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Published: September 8th 2012
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The grass really is literally greener on the other side of the Atlantic, I realized that on the bus trip from Limerick to Tralee. The fields are this beautiful lime green with emerald shadows and hedges squaring them off in places. And of course the sheep. There are sheep everywhere, colored with markings to distinguish one owners' sheep from anothers' when the sheepdogs herd them in.
I arrived in Tralee and had to improvise. I hadn't been able to get in touch with my B&B host by phone, and I didn't get a chance to check my email so I didn't have her address on me coming into town. I had a tiny map of the town in my guidebook, which showed where the library was. Once I found the library I knew I'd be sorted. So, I shlepped my suitcase along the (once again, dirty) streets and found the library. It was like home, it felt so familiar. I had to wait about an hour for an internet time slot so I ran off to find food, jetting over to the main drag in town. After looking disgustedly through another sidewalk grocery store I saw a shish kabab place
across the way and knew that was exactly what I wanted. And boy, was it good. Big pieces of meat with garlic and chili sauce, sprinkled generously with shredded red cabbage and all wrapped up in a piece of warm pita bread. I ate it in the emerald green grass when I got back to the library grounds, dripping cabbage everywhere and singing the halleluia chorus in my head.
While at the kabab place, I met and chatted with a middle aged Irish blonde lady who was waiting for her order. She was very nice and very chatty, talking about Obama and how lovely American TV is and how lovely my American accent is. I thought that was cute.
The kabab joint was being worked by a guy from Turkey, who had an Irish accent. We chatted once the lady left. He joked that he's lost all his color from living here in Ireland. He also joked that I'd brought the sun here to Ireland with me, commenting that it had been a very rainy summer and only these last few days have had sun. I later learned that it had been raining almost nonstop since April. I
arrived here on the day the sun came out again.
I got into the library, found my B&B host's phone number (I had written down the wrong number, off by a digit), and got in touch with her. She came over in her car to 'collect' me at the library which was very nice of her. At first I told her I could probably walk, but then I thought of shlepping my suitcase through the street again and didn't feel like it. So I agreed to have her collect me. It was cool to ride on the opposite side of the car! My host's name is Mary Varley, she works the Durreen Tighue House B&B in Tralee. It's a nice place, and Mary is the most friendly person ever, as is her husband who I also met and chatted with for a while about life. Their kids are grown up now; they were very caring and helpful to me while I was there. I had room no. 1. I liked that.
The first night, Mary recommended The Grand Hotel for dinner; I got hungry around 8pm. She told me where to go, but of course I got turned
around and it took a while to find it. It's happened to me a few times since, but I've found that getting sort of lost is a great way to get your bearings in a new place. Also walking a lot helps me to get tired enough to fall asleep despite being in unfamilar surroundings. Once I finally found The Grand Hotel though I was famished, but boy was I excited to find it. And I had a surprise waiting for me there—Americans! The first Americans I encountered in Ireland. There was a gaggle of middle-aged, golf enthusiast American dudes from Wisconsin at the hotel bar where I ordered my food. Only they trickled in gradually and by the time my first half pint of Guinness and seafood chowder arrived they had me surrounded. In a funny, good natured way, of course! They were excellent live entertainment, I told them they were better than TV. However, they were what I think of when I think stereotypical American in Ireland: loud, ruddy-faced, asking for pictures with the redheadded waitress. I don't remember most of their names, but there was the typical 'John' and 'Gary.' They were all very nice to me, asking me about myself, saying I was ballsy for coming here on my own. They seemed impressed and compared me to their daughters who had studied abroad. I took that as a good sign.
My first Guinness, which I enjoyed during the Wisconsin group's banter, was terrific. Smooth and almost sweet, with a nutty flavor that unpacks itself; not at all bitter like most beer I've tried in the past. It's really true, they know how to do beer right here in Ireland.
The seafood chowder I had was also excellent. Creamy but not enough to put a gross lump in your throat, and full of mussels, crabmeant, and prawns. They served it with Irish soda bread and butter. I had a good time talking and eating with a bunch of old American dudes. It was like being at home, but not really. There were behaviors and sayings I recognized, that I neither particularly liked or disliked. But they were crazy characters.They'd each asked me a bunch of questions as they trickled in, so eventually the other guys started answering for me.
I was not quite acclamated to the time difference by then and finished dinner at around 10:00 (aka 22:00). I was tired though so I went back to the B&B after wishing the Wisconsin troupe well. I then happily slept through breakfast.
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