walk to galway bay

I spent yesterday dropping in and out of coffee shops and pubs - relaxing, drinking coffee, writing emails, reading, and basically enjoying a day of accomplishing nothing. Starting next week, I'll also be working days at Ard Bia's Cafe. Until then, I don't work most evenings until six or seven. So, my days are spent in coffee shops around Galway. Working in the service industry undoubtedly results in you having a strange schedule.

Speaking of work, I remembered a story I wanted to share with you all. I worked last Saturday day at Nimmos for a party we were having upstairs - a group of 35 celebrating a 25th wedding anniversary. I work with a lady who speaks nearly perfect English, she just has a heavy French accent. Right as the group was sitting down, Geraldine told me she wanted me to describe the menu to the group because of her accent.

What?!

While I have no problem speaking in front of groups, this fact changes when I'm describing a menu that I'm still learning - babaganoush, grilled halloumi, confit fennel, etc. Lets just say these weren't common things I discussed in my work at Telefund for four years.

"Geraldine," I said, "I really think it'd be better for you to describe everything - even with your accent - I'm still learning the menu!"

Nope. It went okay, but I wasn't exactly excited. Funny enough, when I finished, a man in the party said, "In English now, please."

I decided yesterday evening I was going to go for a walk around Galway and take pictures of the city. I ended up walking to the bay. I decided to take a quick video ...

As I was putting my camera away, I was thinking it was strangely clear - though not warm - for a Galway winter day. As if on cue, it then began to rain for my twenty minute walk back to town. Why wouldn't it? I'm in Ireland.

cheers

"this is cool, guys"

I went for a run today. It had been some time since I last made it out. I was excited to have some sort of schedule upon my arrival to Galway. This schedule was thrown out of whack when I caught the Galway bug that seems to have inflicted nearly everyone I know in some way or another. Whenever I find myself on a run in Galway, I always seem to wish I had my camera.

The views from the shores of Galway bay are spectacular. There are scattered beaches along the sidewalk I run on. People are out with their kids in prams, or running, or walking their dogs. Small boats dot the bay. An occasional ship of some sort can be seen in the distance. The hills of County Clare are visible across the bay. Tonight, the sun was setting over the horizon. A truly beautiful site.

These runs also always provide me with the time to think. To reflect.

I'm amazed that it was nearly two and a half months ago that Brian and I first arrived in Galway. We were so new to Ireland - we'd been here less than a week. Who would have known the adventures we'd experience in the next 60 days? The ups and the downs of working for face2face. Getting lost on the sides of mountains. Hitching throughout the entire country. Brian leaving to work in the middle of nowhere on a salmon farm. Finding the most spectacular way to take in the Cliffs of Moher. Stumbling (not literally) into classic, little pubs, in small Irish villages. Meeting countless amazing people. And, drinking many a pint of Guinness (so maybe this was predictable).

A part of me is ready to get out of Ireland. Ready to be on the road again. Ready to not have connections to any town. Ready for the unknown.

The other part of me loves Ireland and isn't ready to leave. The part of me that is speechless at the views from Galway. The part of me that will miss the pedestrianized streets of Galway with their countless street performers. The part of me that loves the pub I'm sitting in with its views of the Galway docks. The part of me that will miss meeting truly unbelievable Irish people. Yet, to continue to do this, it's time I leave Galway. Lyndon and I were sitting in the reception area of The Massage Center (our living room / my bedroom) this afternoon, and he pointed out that he didn't think he had talked to one Irish person all day. Clearly, there are plenty of Irish people in Galway - but, as working travelers, we seem to associate with working travelers.

Regardless of whether or not I'm ready to leave Galway, I'm at the point where Brian and I need to figure out what the end of December is going to look like for us. We have to enter the UK by the 1st of January to activate our Blue Cards. We want to try and spend a couple days with our friend Cat in Spain at the end of the month too. Also, we hope to get to Edinburgh, Scotland, for the new year. I think the plan will be to somehow get from Ireland to Spain and then somehow get from Spain to Edinburgh. Activate our work permits, and bring in 2008 in an Edinburgh pub.

And then, who knows?

Brian was in town yesterday and today. He has since gone back to the Delphi, but I should let you all know he is extremely happy with his new job. It's perfect for him. He farms salmon. What does this include? I'm not entirely sure, though he could talk to you for hours about it. Lots of netting, lots of speeding up the process of natural selection (i.e. killing the non-native species of salmon that won't last through the winter), and the occasional digging out of a stream so the salmon can swim up it. Just up his alley, but definitely not up mine. The area around the Delphi estate is apparently unbelievably scenic and beautiful. If he sends me pictures, I'll post them for you all to see.

Last night, Brian and I were having a pint in a pub just up the road from my flat with our friend Emma from Australia. A cozy little pub with low ceilings, a fireplace, and a view of the docks. A wonderful place. We were talking and enjoying our pints of Guinness when the conversation somewhat subsided.

Emma then broke the silence and said, "This is cool, guys. What we're doing."

I asked, "What, enjoying our pints?"

"No. Living in Ireland. Traveling. Seeing the world."

How cool it is.

the massage center

I've moved out of the hostel. I'm now living in a massage parlor. What? Yes. I'm living with two friends from face2face and three girls from Canada in a massage parlor. They signed a lease on a flat and were supposed to move in last week. The tenants who ran the massage parlor were supposed to move out at the same time. Unfortunately, their new place isn't quite ready. So, until the middle of December, our flat serves as a massage parlor from 11 - 6.

Quite the story. It gets better. My bed is the couch in the living room. Said living room is actually the reception area of the massage center. I was on the couch sleeping yesterday when I heard the door open. A man walked into the living room (reception area) and asked, "Are you guys open?" The answer was, "No, it's Sunday." The door downstairs was somehow left open.

So, yeah. It's not ideal. But it's cheap and if nothing else makes for one hell of a story.

Oh, and the answer is, "I'm not yet sure." I've yet to find out whether or not we get discounted massages. I'm fairly certain this would be your next question.

ireland with the parents: pints, b&bs, and more pints

At long last, I have posted pictures from the week I spent traveling with my parents. We had a fantastic time. The craic was grand. I was thrilled to find my parents loved the country as much as I do.

Ireland is an addictive place. It's a beautiful country filled with brilliant and kind-hearted people. As someone my mother met said, "If the Irish were any more laid back, they'd be horizontal."

I must give most of the credit for the below pictures to my mother. She acted as our photographer for most of the week. This is evident as most of the pictures include my dad and I. She took heaps of pictures and below I've posted my favorites from the week. There are plenty, so feel free to look at some, read my comments, and stop back later to view the rest.

This is me leaving the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) station in Howth. I met my parents early Saturday morning. Notice my enormous backpack. As the days pass, I'm not loosing luggage, but gaining more. Namely, a tent and a daypack (thanks Bec!).


The harbor in Howth. Howth (pronounced Howt) is essentially a suburb northeast of Dubin.


Our first pints of Guinness. Plenty more were to be had over the next week. By one or two each day, we were ready for our 'Guinness Stop' at whatever local pub we came across. Drinking, a way of life in Ireland. It's okay though, because Guiness is good for you. Seriously. The only morning we struggled with a hangover was the morning after the only night we drank anything but Guinness. The last night my parents were in the country, we had a bottle of red wine with dinner. Next morning? Headaches. One point Guinness.


Our first scenic stop. Glendalough (The Glen of Two Lakes) in the Wicklow Mountains of County Wicklow.


Dad and I at the Blarney Castle in County Cork.


Blarney Castle. Notice Dad's eyes are closed. You will find this to be a common theme in his pictures...


Dad, kissing the Blarney Stone. "There is a stone there, That whoever kisses, oh he never misses, to grow eloquent."








Dad and I at Charles Fort outside of Kinsale. An impressive site, this star shaped fort was built in the 17th century.


One of our many Guinness stops.














Mom and I outside of a bar / bed & breakfast we stayed at one night.


Oh, it looks like we should go ... These sign posts are a common site in Ireland. In more rural areas, you often can't even rely on the directions they provide. Be it wind or teenagers, the signs often point in the wrong direction.








beautiful


Sheep (in case you didn't know). Plenty of sheep in Ireland. The vast majority of them have colors dyed into their wool. Why? We're not entirely sure. In Cong, we met a young man at a pub who was a farmer. My mother asked him why some of the sheep have purple or other colors dyed into their wool. "No ma'am, we don't have no purple sheep in Ireland." He wasn't the smartest lad in the pub, to say the least.


A spacious, country road. Plenty of room to meet oncoming traffic.


View from the Ring of Kerry.


Ring of Kerry.


Behind us, you see the remains of some old fortification. A castle? A monastic site? I don't remember. The amount history in Ireland is fascinating. Everywhere you look, there are remains of an ancient building of some sort.





In the distance you can see the Skellig Islands.


closed eyes.


Skellig Michael. We took an hour long boat ride to the Skelligs with the hope of spending the afternoon there. Unfortunately, the seas had other plans. It was too rough to land.


By the time we got back, my jeans were soaked (and remained this way for the next five days).


pints


Looking quite American in my plaid, colorful, shorts and chacos.


A castle outside of Doolin. We took a shortcut on the way from the Rink of Kerry to Doolin. Mom was convinced we were lost. Fair assumption, as we were traveling down roads through cattle fields that were getting smaller, and smaller. But, she was wrong.





Enjoying a pint in Doolin.





A great trad session. We had brilliant luck with finding some wonderful traditional Irish music. It's hit or miss, but the best sessions are impromptu, with locals showing up throughout the night.


The beginning of our hike from Doolin to the Cliffs of Moher. We left on a cold, wet morning. Not twenty minutes into our hike, Dad stepped into a cow pie and Mom a boggy puddle. We took an indirect route to the Cliffs - along the way, we dodged many cow pies, attempted to avoid the bogs, and ducked under electric fences. Only with me in Ireland.











Midway through the hike. A lunch break of sandwiches, crisps, and red wine.

















Dad peering over the edge of a six hundred foot cliff. What?!

















A small fishing village. Roundstone. This picture was taken mid-morning. Probably around 10. Low tide. Notice the red boat.


The same boat at around 5pm. High tide. According the fishermen we talked with, at this time of year, there is a sixteen foot vertical change in the tides. Fascinating.


Said fisherman, weighing the day's catch of shrimp.


Pints in Roundstone.





View from 'Sky Road' in the Connemara. The night before we headed north to the Connemara, we met an old, drunk, lobster fisherman in a pub in Spiddel. We asked him about the Sky Road. "Oh, it's a beautiful sight to see. Yes, the Sky Road, it brings tears to my eyes just to tink about it.'








On the way to the Aran Islands. We spent the day on Innishmore, the largest of the three islands off the coast of Galway (8miles x 3miles). The island is inhabited by few and provides the ideal setting to spend the day biking along its beaches, walking along its cliffs, and taking in its peaceful beauty. Unless, of course it blows and rains all day long ...


... which it did.











Innishmore is covered with miles and miles of stone fences.


On our bikes, more stone fences behind us.


There isn't anything too special about this picture, other than the story that lies behind it. For as beautiful as the island was, we picked a horrible day to bike around it. It was cold. It was rainy. It was windy. By the end of the day, Dad was a bit frustrated. In addition to the weather, we did a fare amount of biking - it really did seem like we biked slightly uphill the entire day. I didn't mind, but it may have been a little too much exercise for dad considering we were on holiday. So, you can see Dad's a bit perturbed in this picture. To be fair, I was somewhat stressed as I had to make a decision on working for face2face or not. But, then dad had the audacity to say, "You seem a bit surly." Dad, you were the surly one! Anyway, this was moments after.





Empty kegs strewn about the pub


The view behind our b&b in Cong.











The grounds of the Ashfurd Castle outside of Cong. This 13th Century castle was once owned by the Guinness family and now serves as a luxury hotel.





We didn't have a chance to go inside, but you can see the place is class.







The last day my parents were in Ireland, we hiked Crough Patrick (seen in the background). Located just outside of Westport in County Mayo, this 2,510 foot mountain is climbed by some 20,000+ religious pilgrims each year (many barefoot). Saint Patrick is said to have fasted at the summit for forty days and forty nights.





Matthew and Mark at the summit (not pictured here, Luke and John)

I hope you enjoyed the pictures. Mom and Dad, thank you again for a wonderful week.