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Published: September 14th 2012
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I woke up early for breakfast, and ate with the whole family from Washington. I tried the traditional Irish breakfast: poached egg, bacon, tomato, and black and white pudding--yes, I tried the pudding! I thought both the black and white pudding were good, they just tasted like spicy sausage, only cut into rounds instead of being shaped like links. The Washington family had visited Dingle for a day while staying in Tralee, so they told me about the town and by the end of breakfast, I was very excited to go. We said goodbye, I said goodbye to Mary, and I left for the bus station to take a morning bus to Dingle.
Lots of young people were on my bus. More than I'd seen on any bus since being in Ireland. There was a dark-haired boy behind me and two college friends across from me on the bus. I decided to break out of my comfort zone by starting a spark of conversation. Some time had gone by with none of it on that bus, and it seemed odd not to talk with anyone for more than an hour while in Ireland. So I made it a point to
talk with the two American college students across from me; they were from Maine and New Hampshire, respectively, studying in Cork for a semester and heading to Dingle for the day. We talked about where else in Ireland they'd like to go and about Dublin. I told them that a lot of people had told me to go to Dublin, but that I wasn't too keen on it, and that I had a few extra days to go somewhere but I hadn't decided where yet. They asked if I'd been to Galway yet, and said they hadn't either but had heard good things. We basically continued the converstation until the bus stopped, which was by far more fun than sitting in silence.
But the best part happened after I got up and told them to "Have fun," as I was leaving the bus. I stopped outside on the bench to pull out my map of Dingle. Then I hear someone behind me say, "Do you need help finding something?" I turned around, and there was the hark-haired boy from the bus that was sitting behind me, offering to help. He said he is from Ireland and just seemed so
friendly and nice that I didn't feel weird telling him where I was going. He gave me excellent directions and said he'd overheard me talking about Dublin on the bus; that he wouldn't recommend it himself, but that I'd have "the time of my life" in Galway, and to go there. Galway is obviously calling my name; I'll need to answer that call. He wished me well and walked in the opposite direction of where he'd directed me to my hostel, so I figured he was kosher. It really struck me how those interactions happened. I was debating with myself to start the spark of converstation on the bus, but in the end I was shown that if you start a good thing, the universe will reward you with more good things, those that help you further than you could have expected. In those moments, there is no room or need for fear.
I checked into the Hideout Hostel in Dingle, and got room #8. There were 4 beds total in my room, and only one other was occupied when I arrived. I was a little hesitant about staying in hostels at first only because I really don't want
anything to get stolen, but I figured the risk would be worth it. The benefits of built-in interaction with other travelers was just too sweet of a deal to turn down.
After getting settled in the room I was absolutely starving--I've let myself get to the point of being really hungry a lot on this trip--but that's okay, it goes back to something that Jimmy the Tralee bike man said: that we always think about feeding the body, but we rarely take care to feed the soul. This green landscape and these kind faces around me have been helping me to feed my soul so much, showing me God in very basic ways. Less distraction, more soul-searching, more prayer. Talk about chicken soup for the workaholic soul. But here I'd let my outer shell starve, so I went to Murphy's pub on "The Strand" in Dingle and got chicken and mushroom soup with an egg mayo sandwich--egg mayos seem to be a big thing. It did the job fine, although the soup was too salty. The soup here is pureed as opposed to having chunks of vegetables or meat in them like I'm used to in the states. No watery base for soups here!
I then walked around Dingle, looking in stores and exploring. A few hours later I got some specialty organic ice cream at this other place (also called Murphy's, which the Washington family had told me about)--a scoop of Guinness and a scoop of Irish brown bread. I went back to the hostel to get cleaned up and went out again. By then it was 9:00 PM and it had started to rain with a mist, so I went to the closeby Paddy's restaurant bar at the Dingle Hotel. There I found the promise of music and good food. I sat at the bar and had prime seating for watching the musicians when they started. I made friends with the stocky, blue-eyed bartender named Peter, who recommended the Irish stew over the Irish casserole. I think he made a good choice: life-restoring and warm, with big chunks of lamb meat, potatoes, celery, and carrots, served with brown soda bread and butter. I had it with a half pint of nutty, dark Guinness. Yum.
Peter later convinced me to order another half pint, so I stayed and listened to music even after he had left for the night. He told me he would be back on Sunday and told me to stop in again then. It got loud and crowded as the night went on so I left, full and warm, into the cold mist coming off of Dingle bay.
Back at the hostel, I met my roommate Betsy. She is probably in her 50s, tall and large-boned but skinny, with shoulder-length grey hair and bangs. She is also from Washington state, like my B&B friends. We had a good talk about Irish music and life lived bravely. There seem to be lots of single, middle-aged ladies traveling alone. Maybe I'm just getting it out of the way early; I think all those that I've met are just now trying solo travel for the first time.
I woke up after Betsy had left; late. I was not motivated enough to get up early in order to try to take a tour of the peninsula today (9/8). I felt like doing that would have been trying to fit things in, and that's when it's not so fun anymore and travel starts to feel like a chore. That, or it's just my excuse to be lazy. I couldn't tell.
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