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Published: April 29th 2008
Hey folks, thanks for your interest.
I got to Ireland, Friday 4.18.08 and left Sunday 4.27.08 (yesterday), rented a car and basically went 3 different places:
First Galway town in the west (including the rural Connemara area to the northwest of there), then heading eastward I happened to stop in a town called Bundoran, in County Donegal, where there was decent surf and nice folks. The last part of my trip was briefly passing through Belfast and Dublin.
Initially I came to Ireland in hopes to see Bruce Molsky play - a favorite musician of mine (amazing at fiddle, banjo and guitar), and just being in the UK, I was close. Never did make it to see Molsky - couldn't find the place outside of Galway, and was quite tired of driving/traveling at the time, which was fine because Galway and Ireland as a whole was plenty fascinating...
4.19.08 (Saturday) - getting used to Galway
In Galway, feeling overwhelmed with a the number of things calling my interest: history, music, literature, and simply needing to take care of the body (after much travel, driving, flying, schlepping my backpack & instruments and less than adequate sleep). Where to begin?...
Spent the day farting around town, getting lost, looking at people, etc. Eating traditional Irish breakfast is the same as English. The town layout is interesting and tricky for me - more circular than grid, and bends the way the river does. They have diverted the river in a number of ways using levees, canals, and lochs, and can see still the mill equipment used. While it was interesting to ponder on how the did what they did back in the day, the waterways were useless as a landmark. Parking is difficult, the narrow streets and one-ways make navigating by car more hassle than it’s worth - I drive in circles for 30 min each time I get in the car.
The Irish are very fond of the Kennedys. JFK spoke in Galway during his presidency, and they named the main park in town plaza after him.
There was a mix up with the hostel arrangements and I had no place to stay for Saturday night. All the hostels & b&b’s were full up. I planned on sleeping in my car. Carrying instruments around town, I was approached numerous times by groups of drunk guys asking for
tunes. It was sometimes lucrative (the poor drunks), and each time got to talking and was offered a couch to stay on for the night. Many of the Irish did a decent job gathering attention with their self-deprecating humor.
4.20 & 4.21 (Sunday/Monday) - exploring beautiful, mysterious surrounding area and a strange run in with some locals…
Sunday I really enjoyed getting up to the Connemara area…an hour’s drive NW of Galway. Went to a mine and took a tour. Learned me some things. Connemara (Conn Son of the Sea, says a statue built by Joyce’s Gift Shop - for no apparent reason - on the way up there along the roadside).
Connemara is an incredible landscape of lakes, rocky pastures and intense jutting mountains of rock, old stone houses, sheep, winding roads, and not fog, not mist but a filminess to the overcast air. Most times couldn’t tell if the water bodies were lake or sea.
Road signs are very modest, got lost as again. Irish language, seen on road signs, heard on some radio and TV stations, is way more prevalent than I expected.
Most trees and plants are still bare, some leaves
are just emerging. Feels like New Hampshire climate, wintery, stark, twiggy, grass is tan, brown and grey. Some tree plantations here and there, which look obvious and not much for wildlands habitat, but mostly stark landscape. Looks tattered and tired from so much farming, mining, logging, etc.
Interesting run in with the locals:
On my way back to town from Connemara, I popped into a bar for a cup of tea - 10pm and a drive ahead… Not much around in these parts, very dark and not even many cars driving at this time. The town was but a pub, store and B&B. As soon as I opened the latch on red door to the place, I felt like I entered a movie or commercial…the whole bar goes quiet as soon as I peer in, and some long intense stares. I recoiled and almost turned back right then, but for whatever reason, I went in. The air felt thick and heavier inside there. There were probably about 8 people spread around there, enjoying each other’s company, in whatever social organization that I was foreign. I seemed to notice 3 older individuals that struck me as fixtures - the place belonged
them. But I tired not to take too much notice.. The place felt genuine, everyone felt like they belonged there, had their sense of purpose. I felt aimless and wandering, was passing through as an outsider. I felt that I was disturbing “their” space, their calm, cozy, local, sacred social gathering hall, their hearth.
I went first to the bathroom to avoid confrontation.
I felt the dumbfounding feeling overcome me again - as I’ve experienced 2 or 3 times here on my trip, like I’m not sure what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s much bigger than me, and I go curious and humble at once. It was probably the smell of history - living history - as in alive - not like a museum exhibit or castle, but a place that is used in the exact way it has been for years, probably at least 100. All that experience, those laughs, those stories, all that was denied and turned away during that time, and also acknowledged. It was easily more than all the feelings and all the meaningless and meaningful interactions I’ve undertaken in all my life combined, so much greater than me.
After the
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tool used to cut peat the old waypiss, I honored my intention and ordered my tea. It came on a platter with tea kettle, tea cup, milk saucer, sugar cup and biscuits - typical. It was too much to take down the road with me, so I stayed.
The bar was worn old, and polished smooth to the touch, probably from use: mugs, glasses, and just hands. A minimal stone fireplace sat on one side of the room, with a simple mantle of candles, black soot stains, and antlers above. The place was sure timeless, but there were plenty of signs that we were still in fact post 1975 - a pool room in back, flat screen TV on the wall, gambling machine at the bar end, cigarette machine, Pringles behind the counter, etc.
The main room of the bar belong to the fixtures: 3 well-established, stubborn men, probably between 60 and 70 years old. Each a perfect caricature of himself, cartoon-like in their expressions, facial features, missing teeth, wrinkles and the way they moved. The one I sat next to had cross eyes and bad teeth. He had me open his cigarette box, then jokingly threw the plastic wrapper at me.
There was
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these were probably cut with a tractor device a boxing match on the TV. It was an Irish man fighting an American, a grudge match called “Judgment Day” and apparently was a big deal. Besides drinking, sport seems to be one of the big pastimes in Ireland. Funny how it enhanced the tension I was experiencing…the thought of the movie Deliverance came to mind…
The men had no shame in staring at me for great lengths, as I prepared my tea. I felt self conscious to say the least - ashamed of who I was, more accurately. I figured it might be the way I was sitting, making it hard to tell if they were looking at the boxing match, not me. Of course I would live through this, and was still curious.
When the men spoke, their accents were so thick, it was impossible to understand. One man could not speak at all, only grumble and snort. What was strange was the other men understood the noises and responded, and then they would laugh together.
I stayed till the end of the match, attempted to speak with the man next to me, learned we was a farmer. People thinned out, the Irish boxer beat
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windy up at the crest the American, and I went on my way unscathed. What struck me was the feeling that if I were there 60 years previous, the same characters would be sitting in near the same places and doing near the same things.
On the lonely drive back to Galway, I came across an old man walking down the road, who looked like he was struggling. I offered him a ride, but he opted to walk in the dark, drunk and confused, and smoking. I was again impossible to understand him, but I think he thought I was someone he knew (neighbor or relative). I passed through several towns, each with a pub and each with 3 men standing outside smoking, gallivanting… at 11:30pm, Sunday. These guys are hillbillies… and they go strong!
4.22 & 4.23.08
Monday, the hostel offered me a free night due to the mix up. Nice to have a room to myself for a night. Uneventful day of reading, internet and research. In the evening headed up to a hostel in Conemara.
Tueday, woke up in rural northwest Ireland, County Galway. Did a nice hike up a crest in Connemara National Park to a windswept peak.
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crest in Connemara Stopped to check out a castle seen from the road. My mom said Madonna’s son goes to school there.
Drove to County Donegal. The rain was a bit depressing along the drive.
4.24.08 & 4.25.08 - Surfing in Bundoran
Up now in a town called Bundoran in County Dunegal. The town feels a bit like Santa Cruz, but more deserted, perhaps like it only comes alive in summer, and it’s just right before the spring opens.
Folks at the surf lodge are nice. Killian is the proprietor and showed me around. Two Americans from San Deigo here, Bob and Trevor. Both pilots. Bob flies a research plane for the forrest service to investigate fires, Trevor for a commercial airline, young guys, in later 30’s. Learned about surf breaks down between Galway and Limerick - the Cliffs of Mohere, and another one called Lahinch, a long right hand.
Going out surfing…
Surfing in Bundoran, County Donegal was fun. Waves reminded me of La Jolla, with multiple rock reefs breaks around in close proximity. A nice Dubliner named Paul lent me his single-fin short long-board. I enjoyed a decent left sand bar (between two reefs). The main peak looked
fun, hollow, at times fast, and mostly left, but some rights. But fairly crowded. We went to a spot in the evening called Pampa, which was a very fast hollow left reef break, very much reminded me of the body boarding spots in La Jolla, like Horseshoe - a bit fast for surfers, but perfect for good body boarders…saw multiple 4, 5, 6 second tubes, sometimes double barrels.
4.26.08 & 4.27.08 - Belfast and Dublin
Belfast was interesting…lots of political signs on walls: remember the Milltown Martyrs, protests, etc. A huge graveyard, miles and miles. College town of good size. Seemed friendly, accessible, and good food around. The hostel there was one of the best I’ve been in. Good pace for me, not too many people, good kitchen, hangout space, and TV/internet room. Met some Americans studying in England who were on a bike trip in Scotland and part of Ireland. Also met some nice folks from Munich, Germany, who were encouraging.
Did not enjoy Dublin much, had a down section in my journey. Phones have been difficult to use, and expensive. Had to keep car for an extra day as I was late due to difficult navigation.
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the path seems clear The hostel I got was lousy - hard to find, very crowded, felt dirty and smelt bad. A man came in the room at 4am to go to bed, who was no bueno... turned on all the lights, cared very little of how much noise he was making, and was very large…but he was not drunk, which might’ve been a good excuse. He snored louder than I’ve heard anyone - and slept directly below me. If we could only harness the power of that man’s snore! In the morning, my car was booted…had to spend 80 Euros getting it undone on account of getting out there too late. In general, Dublin was less friendly then I expected…busking was less lucrative, not abundant good food options for being a city, and the redundant smell of urine from the corners and alleyways. No surprise at this point, am happy to move on from here.
Random things learned in Ireland:
“Boycott” was the last name of a man hired 100 years ago or so, by an English landlord to collect rents. He was a mean and greedy man, and schemed to get extra money by charging tenants fees on top of
landlord’s rent. When the tenants and people of the town didn’t want to or couldn’t pay, they refused to buy any of his goods/products and pay his rents…hence the term boycott.
Black & tans were mercenaries (not just beers), hired by the Brittish to kill Irish rebels. They were merciless & cruel & used after the Brits were unsuccessful in fighting them.
Random observations:
o The Irish are very spry, adamant, and veryr directed in the way they speak and act.
o Gaelic sounds nothing like English, more like Dutch, at a wild guess. Place names have a translation, which I find as strange…usually proper nouns (like names of people or places) don’t change from one language to next, but I guess they do in Irish.
o EVERY town has at least one gambling/book-maker establishment.
o All doors at pubs and stores open inward toward the welcome mat. Can’t figure out this architectural flaw… When you push them in, the doors get stuck on the mat or uneven ground…makes for a poor initial experience when going into stores/pubs.
o I like how the graveyards are on the hillcrests are on the tops of hills, as a way to
reflect upon and revere the dead. (Where are our cemeteries in California? Where/when do we reflect on the dead? Home’s more a culture of eternal youth, where all the chapters of life do not feel as valued as here. I enjoy how elders are wise, full of life, childlike and respected here.)
o Every town, the church is the highest building in the town.
o Filling up the car with petrol had to be the most American, or Californian activities that I’ve done. While doing it, I actually forgot for a moment that I was in a foreign country…what a terrible feeling.
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