Days 11-13: Here come the tourists are there any Irish people in Galway?

---

Now, THIS is where the hills of Armagh really killed us - it’s as hard to drag rolling bags downhill as it is uphill, in my experience. The people of Armagh like to wave at you from cars and sidewalks as you cart your bags through the streets (hills) but won’t offer to help. I don’t blame them. We stopped off for some delicious breakfast bagels at the Bagel Bean and arrived at the bus station for our trip to Galway. This was to be our longest journey yet, over 5 hours, with a change in Athlone on the way to Galway. At our stop in Athlone, I went to use the washroom and was rather stunned when a young man followed me right into the ladies room. After he was corrected by a woman in the washroom (my voice wasn’t working, apparently), I noticed that the door of the washroom said Ladies/Mna, so I figured he read Mna, which is the Irish for woman, as Man. Aww, poor guy.

Our bus from Athlone to Galway was the most crowded yet - it was the only time Jenn and I had to sit with strangers. All other times, we had whole blocks of seats to ourselves. It started to rain when we were about half an hour away from Galway, and I willed it to stop, but it was not to be. I had directions to our hostel, Sleepzone, but didn’t spot the building I was looking for until we had made 3 absolutely soaking wet trips around Eyre Square. We finally found it, and were pleased to see that our little room had a skylight. Good thing it did, too, cause it certainly didn’t have any other windows. The skylight was low enough to open and close, so we made good use of it during our stay, including the taking of a “Look at me, I’m a giant as tall as the sky” picture. Our hostel also had a computer room with free internet access (woohoo!) and a free ‘breakfast’, which consisted of toast, orange juice, tea and coffee.

I actually don’t recall eating our first couple of days in Galway, probably because we just grabbed sandwiches and whatnot from the Spar and bunkered down in our room - both of our colds were at their worst at this point. In fact, Jenn would wake me up coughing at least 3 times a night. These were loud, hack-your-lungs-out coughs too. One morning, I commented that it’d be nice for both of us when her cough was gone since we were both having rough nights, and she shot back “Yeah, I can tell when you wake up because you stop snoring.” Alright, alright, one point for Jenn. I wasn’t coughing at this point, but my throat felt pretty rough and my nose was a fountain. Plus, the aforementioned rain was still lashing down, so a quiet night in reading was just the ticket.

The next morning, we enjoyed our toast and OJ, and then headed out for a tour of the Burren and Cliffs of Moher with O’Neachtain’s Tours. We really lucked out with our guide here - his name was Desmond Murray, and he was just a gem. Even though he was old enough to be a grandpa, (or maybe even a great grandpa), Desmond’s flirting skills were as sharp as ever. He had an unusual way of speaking too, repeating the same thing in a different way 3 times: “Next, we’ll be stopping at the Ailwee Caves. The Ailwee Caves are our next stop. Next stop is at the Ailwee Caves.” We loved it, and adopted it ourselves from time to time. Jenn had bought a leprechaun Christmas ornament in Dublin and now christened him ‘Desmond.’ Awww.

During the first portion of the tour, we enjoyed the views of Galway Bay and of the Burren - a unique, limestone landscape which some say looks like the surface of the moon. Flowers and other plants poke through the cracks in the stone, creating an interesting contrast between barrenness and life. True to Desmond’s earlier word, we did stop at the Ailwee Caves, which allows you to explore the landscape of the Burren from an underground perspective and which housed cave bears thousands of years ago. Jenn and I opted to do the tour, even though I was a little wary of the whole ‘closed in’ issue. The first part was the worst, most narrow bit, and it wasn’t really bad at all. I felt like I was in Canada in October, with 10 degree Celsius temperatures in the caves (it’s always 10 degrees down there, no matter what time of year). Both of us thoroughly enjoyed the tour, and amused ourselves by poking fun at the poor 6’5” guy who had to duck down the whole time and by taking “Ah, the caves are closing in on me” pictures. After that stop, it was off for a quick photo opportunity at the Poulnabrone Dolmen, which is an ancient stone tomb where uncremated remains and items such as an axe, a pendant and arrowheads were found, and then to our main stop at the Cliffs of Moher. On the way to the Cliffs, we passed by Leamaneh Castle, the ruined castle home of the infamous Maire Rua (Red Mary), a woman who may or may not have murdered her husband. At this point, Desmond, who had asked me my name earlier but heard it wrong, told the other people on the bus to stay away from the Canadian girl with red hair, cause I might throw them off the top of a castle. He then christened me ‘Sara Rua’. Oh that Desmond, such a card. He also told us a million times in a million different ways how he wanted to get the Cliffs done before stopping for lunch since it was going to rain.

I was prepared for all the construction (they’re building a visitor’s centre) at the Cliffs, so it didn’t bother me. With memories of the walk to the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge dancing in my head, I was dreading a strenuous walk here, but it wasn’t bad at all. We took the obligatory “Ah, I’m falling off the cliffs” pictures at the little “Don’t fall off the cliffs” sign, and then walked up further to enjoy the view. Really breathtaking. We perched ourselves on a stone fence well back from the edge and just enjoyed the view with the wind whipping through our hair. I could have stayed for awhile, but alas, my stomach disagreed and so did Desmond. Off we went to the tiny village of Doolin (they don’t even have an ATM) for lunch at Gus O’Connor’s pub. You know, I can’t even remember what I ate here, but I do remember that it was tasty. Another place where there’s just room after room after room to explore - apparently, they have great traditional music sessions in the evening. Jenn purchased a tweed hat in Doolin and I took a cute picture of her on a stone fence, wearing the hat, the vibrant green countryside in the background.

At this point, I’m thinking we get our best sleep on the way back from our day tours, so true to form, we both passed out on the bus, but were awoken by Desmond’s angelic (sarcasm alert) singing voice. We laughed as he tried to convince all the girls on the bus to go skinny-dipping with him (we declined, by the way), and returned to our hostel feeling worn out. We didn’t go out AGAIN tonight…two nights in a row…I felt like I was losing my touch. And in Galway of all places, which is supposed to have some great nightspots. Instead, we caught up on some journaling, read a bit and passed out pretty early. Oh, and Desmond? It never rained that day.

The next morning, we were determined to actually SEE some of Galway, so we ate our free toast and headed down to the High Street/Shop Street/Quay Street area to do some shopping. Jenn picked up a Claddagh ring and a really cute tweed jacket, and I got a backpack so I could lug around my ever-increasing pile of souvenirs. I also bought a really cute top at Dunnes that I’d wear at least once in every city left on our trip. That’s 5 times in 10 days, but hey, it doesn’t count if you’re in different cities. The fact that I managed not to spill anything on it is actually a minor miracle. We sat down for a Sweet Chili Chicken salad at a local café and both ate one bite before deciding it was pretty much the grossest salad ever and searching for something else. We decided on Fat Freddy’s on Quay Street and weren’t disappointed. Our pizzas were delicious, and definitely worth the wait, as it says on the menu. I gazed longingly at the Barnacles hostel across from Fat Freddy’s and noted how close it was to the action. Our hostel, while nice, was a bit of a hike to everything. I think we would have enjoyed Galway even more if we’d stayed in a slightly more central location like Barnacles.

A note here about the title of this entry - Galway is the first place where I really noticed the tourists. Or maybe not tourists, but other Europeans who live and work there. The Irish accents were few and far between. Interestingly (at least to me), we hadn’t seen/heard too many North Americans, even in Dublin. I’m sure the closer you stay to the city centre though, the more foreign accents you’ll hear.

We had been planning on taking a bus tour of the city on our last day in Galway, but the weather wasn’t very nice, and we were both sick as dogs, so we spent the afternoon lounging around and availing ourselves of the free internet facilities at the hostel. After a nap, we both felt rejuvenated and how could we not go out in Galway? Since the hostel has a strict no alcohol policy, we didn’t go to the off license beforehand. Swear. 😉
Our night started out at The Quays, a beautiful bar on Quay Street, of course. Inside, it looks like the inside of a church. Well, besides the toilet seat hanging from the ceiling, that is. A band was playing on one of the balconies, complete with Irish dancers, so we enjoyed that for a bit, while trying not to be distracted by the 50-something year old man that was asking random people to take his picture with other random people, all men. It was funny to observe how uncomfortable the ‘picturees’ would look, but they always complied with his request.

Outside on the patio, we started talking to some Australians (see, where are all the Irish people?), who had been victims of the picture-taker. I got to show off my knowledge of world capitals (Canberra!) and after a little while, we went over to a club called Cuba/903 on the corner of Eyre Square. We stuck around for a bit, watched some cool salsa dancing and then followed the crowds over to a club called Central Park on Abbeygate Street. This club had both the longest and fastest moving line I’ve ever seen in my life. The crowds at every bar inside were also three rows deep, and Jenn and I, being the nice, polite girls we are, weren’t aggressive enough to push our way through to the bar for drinks. I felt a little old and out of place here, but we eventually found some nice people to talk with, though we did end up leaving before the club closed (we ARE losing our touch!).

On the walk home, we got some interesting “Can I ask you one question?” questions. In order of oddness, they went from “Do you go to school here?” “Fancy a chat?” (shouted from the other side of the street) and “Have you ever gotten so drunk you can’t remember your own name?” Hmmm. We thought we were going to get another one from a drunk guy weaving his way down the sidewalk and staring us down, but we were rescued as he spotted a bicycle and started kicking it. Saved by the bike, as it were.

---

Comments

[Joelle]

Desmond?!
No way! Well, yes way, I guess, being that he *is* a tour bus driver and therefore other tourists have met him...my point being, I took the exact same tour as you last March and Dezzy was the guide! I'm pretty sure he was a leprechaun in another life... I went with my two cousins, both in their early twenties (I'm 17, by the way) and we sat right up front and had a blast. One of my cousins had been to Ireland two years before and had Desmond as her driver then, too. He claimed to remember her, but whether or not that was true, he did give us special treatment (as long as we all promised to name our firstborns Desmond or Desmarina). So, this is just cool! I realize I sound like an overzealous schoolgirl right now, but isn't Ireland the awesomest place on earth? Yeah...anyway. Talk to you later.

[WhatTheHell]

Desmond rules
Haha, that's awesome! Desmond certainly made the trip that much better. He's apparently won all kinds of awards for his tour too. Ireland is indeed the awesomest place on earth. I'd love to go back as soon as I can for another visit. Thanks for the comment :)