bush cats buy you and drive you out of the showroom. Anyway, there we were heading away from the airport, just what you feel like when you're embarking on a 24+ hour trip that involves numerous too-tight-to-mention flight connections.....................after another minor run-in with the Saturday afternoon rugby traffic down  by the stadium, we finally got onto the old highway and screeched into the airport with minutes to spare, man-handled the suitcase out of the boot and onto an obstinate trolley and headed for check in. No amount of eyelash batting/pleading/motivation was going to get me out of excess luggage charges and so after lengthy negotiations, I ended up paying for every single gram of excess (about 10 kilograms, gasp) and waving a happy, good riddance to said suitcase, sending it on it's way with a prayer that it would meet me in Dublin the next morning. In true South African fashion, it was secured with high-level locks and enough plastic wrap to keep an industrial kitchen supplied for at least a year - to be honest, for a change, rather than stressing about "en route bag theft" (a Johannesburg speciality) I was more concerned with the luggage handlers simply dumping it unceremoniously in some dark, forgotten corner to avoid having to lift it on and off the carousels.

All went well from Durban to Johannesburg, and then from there onto London, even managed to sleep a bit - and then for step 3, London to Dublin, everything seemed to be on track, timely check in, swift closing of the aeroplane doors, prompt taxi out to the runway..................and then an almost hour-long wait there as countless other planes took off and we remained firmly earth-bound. Lift off was eventually achieved, about an hour off schedule, but if nothing else my suitcase was there in Dublin, not waiting for me as such, it was the last one to come up but then I suppose the dear luggage handlers were busy cursing up until that point before flinging it onto the carousel with a final, carefully worded Irish expletitive.

I'd like to say that I dashed up to Ryan Air to check in but it was more a case of trying to find traction in my arctic boots to push the trolley forwards, what with it being loaded with 2 coats (Dublin was stubbornly un-freezer-like), hand luggage (which as all women know normally weighs more than checked luggage), laptop, and previously mentioned suitcase. And when I finally arrived at the counter, it was only to find that my 11h40 flight to Cork had closed, that the next flight was at 22h00 that night, that no other airlines fly there and that the 12h15 bus was my only option and so the bus it was. Not too bad at all and breathtaking country views for most of the trip, battled to keep my eyes open but did see fat, happy cows sitting down and just munching around themselves in a sort of semi-circle, now that's the life.

And lastly from the bus stop at Cork, it was an eye-wateringly expensive taxi ride out to the school, about 20 miles from Cork, where I parted with many, many Euros and finally checked into my home for the next 12 weeks, and what an incredibly beautiful home.

Ballymaloe is set on a 100 acre farm with incredible gardens, the odd cow, some happy pigs, lots of chickens and plenty of excited students - 62 of us in total.

I'm staying in the White Cottage which is picture-perfect cute, attic rooms, white-washed walls, climbing creepers and flowers, just gorgeous - I've 3 lovely housemates and we've each got a bedroom and bathroom and then there's a communal kitchen and sitting room which looks out onto the gardens and a meadow and is exactly, exactly what I had in mind, piccies to follow.

Going to sign off for now, to be 100% honest I'm a few days behind as had to work out how to set up a blog to start with so will be catching up a bit more later and tomorrow with details of the first 3 days at cookery school........................watch this space.