The great thing about travelling with someone is that they take pictures of you so you get to relive all those silly things you did which you wouldn't take pictures of. Before I post the final two Ireland posts, I've decided to backtrack and post a couple of Al's photos that I got from her today.
This is how you do a pub crawl in Dublin:
And that's why I needed a sexy hot coffee the next morning:
This is my 'wind so strong it's going to knock me over' mime dance at Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. It was closely followed by my 'let's get the hell back to the sheltered bus' mime dance.
If you complain about the lame rip-off that is the Donegal Castle too loudly, they lock you in. Or maybe this was the morning after the night at the pub. I'm not sure. To be honest, the whole two days there are a little hazy.
And thus ends my overly narcissistic blog post (all posts are somewhat narcissistic, it's the nature of the beast, but most posts don't have photos of only me). Until the next time I feel the need to say "look at ME!"
I'm not feeling very creative with my writing right now so you get a lovely list of things I need to talk about. I make no promise for any sort of coherency in this post. You have been warned.
1. I just realised that I often end things with "you have been warned". Perhaps that should have been the title of my blog.
2. There was supposed to be another Ireland post today but then Al and I finally set a time for swapping photos. There's a certain section of today's post which really needs her photos. Words won't do it justice. Also, hard to believe I only have two more Ireland posts left.
3. Further to #2, I'm looking into the logistics of organizing a trip to Ireland in September 2013. Reasons and details here.
4. Further to #3, if Ciaran McMenamin knows what's good for him, he'll run like hell if he ever sees me coming. I will make him read an entire phone book just to hear his voice.
5. John Scalzi is my excuse for not doing anything last night. On Saturday night, Scalzi live-tweeted The Two Towers and Return of the King. Then, in case you missed it, he blogged his tweets (which you should totally read because he's hilarious and nerdy. Also, check out the Smegol dub-step fish slapping dance in the comments). I decided that I needed to rewatch the Lord of the Rings trilogy. So I started that last night. Say good bye to my evenings for the next little while because I'm watching the extended editions.
6. It also means that my friends will have to put up me thinking I'm hysterical for the next few days when really, I'm just really, really nerdy.
7. I have to go get awesome pictures to make the next Ireland post even more awesome so I'm stopping my listing there.
Hello, my name is Andrea. I'm an atheist and I love Christmas. I shouldn't love it as much as I do given that it's a religious holiday (or at least, once upon a time it was) but it just makes me so frakkin' happy. I'm one of the biggest Christmas-aholics that I know. Despite this, I have two things that bother me about it:
People who start decorating prior to December 1st
When people are more concerned with gifts than the hanging out with loved ones
In my 31 years of celebrating Christmas, none of my important memories have anything to do with the gifts I received. I'm not going to pull a holier-than-thou-I-don't-need-gifts attitude because who doesn't like free things (assuming free things don't involve follow-up trips to the clinic and a round penicillin)? But at the end of the day, what I love most about Christmas has very little to do with the material aspect of it. So imagine my frustration when I start reading blogs in November which not only discuss Christmas* but also list items they'd their readers might like for Christmas. It made me stabby.**
Instead of travelling to various locations and stabbing people, I set myself a challenge: I will post 25 Christmas memories which will have nothing to do with gifts. You're all smart people, so I'm guessing you've already figured out that this will mean daily posts from the 1st to the 25th. If you're a blogger and what to join in, let me know. I'll gladly link to anyone else who wants to highlight the non-material side of Christmas.
I know that not all my readers are Christmas people but please note that some of the posts will be about alcohol. Surely that's got to count for something, right? And again, atheist writing here so God/Jesus talk will be kept to a minimum... and will usually involved alcohol ;-)
*I'm all for craft blogs talking about Christmas in November because they're giving you ideas which you can use in December. Any other blogs doing it can kiss my mistletoe'd butt.
**This is totally not a Christmas gift suggestion link. Although the shirt is pretty awesome so I wouldn't turn it down if you did get it for me.
Saying good bye to Donegal was probably the hardest morning of our trip. We ate our breakfast and wrote a bunch of postcards in relative silence. Occasionally, one of us would smile at the other and ask “do you remember last night when...”and we’d lose ourselves in thoughts of Michael wanting to know all the news from Canada, or Frankie singing some republican song, or banjo man being amazing on the banjo (never did learn his name), or Emer giving lip to some surely local who should know better than to piss off the barmaid.
Our decision to mail our postcards from Donegal would later come back to haunt us. Mailed October 10th, received in Canada on November 4th. Al and I decided that the mailman in Donegal was someone we met and he/she kept the cards a little longer to share our stories of the town with the other people we had met. Or An Post rowed the cards across the Atlantic. Either or!
We broke up our day of travel to Galway by stopping for lunch in Sligo. The guide book had talked about Sligo being a vibrant, artsy community so we figured it was good distraction from a four hour bus trip. I don’t know if we just completely missed the ‘small town artisan’ area or if Sligo had really changed that much in the three years since the book was published but neither of us were impressed. Mind, we had also just left our beloved Donegal Town; even winning the jackpot in Vegas would have been *meh* on that day.
When going back through my photos and remembering what I had read on the pamphlet, I found the friary a lot more enjoyable than I did on the day. It was picturesque, calm, and we all know that I love ruins. If I’m in the area, I’d stop in again... but only if I wasn’t hung over.
Despite the fact that Sligo Town didn’t really win us over, I do have to give it props for an awesome street name.
After a late arrival into Galway and a bed kerfuffle which left us scrambling for a hotel room at 9:30pm, we awoke the next morning to this:
Somewhere in that picture is Galway.
Boo-urns!
We had booked a tour to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher in Co. Clare which would take up most of the day. We got picked up around the corner from our hotel by a young, friendly and chatty driver. He spent the whole ride into Galway (we were staying in Salthill which is across the river) telling stories and giving us tips on what to see and do in Galway. Once we met up with the rest of the tour, he pretty much stopped talking. It wasn’t a bad bus tour—we saw everything they said we’d see (sort of), we arrived and left on time, we did enjoy ourselves—it was just that the guides were the quietest people I’ve ever met in Ireland. I think I did more talking on that trip than they did.
We started the day by driving through the Burren. Having done a tour through it before I know some odd facts about it but poor Al learned only this: there are a lot of limestone rocks and it doesn’t look like anywhere else in Ireland we had been.
It’s hard to believe by looking at the pictures but people actually do farm on the Burren. Some plots were painfully cleared by hand over generations of farming, others are used as grazing land. It’s easy to think ‘why would anyone bother?’ but when the English drove the Irish west, it was farm on this land or starve. Plus the soil is supposedly quite fertile... if you can find any.
There's a hike through this region called The Burren Way.
Looks like 'Ankle Twister Way' would have been a better name...
We left the Burren and headed to Doolin for lunch before we hit up the cliffs. Doolin is a cute little village but it’s also the lunch stop for every single tour to the Cliffs of Moher. For about an hour every day, the population of Doolin quadruples as all the tourists fight for the limited seats in the main pub.
Doolin = more signs than buildings!
We traipsed back onto the bus giddy with anticipation. Anyone who has ever seen photos of Ireland has seen the iconic image of the Cliffs of Moher shooting straight up from the Atlantic. ‘Come to Ireland,’ they beckon. ‘We have cliffs!’ The cliffs have even featured in a few videos such as Westlife’s ‘My Love’. (Judge me all you want, but I like that song.) We eagerly walked towards the cliff edge and took in the glory which is the Cliffs of Moher.
Aren't they just awe-inspiring? To prove I didn't just steal that breath-taking photo from another website, here's me in front of the cliffs.
The fog came in waves and we did manage to see the cliffs... sort of... eventually... a little...
If I tilt my screen away from me, squint my left eye, then realigning the
order of the planets by mass, I can totally see the cliffs in this picture!
What can you do in a situation like this except laugh? We joked that we’d tell people that we went to the Cliffs of Moher and if they took that to mean we actually saw them then that wasn’t our fault. Do you know how many people see the cliffs every year? We’re such hipsters that we went to the cliffs and didn’t even bother seeing them!
Talking Telescope asked me why I wasted €1 on it.
On our way back to Galway we stopped at the Poulnabrone Dolmen which kind of harshed my buzz, man. It’s not that I didn’t want to see it, but the radio was in the middle of broadcasting an interview with Brian O’Driscoll when the guide turned the engine off. (Just think about that for a moment: our guide was saying so little that he actually had the radio on!!) Sorry ancient Celts, but I wanted to know O'Driscoll's feelings on Ireland's loss to Wales (especially seeing as he probably won't be around next RWC) so you were not my favourite people that day!
It’s estimated that the top slab weighs about five tonnes.* FIVE TONNES!! I have no idea how those people managed to lift it but I’m going to take an educated guess and say time-travelling-crane (and operator). I could be wrong, but I doubt it.
And with that, our tour headed back to Galway.
*I read this in a book but am unable to find anything online which backs it up (or contradicts it either...) so it is quite possible that it doesn't weigh that much. Either way, it still weighs a lot!
There was supposed to be two more posts today (told you I was playing catch up!) but thanks to my computer's almost complete refusal to upload videos in a timely manner, you're only getting two updates.
Rejoice, my friends. Rejoice!
I'll bombard you with multi-blogs at another date.
When Al and I first talked about going to Ireland, high on my list of places I wanted to go was Donegal. I had nostalgic memories of Donegal in the 80’s—huge family gatherings at my aunt’s cottage, games of soccer-tag (also known as ‘quick, make up a game that all ages of our family can play’) on a near deserted beach in the middle of July, scrambling over rock walls as my cousins and I explore the fields around us—and I knew that I wouldn’t find that Donegal again (firstly, good luck getting all my cousins together at the beach) but I was hoping that the landscape was still as breath-taking as I remember.
Well, it was really hard to see the landscape when it rained the entire time we were there. Not just rained... POURED! My poor shoes never did fully dry out and took on such a funky smell that I ended up just binning them and buying a pair of cheap boots. (Thank you Dunnes!)
We arrived at the Diamond* in Donegal Town and I wondered if I had made a huge mistake in dragging Al here. Co. Donegal had been my request after all. Once-a-day bus times meant that we couldn’t go to Bunbeg, the area of my childhood memories, without eating into a lot of our precious travel days, but I was hoping that a day trip to Slieve League and Killybegs would be just as lovely. Donegal Town, however, wasn’t really living up to my hopes.
The Diamond in Donegal Town. Don't be fooled by all those cars, that's the taxi stand.
We arrived at the hostel to find the owner (the lovely Linda from the county Cork) in the middle of starting a peat fire. While Donegal Town still had yet to win me over, the hostel was getting major bonus points!
There's something about a big pile of peat which makes me insanely happy. It reminds me
of visiting my granddad's friend with my dad who lived in a thatched cottage with a peat fire
and he boiled the water for tea in a pot hanging from a swinging arm over the fire.
After we had warmed up and somewhat dried off, Al and I walked back into town for dinner and a drink. We partook in the ‘traditional’ fish and chips from an actual chipper before making our way to the Reel Inn. Rumour had it that there was music every night and the one thing that Al wanted before she left was to hear Irish music in an Irish bar.
Our Saturday night at the pub turned out to be a lot of fun. We arrived well before the music started so we pretty much had the place to ourselves for the first hour. We made small talk with the barmaid (the fabulously sarcastic Emer) and tried to decipher the comments from the drunk regular who I think might have been speaking Irish at one point. The place slowly filled up and by the time the band started, it was standing room only. Still, you can always find room to dance!
We learned later from our new friend, Helly** that Al’s
dance partner was single and owned 80 acres of land!
We left the Reel Inn at 1:30am with the realisation that everyone still in the pub was older than us. That’s right, the 45 – 80 years old age group totally out partied two 30-somethings. Welcome to Ireland!
The next day was still raining. We had hopes of going to Slieve League but everyone we talked to said they were fogged in (later confirmed by other tourists who had gone), so we went with our back up plan of the Donegal Bay Waterbus Tour. The first indication that perhaps this wasn’t the great idea was the booking agent who replied to our request for two tickets with ‘really?’ The next indication was the bus loads of seniors that were being dropped of as we boarded the waterbus. It was a full tour and save for ourselves, a family with three kids under 12 and couple who looked much like Al and I felt (that would be ‘horrified’ for those of you who need an actual word for that moment), everyone was 65+. The minute the bar opened, Al and I hightailed it to the alcohol.
We thought the guide telling jokes which had nothing to do with the tour was bad—we groaned, we rolled our eyes, we giggled at how silly the whole thing was—but when we got to the end of the bay and it was time to turn around, they pulled out a keyboard. Nothing, I repeat, NOTHING is as bad as cheesy songs with synthesised drums. Al and I beat a hasty retreat to the top deck... where the music followed us. It was like some bad horror film. No, don’t go upstairs! He’ll just follow you!
Oh well. At least we got to take pictures in between our bouts of laughter.
The bay is very shallow so at low tide you can walk to most of the islands from the mainland.
And just so you can hear exactly how bad the music was:
Um, it won't let me play this video to check it before I post it but
if the colours are as wacked as they are in the draft photo... oops!
On our way back into town we passed the ruins of the friary where the Annals of the Four Masters were written. Having wasted €4 on Donegal Castle earlier that day we decided to check out the free ruins. If you ever find yourself in Donegal Town, skip the Castle and just go check out the friary. I would have rather paid to see the friary (which is now a cemetery so double score for me!).
Being Canadian Thanksgiving that weekend, we decided to get dolled up and go for a nice dinner. It was surprisingly hard to find anything turkey related so had to make due with lamb so perfectly cooked that I touched it with my fork and it fell off the bone. It’s a tough life, I tell ya! After dinner, we headed back to the Reel Inn to see what Sunday night would provide in the way of music. While Saturday night had been fun, it had felt touristy. Sunday night reminded me of my dad’s parties growing up.
The owner (on the accordion) and a few of his friends sat around and played whatever song they felt like. If one of them felt like taking a smoke break or heading to the washroom, the others kept playing. If they weren’t totally sure of the song, they’d fake their way through it. If someone wanted to get up and join them or sing a song, they were welcome to it. It was about as authentic an Irish music night you’re going to get in a pub.
There was supposed to be two videos here but after 37 minutes of waiting for just one to upload (I'm not joking, old computer...) you're just getting a picture instead.
The banjo player was amazing! Even more amazing was the man hiding behind the mic. His name is Frankie and Al and I love him. I found someone else's video on YouTube so you can understand why.
PS. That's the owner on the accordion.
He had such a lovely singing voice that we loved him in spite of what appeared to be a very gruff demeanor when we first met him. Then he threw a couple of smiles our way when we responded positively to the songs. During a break late in the night, he sat down beside us and we got to chatting. I asked if he knew Sonny's Dream and he admitted that he didn't know the words, but if I wanted to sing it he'd back me up. Small problem: I'd had a bit to drink and couldn't remember the words. He wanted to know if we were going to be around the next night. We weren't but he was willing to bring in the words and sing Sonny's Dream for us if we were. I love this man more than I can express in writing.
We saw none of the things we wanted to see, we spent more time wet than we did dry, and we wasted money on the stupid castle and the waterbus, but Donegal had won its place as our favourite stop. “We could always go back to Donegal” became the mantra of the rest of our trip. When we hit up a music pub in Galway, we looked at each other, agreed it was no Reel Inn and beat a hasty retreat. And any singers we heard? Well, they’re no Frankie!
What I would give for this pub to be my local!
*many northern Irish towns call their town centre or square ‘the Diamond’ but it’s usually a triangle. I get the feeling Irish people probably fail geometry ;)
**I can not, for the life of me, remember his first name but he spelt his last name for me so it kind of stuck. It’s what Al and I referred to him as for the rest of the trip.
After a week of not even a peep on the blog, I'm going to bury you in a plethora of posts today. That's how all the lazy successful bloggers do it, right? I could just make it one really long blog, but I think this way works better. And it's my blog so there :P
Yes, I just did a 'tongue stick out' emoticon. I'm mature like that.
For my Victoria peeps (or Victoria-adjacent-and-willing-to-travel), Saturday night is Matoto's AGM. Once the AGM portion wraps up (which you are also invited to attend), then we're going to have a celebration because...
*drum roll*
...our school in Kubian, Guinea officially opened its doors on October 5th of this year!! There is more information about our AGM and Celebration Gala on our facebook event page. We'd love to see you out!
