Brad and I left on Thursday, a day before the rest of our group went. The train ride was very nice, and when we got there we found our way to Sleep Zone, the hostel, and checked in. The people working at the desk were great. The first was an Italian man. I heard some loud noises coming from a large room next door to the desk and asked him if there was a restaurant over there. He gave me a funny look, let out an emphysema-ridden laugh, and responded in a somewhat heavy, accent, purely sarcastic, “Ohhh yeah, right next to our pub, live music and barber shop. No, no I kid, it’s just a kitchen, nothing special.” The other attended was a great French woman named Frieda. She’s lived all over the world and works the evening shift. She told Brad and I that we had to meet Matt, an American working at the Sleep Zone in Connemara. She showed us a care package full of booze that she was sending him with the bus driver leading the Connemara tour, and that when the driver stops to give Matt the package we need to meet him. Sleep Zone feels more like a hotel than a hostel (I give it high ratings) and the people staying there were also from all over the world.
After this, we got fish and chips at a well-known place called McDonaugh’s. After that we went to a pub called Roisin Dubh, where two bands played. They were both excellent, especially the second band called the Dying Seconds. We met two girls there who are going to Galway University, one has a music blog and the other is from Germany. We had a good time. After both bands were done we called it a night and went back to the hostel.
The next day we got up early and bought tickets for the tour to Connemara. I don’t know how to accurately describe this place, but I know that paradise does exist in patches all over the earth, and one of those patches is Connemara. As Frieda told us, its beauty increases with poor weather. Though the weather on Friday was truly terrible, the mist surrounded the peaks and cliffs of the mountains on which grew the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. All along the mountains were dry stone walls, sheep, cows, small cottages.
We made a few stops, including an abandoned and ruined church, fed a horse named Joey some apples, and saw some of the most brilliant panoramas. We also went to a place called Kylemore Abbey, built in the 1800’s as a tribute to Margaret Vaughan, a woman who fell in love with Connemara and had an extremely wealthy husband to fund for a mansion there. It was later turned into a private school for girls and still functions as one to this day. We met many people on the tour, many of whom go to Galway University. The tour guide, Michael, was hilarious as well. By the way, we also met Matt.
With Matt
Fairy Tree (People tie strips of clothing to it for good health)
Kylemore Abbey
When we got back to Galway we met up with the rest of our group. About 20 people from our program decided to go to Galway this weekend, and it was a blast. Galway is a small town with great pubs on the main street, and everyone had a great time. We met a lot of local people, many people like us who there abroad, and live music was happening everywhere. It was one big party.
The next day we woke up and went on another day trip to the Cliffs of Moher. When we got on the bus there was one too many people than regular seats. I got the last regular seat, while one of my friends was left standing in the aisle. I gave her my seat and the bus driver led me to the front to sit in the pilot seat, AKA the awkward seat that folds up at the top of the bus stairs. Everyone was laughing. The bus driver, Desmond, was a hilarious old man, around his mid 70’s and about five feet tall. Over the course of the tour he went from funny grandfather figure, to senile old man, to dirty old man, to filthy old man. Though he’s been giving tours for 18 and a half years, much of his dialogue revolved around jokes with heavy sexual connotations. For example, “I ate oysters earlier today which are very strong aphrodisiacs, so ladies, look out for old Desmond.” This was funny, somewhat charming. Later as we passed a cottage he points out and says, “If you’re looking for a perfect honeymoon spot, I am the landlord of that cottage and will rent it to you. But if you rent it, ladies, I am expecting a tax benefit.” But the worst of it was when we passed by the bottom of a cliff and he pointed to the wall and told us that that was where he used to make love to all the woman. Oh Desmond, you crazy old bastard. God bless you.
Before the cliffs we stopped for lunch in a very small town. My friend and I wandered around a bit and found a really awesome book and Irish music store. Inside the book section—which was just a small room filled with old and dusty books—we met a woman named Cindy. Cindy is originally from New York and moved out here 30 years ago to be with her husband. She raised children here and told us about her experiences living in the small town. As her kids were growing up the town was so tightly knit that everyone was accountable for everyone’s children. She said that if one of her children ditched class she’d get a call immediately from one of the townspeople reporting that they saw her child not in school. What I also found to be particularly interesting was that back 30 years ago, no one in the town was obliged to question the priest or the doctor. Cindy said she used to speak up to the priest, which she said was seen as “wild.” The priest during his sermons used to get up and speak about particular people in the community and the wrongs they were committing. Though he never used names, the town was so small that everyone always knew who he was talking about, whether he’d mention their bad relationships or the fact that they weren’t giving enough charity. She says that things are much different now and she’s grateful for it, and then added: “I feel bad for my kids though. When I grew up all you had to know was that there is a good and an evil in the world and that you are only supposed to do good. It’s so much more complicated than that now.”
After lunch we finally got to the cliffs. This place is truly marvelous. Because this post is getting long, I’ll just post a picture to describe it.
Besides the views, the best part was the wind on the cliffs. At a certain summit the wind is so strong that you literally can’t run against it. The whole scene was like a sledding hill. Everybody was running around, falling over, laughing, jumping, racing. It was good craic. The cliffs are also the sight for parts of many well-known movies such as the Princess Bride and Harry Potter.
We then drove back to Galway. I met the person who was sleeping in the bed under me at the hostel and we explored Galway a bit. His name is Tim and he is a 25 year old PT student from Evansville, IN. As we were talking we passed by some street musicians (one played Bob Dylan covers) and he asked me if I played any instruments. I told him I used to play piano on and off. Then this led into a long retelling of my experiences with my piano teacher, Barbara Rogers, who I met when I was 7 and had one of the most intriguing stories I’ve ever heard. I told him all about her, and at the end admitted that I hadn’t really talked about her in years, but that she had a major impact on me and I still think about her quite often. “It’s amazing how your paths crossed like that,” he said. And he was right.
I met up with everyone after that and we had another great night. It started off by drinking a full 2 liter bottle of 3.50 euro cider since I already spent most of my Galway budget. We started the night with a group of IES people who then went out before we did, then finished by moving to the floor of our 10-person hostel room. After this we met up with the first group at a pub called Crane’s, which is down the street from Roisin Dubh. We went to the second floor where a ten person band was sitting in a circle around a group of tables playing Irish folk music. They would all play a song that would go on for about 15 minutes with the same measure over and over again. I’m still trying to figure out how they all knew how to stop playing at the exact same time when the song was decidedly over. Anyway, we had a great time there, then went to a few other places with live music. The nightlife in Galway is great. Two great Irish songs I discovered this weekend are Whiskey in the Jar and Galway Girl. Enjoy!
On Sunday I had a pretty interesting experience. Some of the people I came to Galway with took an earlier train back to Dublin, but I wanted to explore Galway more. I took a long walk alongside the coast. I wrote down a few observations along the way: two toddlers staring at each other curiously from separate strollers around a red coat mother in the middle; large fields; a lighthouse under surveillance; famine monument where people escaped from hunger; woman lifting dog by collar over wall; stroller parade. I walked to the end of the shoreline where there were two cliffs. I later found out that they are known as the Jenshen (sp?) cliffs. It was a little bit of a struggle to get there, as I had to trespass a trailer park and walk down some private residential streets, over half a mile of rocks and boulders, ford some creeks, but I made it finally. I got to the top of the cliff, padded over with lush green grass, and the view made the trip worth it. This place also looked like paradise to me. I sat at the edge where there was a small groove for my legs and wrote a little bit.
I saw a man sitting a little ways back up the cliff and decided it would be a good idea to go talk to him. His name is Adrian Turner, a 59-year old architect who lives with his mother in Athlone county. He was wearing a black and white plaid beret, a greenish-brown coat with black scarf, brown corduroys, wool socks and black shoes. He used to work in Johannesburg, South Africa and left a few months after Nelson Mandela’s release from prison. He had a sandwich cut in quarters and a turquoise thermos filled with soup. This man also cursed like an Irishman, had the characteristic angry undertones in his speech when talking about the IRA, and I took an immediate liking to him. We talked for about 45 minutes on the cliff. Eventually we got on the subject of Palestinians and Israelis and I asked him what Irish people thought of it. He admitted he didn’t know much, but thought that Muslims and Jews were such similar people that he couldn’t understand why the conflict exploded in the way it did. Finally he asked me if I had any Jewish connections, and I told him I was very observant. “Oh, shiat Brett,” he said, “sweet Jesus I hope I didn’t say anything to insult ye!” He didn’t and if he had I wouldn’t have been offended. Talking to people like him is part of why I came to Ireland in the first place, and I told him that. It got cold and I took him up on his offer to drive me back in his 2003 Nissan to the town center so I could catch my train. His ride saved me a good hour of walking, which I needed in order to be at the station on time. When we got back to the town center I shook his hand, “Good luck to ye, Brett,” he said as I stepped out of the car, then drove away. And it’s interesting how that happens. I had just spent a little over an hour with Mr. Turner, getting to know him, learning his life story, what he knows about politics, how he fits into the job market, the fact that he “has an interest in all people,” and yet I know for certain that I will never see him again. I’ve been thinking about that a lot on this journey, and I thought about it again when I said goodbye to Frieda in the youth hostel. What Tim said holds true: it’s always interesting how certain paths cross, whether it’s meant to happen or not. It was a fluke that I met Adrian Turner at the top of that cliff, and I will remember him for a long time. It’s the people as much as the place that make an experience so interesting and memorable.
Galway is a really wonderful place and I’m hoping to come back to hike the mountains in the near future.
No comments:
Post a Comment