Ireland

On the 7th of November, the three of us headed to Dublin for a long weekend of Irish music and beer. In the duty free, Pete bought a bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey and we headed to the train station to go directly to the west coast. Once again, we lucked out with the weather and had five days of partly cloudy skies, which by Irish standards is probably considered clear skies (especially in the fall). It was 9:00 pm, on a Wednesday, when we walked down the main street of town to our hostel and there were loads of people coming and going from the Pubs that occupied every other building. Later that night after walking through town, Pete and I went into one of the more mellow Pubs where they had Irish music and had our first Guinness in Ireland. The last time I had a Guinness was in Austria with Gabe when I was 16 and if I remember correctly, we had to rush out of the bar because I threw up on the dance floor. Though it was an experience to laugh about, the second time around was physically more enjoyable. There were three young guys on the stage; one sitting and drumming on a box, another playing an array of Irish flutes, and the last played an acoustic guitar. The bar was only full enough to fill all the tables, and the demographic consisted of families and young adults all just sitting and listening before they got up later to dance. I could have mistaken any of those people for someone from Friends of the Deming Library. The flute playing was amazing and I was just surprised that even on a Wednesday, not only was there live music, but people of all ages were in attendance. At some point throughout the night I caught my first bit of Gaelic from the older people in the room (at which time I realized, though English is most common, I was once again in a country where the locals can talk about me and I won’t understand a word, marvelous).

In and around Galway, we visited a couple tourist sites. We went on a hiking tour of the Burren (Gealic for barren), endless rolling hills of limestone. The young guy who took us around was an archeologist who grew up on the land we trekked so he provided us with a brief history lesson. For instance, their was one stone wall that stretched straight up and over a mountain seemingly providing no purpose; however, he explained that during the Potato Famine, the English had the Irish build the wall in return for soup. The English didn’t want them to build actual infrastructure because then the French would be tempted to take over the Island as a military base to launch attacks on England. In addition to the endless walls of rock, there were many old abbeys that no longer in service, but still stood strong. In addition, we visited the enormous Cliffs of Moher, but couldn’t go out to the edge because the winds were so strong, coming from the East and West, that at one moment we couldn’t even walk then instantly we’d get thrust forward and almost fall on our faces. A Japanese tourist stood at the top and played his oboe into the wind while his girlfriend filmed it. The second of many times during my stay in Ireland that I wished I played an instrument. Despite the tourists and the time limit of our bus schedule, it was a very spiritual place. At many points in those three days, whether we were on the bus or walking along the coast, the taunting dark rain clouds blocking the sun would allow just enough room for rays of light to pour out onto the barren landscape (an event that made me realize why so many Irish are Catholic and musical inspiration seems very easy to come by). I don’t know if you could hear me, but I yelled to all of you from what seemed like the closest point to America in Europe.

Back in Dublin, we spent our days wondering the city and our nights drinking, singing and dancing in the popular Temple Bar District. At Trinity College, Pete and I viewed the most celebrated piece of art from the Dark Ages, the Books of Kells (elaborately decorated Gospels created by Irish monks). It is clear after seeing just one of the pages, which was almost all we saw, why Celtic knots are so revered by people the world over. We also visited Kilmainham Gaol, the historic jail used by the British to imprison and execute many Irish political revolutionists from the late 18th century on. An additional British occupation was in the Temple Bar District where boisterous English tourists fill the streets and Pubs for hen and stag parties. A popular song that I heard numerous times, and contributed to myself, was “Take Me Home Country Roads” by John Denver (even the tradition Irish musicians played it). At 12 pm on Saturday night, I surpassed all legal barriers by turning 21 years old. The nicest part about it was that I didn’t have to pay for anything all night.

It was a ‘grand’ initial experience in Ireland; however, when I return, I would like to be there for longer in the summer when everything is green and blooming, rent a car, and be with the people I love who love the Irish. Therefore, please inform me if you have the same intentions.
One day I will play the squeeze box just like that guy (please hold me to it).