Ireland

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Well, my friends, as most of you know, I am currently sitting in the continental United States of America and am basking in my return home. I hope that everyone is enjoying the holiday season and I wish the best new year to you all. This post is probably overdue, but the American people have conspired to keep me extremely busy. I will be hitting the road again soon, starting in South Korea, but before I recently set foot on my home soil, I did spend a quick two weeks in Ireland. A number of my ancestors came from there and I decided a visit was in order before concluding my time in Europe.

My friend from high school Tom Benevento and his wife Kathleen happened to be taking a trip there as well, and due to their schedule, I knew I could see them for one day in Dublin. On the morning of my departure from Paris, I awoke early, and after encountering a number of different delays, I landed in Ireland. The plan Tom and I had cleverly hashed out was this: when I arrived, I would give him a call on his US BlackBerry and we would figure out how to meet. I estimated, and told him, that I would see him around noon. The only problem with our plan was that when I arrived and tried to call him, his phone didn’t work. Slightly concerned, I hopped on a city bus at the airport and made my way downtown. The city bus cost four Euros fewer than the airport shuttle bus, which seemed like a no-brainer, but I soon learned that this wasn’t because the seats were less comfortable but because the city bus made a stop about every twenty feet. With my flight arriving late and with this bus inching along, I was now running significantly behind schedule. I finally got off the bus in the neighborhood where I thought my hostel was located, only to discover that I was on the wrong side of the city. I proceeded to get my bearings from a number of uncertain strangers and then trudged across the river and through the streets, dragging my two large bags in tow. As I traipsed along, I recalled Tom telling me that he and Kathleen had planned a robust schedule of sightseeing, on this, their only full day in Dublin.

The city was very windy and cold. Due to the fact that I had spent the past six and a half months in the spring/summer of tropical, desert, or temperate climates, I had no jacket. I tried Tom’s phone again and got nothing. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and was working on only a couple hours of sleep. I knew the hotel that they were staying in, but by this time, there was no way they would have waited there, blindly thinking that I might show up. I never gave Tom my number, nor the name of the place I was staying, nor any of my flight information. In fact, I hadn’t been in contact with him for a few days, and without confirmation, I didn’t know for sure if he was even there. Still lugging my bags across frosty Dublin, a light rain then began to fall and whip in my face. I was freezing. I was tired. I was hungry. And, I wasn’t even a hundred percent convinced I was heading in the right direction.

Pitying myself as I marched down Grafton Street, which is the busiest pedestrian thoroughfare in the city, I thought, “We should have had a better plan. Tom and Kathleen, if they are here, are probably sitting in some nice warm pub getting lunch wondering what the hell happened to me. I don’t know how I am going to find them now. All I know is that I need to get indoors.” I pushed on through the crowds and decided that I would have to concentrate on finding them somehow as soon as I found my hostel. I tried to take comfort in reminding myself of one of the lessons I learned on this trip, which was that things would work out if you just let them. Maybe if I was lucky, through email, or a note with the front desk, I would connect with them later that night at their hotel. It was disappointing, but I had no one to blame but myself. I put my head down against the punishing wind, when I heard a voice scream, “EDDIE!”

Startled, I looked up. Three feet away, Tom and Kathleen were standing there smiling. It was unbelievable. Dublin is not an enormous city, but out of all the streets they could have been on, and out of all the places they could have been, there they were, right in front of me. I couldn’t help but laugh. After a few hugs, and a discussion on the probability of finding each other in a foreign country by walking directly into each other, the three of us went together and found my hostel.

We then set out to conquer Dublin. Our first stop was at a pub called, “The Lord Edward,” where we loaded up on some beer and fish and chips to help battle that Irish climate. We then went on to the Guinness Storehouse, which is next to the Guinness Brewery. It was interesting, but one is led to believe it is a brewery tour, when in actuality, it wasn’t anything more than one big corporate museum with a lounge at the top. I did enjoy the interactive exhibit on overdrinking and the effects of “beer goggles,” and overall it would have been a pretty good deal if one didn’t have to pay an admission of 15 Euros. We roamed the streets and got a feel for the city. It was then on to the Temple Bar area, a section of Dublin with numerous pubs where tourists and locals alike convene, eat, drink, and enjoy live music. After a nap back at the hostel (oh how I love naps) and then a fine dinner out, I bid my fellow Americans farewell.

The next few days I was on my own. All the way back in Turkey three months prior, I met an Irish guy named Richie, who was also traveling. He wasn’t in Dublin, but his brother Brian was, whom he put me in touch with. Brian graciously met up with me along with some of his friends, showed me around and then even sprang for a Chinese dinner. (Irish people, despite what I had thought, don’t eat potatoes every night.) Besides buying a coat, which I desperately needed, I also signed up for a literary pub crawl, which was unlike any crawl I had ever been on. It was run by two actors who take you to different parts of the city and act out historic scenes and works by their favorite Irish writers like Wilde, Yeats, Joyce, and Shaw. You get a tour of the city, multiple literary references, historical facts, and all the while stopping for pints at different pubs along the way. If my high school curriculum had been set up in a similar fashion, I think I would have scored much higher on my AP exams.

After a number of days in Dublin, I was anxious to see other parts of the country. When I had left Paris, my Parisian friend Anne Berland told me that she wanted to join me in Ireland. Our plan was that I would land in Dublin, hang out for a few days, do some research, and then she would take a number of days off and join me. We could then rent a car and head west to see the famed Irish countryside. Doing this on my own would not only be too expensive, but just not as much fun. One morning, just as I was looking over the Hertz website, Anne wrote to say that she was sorry, but she had been granted an interview for a new job and a trip to Ireland was just not going to be possible.

Immediately, I felt the urge to be frustrated and disappointed. I had to pause and remind myself to relax. Even though this master plan had crumbled into thin air, just as I had found Tom and Kathleen, I knew this situation too would work itself out. The places I really wanted to visit were the city of Galway, the Cliffs of Moher, which is a spectacular series of bluffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, and County Mayo, which is where my grandmother’s father was from. I spoke to some people and discovered I could take a fairly inexpensive bus out to Galway. There I could possibly put up a sign in a hostel to see if anyone wanted to share in renting a car. It certainly wasn’t ideal, but I would have to make it work.

I would set out on Monday morning. It was only Saturday and I still had plans to meet one other person. Just before leaving Paris, another French friend, Claire Morel, told me that one of her old college roommates, named Pierre-Adrien, now lived and worked in Dublin. She put us in touch and I made plans to meet him that afternoon at a bar. (If you, my astute readers, are picking up that the theme of going to pubs/bars and drinking is repeating here, well this really is the main activity in Ireland.) Pierre was a very friendly and intelligent guy and we hit if off immediately. He asked me a lot of questions about my trip and New York, which he had visited a number of times, and hoped to live in one day. He explained that he currently worked for a French clothing company called IKKS. Part of his job was to drive to different regions of Ireland to visit stores that could be potential customers. He had a company car, and on these trips, all the gas, hotels, and expenses were paid for. The actual visits to the stores didn’t really take that much time, and he spent the rest of the time visiting the attractions of whichever region he was in.

He then told me, “I will be leaving on Monday for a trip west. I have to go to Galway and Limerick. I hope to see some things like the Cliffs of Moher, and then I have to spend a few days visiting some stores up in County Mayo. The car and gas are paid for, and all the hotels are reserved. You can join me if you’d like. It would be great if you wanted to come along.”

I nearly fell out of my chair. After I had a moment to fully process that Pierre just offered me a free trip to the exact places I was hoping to go to, I looked upward and thought, “I am one with the universe.” I gladly accepted his proposal. Saturday and Sunday were then spent hanging with Pierre and his Irish roommates and some of their friends. This was a typical Irish crew: friendly, raucous, and spirited, along with the unlikely addition of an American and a Frenchman.

The Irish love to tell stories, drink beer, share jokes, and distribute well-intentioned insults. And if you can conform with this behavior you will be welcomed in like a long lost friend. Over the course of the weekend we hit about seven different pubs, having a “pisser” of a time all along the way. Eoin, pronounced “Owen,” proudly greeted bartenders and bouncers across the city and acted as a guide giving color and background on his favorite establishments. Brian, Pierre’s roommate, confided to me that months earlier they were desperate to find a replacement when one of their Irish roommates moved out. “We took a real gamble here with Frenchie, but it really has worked out. We love this guy.” At one point on Sunday, another friend of theirs had joined us. Confused as to whom I was and surprised at how comfortable we all were with each other, he asked me, “How long have you known everyone here?” I think he was a bit taken aback when I responded, “Oh, I met them yesterday.”

On Monday, Pierre and I set out on our road trip in his company car. After a stop in Limerick where he checked out a couple of clothing stores, we reached the western shore of the country and came upon the mighty Cliffs of Moher. Reminiscent of the “Cliffs of Insanity” from the movie “The Princess Bride,” these 700-foot cliffs are an astonishing site to see. We traversed the beautiful countryside, stopping for pictures of green fields, rainbows, ocean vistas, castles, waterfalls and sheep. In the city of Galway, we picked up where we left off in Dublin and dove into the pub scene. We encountered a number of Irish happy to drink pints and exchange stories. We also befriended a Swiss brother and sister named Daniel and Maja who were also traveling through and connected with them on a couple of different occasions. By day, Pierre would visit a few stores in various towns, I would roam around, and then we would drive to our next destination. We explored County Mayo and found the town of Bunnyconnellan, which is where my great-grandfather was born. We hit the pubs, ate lamb stew, talked about Ireland, France, the US, and the art of selling clothing.

On our last night, we were in the town of Sligo, and coming in just under Pierre’s expense allowance, we managed to check into a hotel that had a spa. We agreed to relax there and skip going out for a night. Hitting countless pubs, liberally drinking Guinness, and exploring a country can take its toll on even the most hardened traveler, and one has to know when to take some time to rest. At one point, between the the jacuzzi and the sauna, feeling reflective and satisfied, and pleasantly considering the fact that this was all paid for on the company’s dime, Pierre remarked, “I love my job.” I smiled, considered my situation, and told him, “I love your job too.”

I was experiencing such good fortune in Ireland I almost felt like someone was watching over me. My late Grandmother Katie moved to New York City back in the 1930’s and loved her new country, but always felt a strong pride in her Irish heritage. Every St. Patrick’s Day, she made sure my brother, sister and I all wore green and she took delight in playing her favorite Irish records. She even met her husband, Eddie, on an Irish boat ride around Manhattan. From my adolescence, to the time I was in college, she always encouraged traveling and would give me money proclaiming, “Edward. A man about town needs copper in his pocket.” After finding Tom and Kathleen in the middle of the city, to the trip with Pierre, to all the welcoming people I met along the way, I couldn’t help but think maybe she was looking down smiling, somehow using her powers to steer fate in my favor.

We returned to Dublin. Pierre left for a trip home to France he had planned earlier. I met up again with Brian Barter, who invited me to his apartment where he and his girlfriend were cooking dinner for some of his cousins. He qualified his invitation claiming there was a risk I could be “poisoned by his dodgy cooking,” but luckily I survived. The Swiss delegation Maja and Daniel also arrived in Dublin and I spent a couple more nights with them, engaging in the novel activity of drinking Guinness in pubs, which just didn’t seem to get old.

And then, before I knew it, my two weeks were up. Seven months on the road, three continents, fifteen countries, innumerable wonders seen, scores of different cultures, and a multitude of incredibly warm and generous new friends made. There were amazing meals from ostrich steaks in South Africa, to the hummus of Damascus, to the fois gras of southern France to a nice helping of Irish blood pudding and everything in-between. The trip had been simply extraordinary and would not be over, but it was time to bring it on back for a while to New York. I wanted to see my family, my friends, my people. I spoke to my mother the night before my departure to reconfirm my flight details and I ensured her, “Yes, Mama. Yes, I’m coming home.”


General Thoughts and Notes

-Over 40% of the population of Ireland is under 25. It felt like every sizable city I went to had the feel of a college town.

-You will not find corned beef in Ireland. This is an Irish-American meal. According to a few unconfirmed sources, when the Irish of New York could not find traditional Irish bacon, which is not like our bacon, but a lot thicker, as a substitute, the Jews of the Lower East Side introduced them to corned beef.

-The first few days in Ireland were a bit of a bug-out for me. Every time I went to buy a sandwich or a cup of coffee I was so accustomed to thinking, “Ok, now how am I going to ask for this?” I kept forgetting that everyone speaks English.

-Ireland is experiencing an economic boom, especially in the IT industry. It is known as the Celtic Tiger and after centuries of hardship the country as a whole is in a great economic expansion. Just like any other industrialized nation, there are immigrants from across the globe there. In Dublin, you will find plenty of Irish pubs, but also plenty of sushi, pizza, Turkish, Chinese, and other restaurants.

-I wrote to Richie Barter to tell him that his younger brother was a great guy and that he even invited me over to his place for a dinner he cooked. He wrote back, “Eddie, I'm so sorry, I should have warned you about my brother’s cooking! No doubt you have returned to the States to search for the best possible medical care.”

-There are so many Americans that visit Ireland that the United States hosts an immigration office in the Dublin airport. I was totally processed through American immigration before I even got on the plane. When I landed in JFK, I was able to get my bags and just walk right on out of there.

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