Dangling around Dingle

Well now that I'm settled back in France, I would like to take a little time to finish recounting my stay in Ireland.  I left off with only a few days to go, but there is much to be told!

From Killarney I took the bus on over to the tiny town of Dingle, which is on the coast of none other than the Dingle Peninsula.  I arrived at my hostel to find the door locked, and when I knocked and rang the bell, no one answered.  Hmmm.  The worst of it was, I could hear lots of people inside!!  What was the magic word, I wondered?  Fresh out of "open sesames" I stood on the front doorstep and called the hostel on my cellphone.   

"You're where??" The woman who answered asked me, puzzled.  

"Outside your front door, if you would please let me in.  I have a reservation."  I curtly replied.

"You have a reservation??" The woman echoed, incredulous.  "But we're booked full.  There must be some mistake.  Hold on, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

Well this was all too strange, I thought.  15 minutes- where was she?  Was I not holding my confirmed reservation in my hands?  Why the heck didn't anyone answer the door??

I waited, growing more wind-blown and grumpier by the minute.  Eventually she peeled up and popped out of a mid-sized SUV,  looking pretty scattered, with a vague air of Lorelai Gilmore. It turns out that she had mis-remembered the dates of the large group (sponsored by none other than Rick Steves, wouldn't you know it) that was taking up all the beds, and that they wouldn't be gone until tomorrow.  Kindly, she arranged and paid for my stay at a hotel on the edge of town.  

But the oddity doesn't end there!  When I checked into the Dingle Harbor Lodge, as it was impressively named, I found that there was no key to my room- no lock!  But no worries, the housekeeper who checked me in informed me that I was the only one in the 8 bed hostel-style room of the hotel.  What's more, it felt like I was the only one staying in the whole of the Dingle Harbor Lodge!  There was absolutely no one around.  

While I was settling in the housekeeper came by and handed me a key, but not for my room, of course.  No, it was the key to the front door of the hotel!!!  Please, take a moment to let that sink in.  There was no lock on my room door, but I was given the key to the front door of a massive hotel.  "The owners are going out later, and so here's the key in case you get back while they are still out."  she explained as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  Wow.

Well from there I didn't have much planned so I walked into to town to give myself a little tour.  It was pretty quiet- no surprise there, and endearingly small.  Early on in my tour I happened to come across the Dingle Cineplex, which was a one-screen affair where the show played only once per day and changed nearly as often.  With no other plans, I made a date with myself and the movie "There Will Be Blood" for the evening.  

The theatre (not open yet) was next to a movie rental store, so I ducked in there to browse until they opened the doors.  They had lots of titles, mostly of the vaguely familiar but dated and not particularly good variety.  And you wouldn't believe the price- it cost around 4 or 5 euros just to rent a movie!  At that price you might as well see it in theatres.  

It was easy to tell when they opened up the Cineplex next door- the owner had to come through the rental store to do it!  I later found out that, beyond the common tie of movies, they also shared restroom facilities- makes sense.  I went into the theatre and time stood still- it was so classic!  The seats were worn with use (although there doesn't appear to be as much of that anymore) and there was even a golden curtain covering the screen until the feature began, when it was ceremonially drawn back.  A scratched grab bag of new and old advertisements for concessions and coke added to the authenticity.  And then the feature film!

And what a film!  Two hours and forty minutes of pure enraptured entertainment.  It twisted my thoughts and emotions until I was simply hypnotized.  Was it supposed to be funny?  I often laughed, perhaps to protect myself from its disturbing ability to make me feel uncomfortable without being able to say just why.  "There Will Be Blood" will be sticking with me for some time to come.  

After a film like that, I just wasn't in the mood to go pubbing, so I headed on back to the lodge to see if I would be needing to use that key.  Alas, the door was open, although in my excitement I momentarily confused "push" and "pull" and got my hopes up over nothing.  I returned the key the next morning without fanfare.  

A day full of surprises in Dingle, but things got even more interesting on day two...

I visited Muckross House and all I got was this lousy sunburn

The following day I set out decidedly on foot, to walk to the Muckross House and Gardens. This lovely estate was about an hour's walk outside of town, just on the edge of the National Park. Although the easy walk was annoying bordered by a busy road and an endless string of B & Bs, I found them to be almost comforting in their peopled-ness.

I took an interesting and antique-filled tour of the House, where Queen Victoria once visited for two nights. Preparing for her stay (the family had 6 years advanced notice) contributed to their unfortunate bankruptcy not long after. Hope it was a great couple of nights, anyway!

From there I leisurely walked around the grounds, taking in the carefully tended gardens and grand views of the lake. With more time on my hands and the weather sunny and warm, I decided to walk up to the Torc Waterfall- a cool and refreshing sight.

My day much more calmly and pleasantly spent, I walked back into town and was joined by a french girl my own age. I didn't realize she was french until about halfway into our walk, at which point we enjoyably switched to her native language instead. She was, she told me, spending five months in Ireland roofing as a volunteer. At least, that is what I thought she said. Turns out she works for Woofing, an acronym of some sort that involves organic farming. Still, it sounded like hard work either way.

That night at the hostel (Cathy had left that morning) I met a young German man who looked to be about 26 but swore he was only 19. In any case, his story was unique. He is bicycling from Cork to Donegal (basically from the southern tip to the northern one) over three months, while teaching himself the Irish national sport of Hurling. He had been apprenticing as an insurance salesman, but he hated it so much he up and came to Ireland in hopes of joining a Hurling team some day soon. I didn't really know what to think, but it was quite the story.

The next morning, I was surprised to find my face bright pink and my chest bright red. Was I sick? But no! I had somehow gotten a pretty good sunburn from my long walk the day before. Even the hostel receptionist looked at me with surprise. "Your friends won't believe you've been in Ireland!" she quiped. Hahaha. Ouch.

Killarney National Park: Bring a good map!

The next day saw me up bright and early, renting a bike with a heart full of adventure and anticipation. I planned to bike up to Ross Castle, catch a boat up through the three lovely lakes of Killarney National Park, break for lunch, and then bike through the gorgeous Gap of Dunloe between the mountains of the national park, and back into town.

The morning started out well enough. It was a breezy ride up to the castle, where I lounged lakeside until the boat arrived. The boat was bright red, wood, and deceptively large for its appearance. How did it manage to hold 5 bicycles, their riders, and the boatman?? Traveling comfortably with me was another French family- I just keep running into them! And a lucky thing, too, as they spoke very little English. I had so much fun acting as translator, and it was no easy feat. Over the noise of the boat motor and through his heavy accent, I myself had a hard time understanding the boatman. I was really proud when he asked me to jump out and tie up the boat when we arrived, only later realizing that he asked me because I was the only one who spoke English.

I ate my packed lunch quickly at the little cafe near the dock and then set off. Looking back, it is clear that I should have had a better map (mine looked like a child had colored it with a crayon) and that it would have been helpful if I had asked directions, but I did no such thing. There were little signs posted by the cafe and I was feeling confident.

Cycling through pastures just beyond the cafe, I came to an abrupt stop as two sheep hurtled across my path, a sheep dog in close pursuit. The farmer was not far behind and he victoriously grabbed hold of one of the sheep by the horns as I stood motionless amid the commotion. The rest of the sheep in the field were bleating wildly as he put the captured one inside a van and sped off, leaving me gaping in the dust. It was really quite a scene.

Moving on, after a short time I came to a fork in the road, with very little signage. One way had no sign, the other had a little brown one marking the "kerry way" with a symbol for a backpacker on it. Taking this as my cue, I continued down the kerry way. Surrounded by mountains, with sheep populating the nearby pastures, I found the scenery to be quite impressive. At least, I found it impressive between deep heaving breaths for air, as I soon discovered that I was pathetically out of shape and the road was mostly uphill. But I continued valiantly onward, alone except for the sheep, who eerily stared at me as the only non-sheep creature moving in the area.

An hour of huffing and puffing later, my road abruptly ended at the home of the sheep farmer. Where had I gone wrong, I wondered. At the very first fork in the road, the farmer kindly informed me. Best of luck to ya! And wouldn't you know it, the same road seemed to be mostly uphill on the way back, too.

Another hour later, I was back at the fork and realized that I had never even entered the Gap. I was disheartened, but with a better sense of direction (and only one road remaining unexplored) I took the road more traveled and... made it halfway up the enormous mountainside before I stopped to reconsider. My map was crap, I was all alone on an enormous mountainside, my bike was cumbersome and useless on this punishing ascent, the Gap was still no where in sight, and the little cafe from whence I had set out was still visible- a wee little speck down by the lake. I was beaten. Defeated. Vanquished. In short, feeling just plain exhausted and frighteningly isolated.

I took a deep breath, surveyed the dramatic mountain/pasture/lake views (now more intimidating than endearing) and decided to descend back down to the little cafe. At least I was sure of how to get there and I knew it was all down hill! Cycling back into the cafe, I was honestly pretty shook up and mad at myself for not being more well-prepared. It didn't get any better when the server informed me that the last boat had left for the day and that the only way out was to bike it, by one difficult route or another. Well, at that news I had to sit down for a bit. There was no one else there except for a youngish couple enjoying a rest.

The wife approached me and inquired if I was okay. Well I wasn't and that was pretty obvious. She informed me that she and her husband were going to hike through the Gap and that I was welcome to join them. But first, she suggested, I should have a cup of tea and a chocolate bar. Well my spirits brightened somewhat at this, and I went and bought a cup of tea. Seeing that I hadn't purchased the chocolate bar, she bought one and gave it to me. So sweet! But I was still pretty shaken and I needed some time to calm down a bit before setting out again. So the couple set off with the invitation that I could catch up in a few minutes.

Well to make a long story a little bit longer, the cafe server came up to me a few minutes later and offered to put my bike in the back of her car and drive me through the Gap, since she was headed that way. What an offer! What a kindness! Of course I accepted.

And thank God!! The road through the Gap of Dunloe is perilous! It ascends for a good bit and then descends dramatically, with corkscrew and hairpin turns the entire way, and a road only wide enough for one car but made to accommodate two-way traffic. Whenever two cars met one was forced to go in reverse and find a small small patch to pull to the side. Holy moly. Who in their right mind would recommend that someone bicycle through the Gap? Besides my guidebook and the woman who rented me the bike, I mean. Ugh! The Gap was crawling with hikers (Where had they all come from? Why did I never meet any of them on the road?) and was in reality incredibly beautiful, but again this beauty was overshadowed by the pure sweaty fear of imminent injury.

Safely through the Gap, I thanked the incredibly kind woman for her help and biked determinedly back into town. I rewarded (or maybe just soothed) myself with a scoop of locally made ice cream- Bailey's Irish Cream flavored. Very calming and tasty if I do say so.

After such a big day, Cathy and I made a big dinner together (Cathy had wisely seen other, less perilous sights that day). We had spaghetti with meat sauce and made an apple crumble from scratch with vanilla custard on top- such fun! Then we relaxed with friendly game of Monopoly and a wonderfully early bedtime.

That was more than enough adventure for one girl in one day.

Killarney: A new friend and a night out

After my return from Inismor, I caught a bus down to Killarney, famed as the prettiest and most touristed region in Ireland. I arrived in the afternoon with little time to do much besides buy groceries. Buying groceries may seem like a boring detail but in cooking my own dinner (boiling water for pasta, anyway) I met a fun new friend in the form of Cathy from England.

Over dinner I found Cathy to be a high-spirited and humorous storyteller- we hit it off right away. With the night open in front of us, we did our best to fill it with fun and excitement. We wandered from pub to pub, trying to find one with good craic (lively conversation and good times). The first one had decent music but it was too drafty and cold in there. The next one was warmer but didn't have any music.

Finally, much like Goldilocks, we found the third pub (or it might have been the fourth or the fifth) to be just right. We entered to a roar of cheers, not directed at us but at the televised boxing match. This, it seemed, was where all the locals were gathered. We waded our way to the back of the pub (through ascending age groups gathered informally from youngest to oldest) and found ourselves face to face with the source of the rest of the noise in the pub- a live traditional band. It was a rollicking place, to be sure.

Things picked up when the match finished and atttention turned somewhat more toward the band. They sang old favorites, or at least what I suspect were old favorites, as virtually everyone in the pub except Cathy and I seemed to be singing along. One middle-aged Irishman began to dance in what little space there was to be found amongst the crowd, and soon the place was hoppin'. Cathy and I even danced a few times, not very Irishly but really at this point none of the locals seemed sober enough to notice. As the entire place appeared to be getting steadily drunker, Cathy and I decided to move on to get some fresh air and new scenery.

One of the locals had recommended another venue, more aimed at the "young crowd". We found a live band, trendily named "Spiderpig" (after a Simpsons reference) playing covers from the 80's, 90's, and today. Well, we made the best of what was actually a pretty good band and danced the night away right in front of the stage, amidst numerous bachelor and bachelorette parties and other enthusiastic young people.

The next morning Cathy and I took it easy and decided to join a van-tour of the Ring of Kerry, a day trip around the penisula offering some of Ireland's most beautiful scenery. This was enjoyable, especially with a new companion, but at the same time I was also getting tired of van or bus scenery tours. I was looking forward to exploring the area by bicycle and on foot in the next couple of days. How little did I know what lay ahead...

Inismor: A spiritual experience

Friday morning I woke bright and early to catch a shuttle bus to the Aer Arann Airport, where I would fly to the Aran Island of Inismor. In the shuttle with me were two elderly native islanders, from the smaller of the three islands. The old woman struck up a pleasant conversation with me while the old man was fairly quiet. They seemed to know each other and occasionally exchanged conversation in Irish, which was fascinating to hear up-close. I have never heard anything like it, nothing to compare it to. I found it to be a very calm and reassuring-sounding language.

At the airport, they weighed my backpack and then they weighed me! The weight had to be very evenly distributed on our nine-seater plane. After checking in I went over to the waiting room/cafe and sat down with the old islanders, who were taking a later flight. The old man perked up at this point and insisted that I have a cup of tea. I only had ten minutes before boarding but he would not have no for an answer. He would have gotten me a scone, too, but I told him I'd had a big breakfast. I had to board the plane before the tea was anywhere near cool enough to drink, but he still seemed satisfied. Such nice people!

Are you ready for this? ... I got to sit up front with the pilot on the plane!!! Perhaps the most amazing ten minutes of my life. I sat with my hands carefully folded in my lap as he reached about and flipped all kinds of switches, doing tests checks and getting things going. I watched as our plane sped toward the ocean on the short take-off lane. My heart soared as we took off into the clear morning air and floated smoothly toward the island. Clouds were gathered above the island and a rainbow touched down on the bay. I could not have been happier. The flight is only seven minutes long, but it was seven of the best minutes of my entire trip.

We landed without a hitch and piled out of the airplane. The back eight seats had been filled with a french family. There was a shuttle available but they were walking into town, so I asked (in french) if I could join them. They said yes and were excited to hear that I was "from" Besancon, as they live close by in Dijon. What a world. It was great fun to walk and talk together until the sky opened up and let loose with a horrible wind and stinging sleet. Then those two miles felt a lot longer.

The sky cleared after I had checked in to my hostel and had lunch, just in time for me to rent a bicycle and tour the island. It was better than a dream as I cycled past idyllic pastures framed in dry-stone walls (stacked loose, not joined with mortar or cement or anything), with a few cows and horses here and there. The pastures ran right up to the ocean, which was a silver-blue color and very lovely. When biking toward one pasture, the horse inside came right up to the wall and waited for me. I stopped and approached him. He leaned over the wall as far as he could and let me pet his nose! He was so serene, looking at me with his dark eyes in an almost hypnotizing way. I think he would have stood there all day with me if I had stayed, but I kept moving on to other sights.

I was biking leisurely toward the fort of Dun Anghasa, an anceint stone structure of three curved walls that form a half circle on the edge of a 300 foot cliff on the ocean. When I was about 15 minutes away, the wind picked up and the sky turned dark. A man on a horse cart passed me and hollered " Take cover, a storm's coming in!" Yikes! I biked as fast as I could but I couldn't beat the piercing sleet and heavy rain. I was soaked when I finally entered the visitors' center to wait out the rest of the storm. When it finally let up, I made the slippery 20 minute hike up to the fort. This trudging was treacherous, let me tell you! The uneven rock footpath was covered in muddy puddles as well as a few cowpies for good measure.

But it was all worth it.

I hiked through the first two walls to the inner circle, the pinnacle of the fort, and indeed of my experiences so far. I was greeted with the view of a lifetime. The grass is flat and free from stones, except for a slightly raised natural stone platform at the very center of the enclosure, bordering the cliff edge. Along the ocean to my right and left were cliffs to rival those of Moher. Sure, they're only half as tall, but the magic here was much stronger. In front of you, stretching to the infinite horizon, is the glittering ocean. The clouds pass across it in an ever changing wondrous display. The color of the water shifts right before your eyes. The breeze is strong but not threatening. And there was hardly anyone up there besides me.

I couldn't tear myself away. After I had seen everything, I saw it all again. And again. I looked at it all every way I could, for as long as I could. It was mesmerizing, intoxicating, mind-reeling. I still can't really find words to do it justice. Even now as I type about it, the images and feelings come rushing back and I am dumbstruck. It was truly a spiritual experience.

The next day when I took the plane back to the mainland, I had to wait again for a bit before taking off. This time I met three middle-aged island women, who were having a lively discussion about the half-marathon that was to take place that day on the island. Joining them in conversation, one woman remarked (about me) to her friends, " Look at those white teeth. She must be an American. Are you an American?" she asked me. What a remark! Haha, well it is true, I guess. I have just about the best smile this side of the Atlantic, it seems.

All in all, 24 of the most memorable hours of my life.

The Burren, the Cliffs of Moher, and the real-life Quiet Man

Welcome back! I have been happily busy enjoying the sights and sounds of Galway, the Aran Islands, and Killarney National Park. Newly arrived in Dingle, I finally have a bit of time to catch up on all that has happened.

I spent my last day in Galway on a bus tour of the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. The Burren is known for its "lunar landscape" and the diversity of tiny flowers that grow between the cracks. The landscape is incredibly rocky, with enormous slabs of stone as well as boulders and the like. It was impressively weird but I wish we had been better informed about its mysterious appearance and its flowers. Mostly we drove through it. Oh well.

In the afternoon we visited the Cliffs of Moher, one of the most famous natural wonders of Ireland. I'll admit, the 700 foot sheer faces of rock are fairly impressive. One after another they fall in line with each other, jutting out into the ocean and practically begging you to drop your jaw in amazement. With the new walkway and barrier, you are very safely kept away from the edge of the cliffs, but this also spoils some of the view and most of the natural power of the site. Still, I understand why they put up the barrier- the wind is INcredible! Before arriving, I had scoffed at the idea that a strong gust could blow someone over the edge, but that scepticism was literally blown away when I arrived at the top!! While I was safely admiring the view, a rescue boat and a helicopter came into view and zoomed along the cliffs ominously. I wondered if it was just a practice run but later our driver explained that a german had gone missing. A somber end to our little excursion.

Things didn't brighten up that night when I went out to a pub for some live music and craic (good fun and conversation). There was an empty seat at the bar so I took it and ordered my (now usual) half-pint of cider. On my left was an incredibly handsome young man, dressed in a somewhat old-fashioned style, with courdoroy pants, a shirt and vest, and an irish old-man cap (could anyone tell me what is the real name for this cap??). Needless to say, I was very impressed and looked forward to striking up a conversation.

But the conversation never started. He was stone silent, seemingly deliberately so. And for some reason, that just made me more determined. It was like a staring contest, only this was a silence contest, and whoever caved in and talked first was the loser. I don't think he knew he was playing. I don't know what he was thinking. I was thinking, "I am an attractive young woman, why are you not talking to me?" Thank God the music started and I had something to look at besides my glass. Still, I was very aware of his silence. His silence was so strong, when I considered folding and saying something, I was struck dumb in the void of anything worth saying to break it.

Then, after about two hours, an old man who was dressed very similarly to the "quiet man" (as I had now nicknamed him) entered the pub and came over to the bar. He greeted the quiet man in Gaelic and the quiet man answered- they clearly knew each other. Then the old man nodded to me and said something in Gaelic and I gave a warm hello. From there the old man said something else to the quiet man, they both looked at me, and then they chuckled together! I was speechless, and this time not on purpose. What had just happened? What had they said? I never got to find out, as the quiet man abruptly got up and left soon after. I had never spoken a word, but it still felt like he had won.

Lost in thought, I looked in the direction of the old man, who was still there. Could I talk to him, or ask him about the quiet man? Should I? While pondering this, my absent gaze was intercepted by a burly Australian man with a hideous mohawk. Of course, he didn't believe me when I said I was actually looking at the 90 year old next to him. Thought it was a joke. Ha ha. My evening thoroughly thwarted, I left. Luckily the next day held much greater things in store...

Connemara: Mountains, fields, forest, a fjord, lakes, coast, sea...

Yesterday was my lovely visit to the Connemara region, home of the filming locations for "The Quiet Man" and "The Field", the Kylemore Abbey of Irish Benedictine Nuns, and the only fjord in Ireland.

I made my way around on a large coach tour bus, barely a third full. Plenty of room to spread out and snap some great photos through the large windows. We saw the "Quiet Man" bridge and then stopped for coffee in the village and pub where they filmed "The Field". Inside the pub, I was warmly welcomed by two ancient irishmen, already well into a pint of Guinness at noon. Lunchtime, I guess! On my way out after a cup of coffee, I shook hands with each of them which really impressed them. "What a nice girl. Aye, a nice girl" I could hear them comment to each other as I went out the door.

The Connemara region is famed for its beautiful mountain ranges and seaside views. It also has Ireland's only fjord, a sea inlet surrounded by mountains. We saw some very nice countryside and lots of cows and sheep- it is different from Iowa as there is much more shrubbery and stones throughout the fields. Words certainly don't do the region justice, so be sure to see the photos when I post them after the trip. Speaking of Iowa, on our tiny tour who should be there but a couple from Des Moines, Iowa?! Seriously, small world.

We spent the afternoon at Kylemore Abbey, home of Ireland's Benedictine nuns (all 9-16 of them, ages 50-100, depending on who you ask) and a private boarding school for 150 girls. Originally built as a castle-home by a rich man in the 1880's, it also features a 6 acre Victorian garden and a small cathedral-style chapel. Sadly, the chapel was commissioned by the man when his wife died only three years after the castle-home was finished. It is a very beautiful place to mourn, I would have to say.

In the afternoon we drove along the coast and saw the Burren, the Cliffs of Moher, and the Aran Islands in the distance. Just a taste of what was ahead for me! Upon our return to Galway city, I walked down to the Cladaugh area, on the coast. There is a population of about 100 mute swans on the coast, which was such a calming and beautiful sight to see. Above my head the seagulls circled, emiting their comforting cry. I am always surprised by their call, it is like a bell that brings me to consciousness of how close we are to the ocean.

While admiring the swans and seagulls, I was approached by another old irishmen who was truly a sight to be seen. Fisherman's cap, thick gloves, taped glasses, near-toothless but frequent grin, a rusty old bicycle, - the works. With pride, he jumped into a lively explanation of all of the sights along the coast and the history therein. "Did you know Christopher Columbus visited Galway right there in such and such year? Yes he did! And the ships used to come right in here, where all these houses are now. This was all harbor not that long ago...." At one point he quoted something or other, and a young woman interrupted us and finished the quote! She was from Galway, too, and she too had things to share about the area. Soon we were all walking and talking together, back in the direction of the city center.

We parted ways after a bit and I went back to my favorite fish and chips shop, for another dose of greatness. While there, I met a wonderful young woman from Berlin named Sabrina, and we had a fantastic chat as well. Turns out we had been in the same pub in Dublin (The Cobblestone) on the same night, within a few hours of each other. Again, small world! Afterwards we went for coffee together and I was sad to find out that she was returning to Dublin the next day, it would have been nice to hang out with her some more.

Today was another great outing, this time to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. I will be sure to write about it soon! Tomorrow I leave early for a seven minute flight to Inishmore, the largest of the Aran Islands. I will explore the island by day and enjoy the pub by night, as I am staying overnight on the island! Can't wait to tell you all about it!

Fish and chips in the city of Galwegians

Yesterday I arrived in Galway and just puttered around without too much of a sightseeing agenda, which was nice. The weather continues to be fantastic! I visited one of the final great stone churches built in Europe (completed in 1965) and went to Galway's best fish and chip shop. This was an historic occasion in its own right, as I had never eaten fish and chips before.

Boy have I been missing out! This meal was a revelation of tasty! A large piece of batter fried cod and a huge side of restaurant style french fries (the chips, here our chips are called "crisps") were two of the best things I have eaten in a long, looong time. With homemade tartare sauce and real heinz ketchup no less! It was so good I came back and had it again today.

Later last night I went out to hear some more live music. However as I am habitually early (an unusual habit in France and Ireland) I managed to catch a good 45 minutes of the televised soccer match beforehand. Between Liverpool and Arsenal, it was a heated affair of which I understood very little. It was exciting all the same. By the time the music started the pub had filled to the brim. Room was cleared and eight couples started two rings of traditional Irish dancing. I was surprised to see that traditional Irish dancing very closely resembles Scandinavian folk dancing! Also did you know that residents of Galway are known as Galwegians? The resemblence is definitely there for whatever reason. It was fun to watch the dancing in any case, as most of the couples were decent dancers and a few were very good.

Today I visited the lovely Connemara region, met three old Irishmen, a couple from Des Moines, and a new friend from Berlin. I will write more about it all when I can, but again I have to go. Tomorrow it is off to the famous Cliffs of Moher and the Burren!

Chasing the ghosts of Belfast's past

Before I begin about Belfast, I just wanted to mention one other impression of the Guinness Brewery. The oddest thing was, it really reminded me of the Wonka Chocolate Factory from the movie with Gene Wilder! Seven floors of sights and sounds and smells, with a touch of magic (or just madness) if you believed in it. It even had a glass elevator!! I would have much prefered chocolate fountains to the beer, however, as the smell of barley roasting or hops being mashed or whatever is less than appetizing. Also sadly there was no Willy Wonka or oompa loompas to be found.

But on to Belfast. I took the bus up there early in the morning, and arrived with little to do as the City Hall, which I had planned to tour, was closed for renovations. After wandering around a bit, I found a buffet lunch in a bar and toured a number of dishes instead. Three cheers for meat and potatoes in all of their various tasty forms!! In Northern Ireland they use the pound system, not the Euro, which took some adjusting to. For instance, I thought the exchange rate was more favorable up there, not less. Wrong. It is more like 2 to 1 dollar instead of 1.5 to 1 dollar. Oh well.

In the afternoon I had booked a "Titanic tour"- a tour by boat of the ship yards where the Titanic and her sisters were built. The guidebooks said that it often sells out, but I was the only person on the tour! No matter, they took the boat out all the same. The captain and the guide were both surprised to hear that I was from Iowa. One said, "Oh you get a lot of tornados, don't you?" and the other later remarked, " Ohio, eh? The summers get pretty hot there in Ohio, don't they?" Haha, so it goes.

Well the tour was informative but there wasn't much to see. All of the old buildings in the shipyards have been torn down, so the guide supplemented his stories with large black and white photographs from during the construction of the ships. Soon the whole area will be developed into expensive bayside apartments, so I don't know what will happen to his tours. Anyway, I learned a lot about the Titanic from the tour and it was nice to spend an hour out on the water. As he frequently reminded me, locals like to say "well, she was alright when she left here."

After that I had scheduled a tour of the political murals from the Troubles. They are generally referred to as "black taxi tours" but my old-fashioned taxi was fire engine red! With crystal blue eyes, white tufty hair, fading red goatee, a round belly, a firm handshake and an easy smile, my driver-guide introduced himself as Paddy and I knew we were going to have a good time.

Again it was just me on the tour, and it was great fun as it felt like Paddy and I were just hanging out. His knowledge of the Troubles and their symbolism and history was touching and deep. But at the same time he balanced his explanation with a healthy dose of humor and wit, never getting too too serious for the very serious subject. He gave me a lot of good natured ribbing and I tried to josh him right back, but he was definitely a practiced champ. We toured both the Catholic and Protestand murals, as well as the Peace Wall. Our short hour together went by much too quickly, I could have asked him another hour's worth of questions! It was well worth the day trip up to Belfast.

Overall, I got the impression that Belfast doesn't know what to think of itself. The city center is surprisingly prosperous, with high end shops and well-dressed business men and women, while the area outside of it is work-a-day plain. As the city settles down, more and more money will be coming in, and for example the high end apartments will replace the Titanic ghosts on the coast. Some say the murals might even disappear. It felt like I had snuck in on a moment in time which will soon be no more.

Drinkin' Guinness and going to jail

Welcome to a lively review of day two in Dublin!

I woke early for a good shower and breakfast and then headed out to join a hop-on, hop-off double decker bus tour of the city. Riding on the exposed second level was a quick and effective way to wake up in the cold morning air! I took the bus around most of the city and got off at the St. James' Gate Brewery, the world home of Guinness.

The world home of Guinness has been outfitted with a seven floor museum/house of worship in honor of the pure and almighty stout. For a barely initiated drinker like myself, this was a bit over the top, but I'll give them credit for their serious dedication to the brew. As they proudly explain, there are five ingredients in Guinness: barley, hops, yeast, water, and Arthur Guinness. The fifth ingredient is what makes Guinness great. Did you know that Arthur signed a 9,000 year lease for the Brewery at £45 per year? And he only ever paid twice. Not a bad profit, from the looks of it.

My favorite floor was the one dedicated to advertising. "My goodness, My Guinness" "Lovely day for a Guinness" and "Guinness as usual" are just a few of their classic slogans. The ads are much easier to like than the beer itself, but after 6 floors of inundation, I was bound and determined to drink my free pint.

The seventh floor is a 360 degree lookout and bar where they reward you with the free pint. Watching the barwoman serve the Guinness was by far the coolest part of the entire visit. Their slogan these days is "Guinness: Alive Inside" and watching the beer settle down after being drawn, you can see why. It literally heaves with shades of caramel as the head rises to the top and the beer evens out to its rich brown color. After maybe five intense minutes, the barwoman returns to top off the glass.

Well let me just say that the Guinness here, for whatever reason, was much more satisfying and (almost) tasty compared to previous attempts. I had a seat in one of the low chairs overlooking the city and slowly gulped the "black beauty with the blond head". Luckily I had packed my little picnic lunch again because Guinness before noon was no easy task. It took me an hour but by golly I finished that pint, feeling as proud as if I had triumphed over a major challenge! To the victor go the spoils, they say, so I promptly swiped the pint glass into my backpack as a lasting reminder of my first (and most likely last) entire pint of Guinness.

From there I went to jail, but of my own free will to be sure! I visited the famed Kilmainham Gaol (Jail), a Victorian style prison from the 1800's. Built as a "reform" prison, it soon became overcrowded with men, women, and children during the Famine. A quote by George Bernard Shaw in the adjacent museum read, "If the prison does not underbid the slum in human misery, the slum will empty and the prison will fill." Many political prisoners were held there over the years as well. It was a powerful experience, to be sure. Not a nice place to visit, and you certainly wouldn't want to die there.

Luckily I was free to go and so I did, on to the Chester Beatty Library. The personal collection of a wealthy American man who donated it all to Ireland, the Library consists of precious, ancient religious texts of some of the world's great living religions. This was waaay cooler than the measley Book of Kells!! From the East, there were illustrated texts and holy items of Buddhism in its varied forms, Hinduism, Jainism, and Sikhism. From the Middle East, Chester Beatty boasts more decorated, ornate Korans than just about anywhere else in the world.

And from Christianity, Beatty managed to collect the oldest and most complete collection of the four Gospels known to exist (even the Vatican can't beat it!). Written on papyrus in Greek around the years AD 180-220, these tattered remains were a sight to behold. How did they survive?! There were some impressive Jesuit texts as well, including the edict written by the Emperor that ejected them from China. People come from the world over to study his collection, both amateur admirers like me as well as intense scholars.

Well, again I have to go but next time I can I will write about my day today, which I spent in Belfast. Tomorrow I leave for Galway. Until next time...

More from Dublin!

Two fun things I forgot to mention about my first night in Dublin... First, I had an inaugural pint of Guinness to welcome myself to Ireland. Unfortunately, I found it so thick and bitter that I was simply unable to finish it. Oh well, I had better luck today at the Guinness brewery, but more on that later.... Second, I was however able to finish off a shamrock shake from McDonald's not long after my failed attempt with the Guinness. Yes, a shamrock shake in Dublin! This perhaps means nothing to anyone expect Mary and Dad, with whom I share the tradition of having a shamrock shake every year around St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. I had to wonder: is the shamrock (mint) flavor still left over from St. Patrick's Day, or is it a permanent flavor like chocolate or vanilla, on account of its "heritage"?

At any rate, I'm happy to pick up where I left off, in the Long Room of the Library. Sufficiently impressed, I realized that I was hungry not only for knowledge but also for lunch. I had made a small picnic lunch for myself and was pleased to eat it in Merrion Square, a lovely green oasis (or public park) in the middle of dingy Dublin. Merrion Square is home to the only multi-color statue in Dublin- that of the infamous Oscar Wilde, who reclines smugly in a dandy suit of green and burgundy, green carnation in hand.

The park was blessedly quiet and nearly empty, except for a few young families and the tiny orange-breasted sparrows that I shared my lunch with.

After that relaxing break, I wandered over to Number 29 Georgian House, an upper middle class house from the 18oo's that has been preserved as a museum showcasing the lifestyle of the day. What a house!! Four narrow floors, with servants quarters in the basement, reception of guests and dining room on the ground floor, and bedrooms on the upper two floors. It was a fascinating peek into the mentality and trends of the period. Did you know that the men often used an exercise machine meant to strengthen their calves? As they were one of the few visible parts of the body, sculpted calves implied handsomeness! Too funny.

From there I wandered down Grafton Street, a ped mall that is famous for its shops and buskers (street performers). Maybe it was just an off time or day, but I didn't see much of either that caught my eye.

After a little break back at the hostel, I walked purposefully over to Cobblestone Pub, which is said to have some of the best "trad" in Dublin. Having misread my guidebook, I thought that the trad started at 5pm, early even for Dublin, where most sessions start around 7:30pm. Well at any rate I showed up at 5pm to find a different sort of live music in session: American-style oldfashioned bluegrass! What a surprise treat! The place was only half-full, and just about everyone there seemed to be a local except me. I felt like I had wandered in on a wonderful secret. Proud locals Tom and Fergus were kind enough to start chatting with me. We had great conversation until they each had to go home and start dinner for the family, or "the wife 'll be threat'n divorce," as Fergus remarked with a sharp look at his watch and a final swig of his beer, only half-kidding it seemed.

I stuck around and without much of a break in between, the trad session soon began. What a session! A guitar, wooden flute, fiddle, and mandolin made for some great music. It was very casual, as they were less performers than regulars who happened to also play instruments. They all sat on a comfy bench along the wall in the front corner, with one or two of them sporadically getting up to buy the table a round.

Having arrived so early, I had a prime seat at the bar overlooking the action. Tom and Fergus had bought me a pint of cider (which I prefer over beer) and that lasted until another Dubliner knocked over a glass of water onto my lap and promptly bought me another cider as an apology. Never a dull moment, the most haggard of the local guests (also the most well-respected, if his picture over the bar had anything to say about it) twice broke into a song all by himself, with the ample encouragement of everyone in the bar. The second time, he started in on "Finnegan's Wake," which is one of my personal favs, but unfortunately he forgot the lyrics after the second verse and had to switch to another song. Talk about live music!

Another elderly man, this one dressed sharply in a jacket, tie, and classic Irish old-man cap, also frequently broke into song. Shhhh! went the admiring, music-loving locals, quite determinedly attempting to silence the lively pub in reverence for the old man's performances. And his singing was definitely worth it. He would close his eyes, place his hands on his knees, and slowly, slightly rock forward and back in time to his sonorous tune. His words were clear as crystal when he sang of days gone by, but when he greeted me at the bar later I could hardly understand a word he said! No matter, a smile was all he needed to hear.

All in all, a day well-spent in Dublin.

Greetings from Dublin!

Top o' the mornin to ya! Just kidding. But really, hello to all from Dublin!

I knew the trip was off to a good start when, on the way from Paris to Dublin, I met a chatty old Irish couple. On their way back home from a 4 day vacation in Paris, they were more than happy to talk to me about their 8 grown children (one could supposedly "fall into a sewer and walk out smelling like perfum"), how Ireland has changed in the last 15 years (dirtier and less safe, "now you have to lock your door at night") and their future vacation plans (Las Vegas in May, as the wife has "always wanted to go there").

I arrived at my hostel in Dublin, safe and sound, on Friday afternoon. After some much needed rest (I had started my day at 4am) I headed out to the Dublin Musical Pub Crawl. This was a lively (if touristy) tour of a few of Dublin's pubs, accompanied by two musicians who gave us a behind the scenes lesson on traditional Irish music, or "trad". Did you know the Irish drum (bohran) wasn't used in "trad" until the 1960's? The focus is supposed to be on the melody, not the beat. Anyway it was a good introduction to the history of trad and the pub scene.

The next morning I walked down to Trinity college for a tour of the campus as well as to see the book of Kells and the Long Room. The campus is be-u-tee-ful! The trees were in bloom and the main square of buildings are just lovely! The tour was led by a Trinity student with a voice like God himself. The college has 15,000 students, 60% of which are female and 84% of which are Irish (a percentage set by the government). College is free in Ireland for Irish students, while EU students pay around 5,000 euro and "foreign" students (i.e. me) would pay something like 30,000 euro for tuition per year! Wow.

The book of Kells, an ancient text of the four Gospels written and illustrated by Monks on the island of Iona around the year 800 and later transported (for safekeeping) to Ireland, is impressive in its craftsmanship and detail. The exhibit explaining the book is actually much more interesting than seeing the book itself, which is only open to four pages (two of pictures, two of text). But the most impressive sight of all is by far the " Long Room," the largest one-room library in the world (larger than Cambridge by 2 meters, the guide told us with considerable pride). It literally took my breath away when I ascended the stairs and turned to behold its splendor. Ancient tomes from floor to ceiling, framed by a rich dark wood and a curved ceiling, with soft yellow sunlight entering through the frosted windows. Down the center was a display of Gould's naturalist illustrations of birds, stunning in their lifelike detail and color. There is also a copy of the 1916 proclamation for Irish independence, which proudly opens with a call to both "Irishmen and Irishwomen". All in all, it was like a stunning cathedral built to worship knowledge.

There's much more from there but I'm afraid that's all I have time for now. Until next time-

Ireland, here I come!

Tomorrow, at the break of dawn, I will set out for Ireland.

A train, metro, bus, and plane ride later, I will land in Dublin.  

Two weeks and many adventures later, I will return to Besançon.

In all, I will visit Dublin, Belfast, Galway, Connemara, The Burren, the Cliffs of Moher, the Aran Islands, Killarney, the Ring of Kerry, Killarney National Park, Dingle and the Dingle Peninsula, Cork, the Blarney Stone, and the Rock of Cashel.

The sights will be beautiful, and the music even more so.  I can't wait!  

Wish me the luck o' the Irish and I will post again as soon as I can.