No, I don't think so either. So I have opted to stay in and watch all three LOTR flicks (extended editions) as my NYE07. I am well supplied with starch, chocolate, and wine. I think I will be OK. :)
More in the new year, folks, I know I've been falling down on the blog lately, but I've been on vacation from pretty much everything but my new sofa.
Happy New Year! Be safe, have fun, drink one for auld lang syne in my stead ...
31 December 2007
17 December 2007
15 December 2007
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Well, folks, it's an historic evening here in the cg household. No, not because I'm at home on a Saturday night; no, I didn't cook anything special; and, unfortunately I didn't win buckets of money or wake up to discover that eight pounds had magically melted away (but wouldn't that be swell!).
This is the last night for the orange sofa.
I have a long history with the orange sofa: my friend Rachel bought it secondhand at a furniture store in Bloomington during graduate school (so I sat on it there too), and brought it up here to Chicago with her. When she got new furniture, she gave it to me. Dickson and his brother Mwai hauled it out of her house and up two flights of stairs into my Logan apartment, and that was pretty freaking awful; it is a for-reals Hide-A-Bed and weighs about a ton. So I've had it almost four years. Lots of my friends and family have slept on it; it's logged a lot of hours in front of my TV. I now pass it along to Lil Bit; maybe she can take it to graduate school with her and it can be the sofa that travels the US. If you're the praying sort, say a little prayer for us tomorrow at 2pm; Lil Bit's b-f and a friend of his are going to be moving it out of here and, well, here's hoping it all goes smoothly. I think I mentioned how heavy it is... yeah.
I ordered a new sofa today, Exhibit A:
Yeah, it would be nice if there was a photo sort of in situ, but what can you do. It's quite comfortable. Anyway, said sofa was a special order, and will have to be delivered ... so I don't know when it will be here, but you can expect a photographic update when it's all set, especially because I will have essentially an entirely new living room at that point. We had a big swap-o-rama in the family, and I now am the possessor of a chair & ottoman from my parents' house, along with their former TV (with surround sound! rock on!). I told you, it's kind of an exciting day here.
I think I'm going to go spend some time with my old orange friend before I send it along tomorrow.
This is the last night for the orange sofa.
I have a long history with the orange sofa: my friend Rachel bought it secondhand at a furniture store in Bloomington during graduate school (so I sat on it there too), and brought it up here to Chicago with her. When she got new furniture, she gave it to me. Dickson and his brother Mwai hauled it out of her house and up two flights of stairs into my Logan apartment, and that was pretty freaking awful; it is a for-reals Hide-A-Bed and weighs about a ton. So I've had it almost four years. Lots of my friends and family have slept on it; it's logged a lot of hours in front of my TV. I now pass it along to Lil Bit; maybe she can take it to graduate school with her and it can be the sofa that travels the US. If you're the praying sort, say a little prayer for us tomorrow at 2pm; Lil Bit's b-f and a friend of his are going to be moving it out of here and, well, here's hoping it all goes smoothly. I think I mentioned how heavy it is... yeah.
I ordered a new sofa today, Exhibit A:
Yeah, it would be nice if there was a photo sort of in situ, but what can you do. It's quite comfortable. Anyway, said sofa was a special order, and will have to be delivered ... so I don't know when it will be here, but you can expect a photographic update when it's all set, especially because I will have essentially an entirely new living room at that point. We had a big swap-o-rama in the family, and I now am the possessor of a chair & ottoman from my parents' house, along with their former TV (with surround sound! rock on!). I told you, it's kind of an exciting day here.I think I'm going to go spend some time with my old orange friend before I send it along tomorrow.
10 December 2007
A Country Lane
What with all the snow and ice we are getting in the Midwest this week, I thought I bit o' green might not be out of order. I'll try and post more later on about the weekend ...
07 December 2007
Home again, home again, jiggity jig
And [Samwise Gamgee] went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within; and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected. And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor on his lap.
He drew a deep breath. 'Well, I'm back,' he said.
--Chapter the last (The Grey Havens), Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien
No fire, and no evening meal laid out (sadly enough), but there was yellow light, and fresh pajamas, and sushi delivery, and my own home waiting for me when I arrived last night, and glad I was to see it (though if Rosie Cotton had been there with some nice stew and a little hobbit child, I'd have been glad enough for their company as well). I was thinking of this snippet quite a lot my last day or so; in fact, Middle Earth didn't seem so far away in Ireland, and anyway it's getting to be about the time of year where I feel an urge to re-read - Lord of the Rings is a winter story to me, a good tale for long nights and warm clothes and foul weather outside; and its ending fits in well with Christmas for me.
So here I am, There and Back Again, and I'm glad I went, and I'm glad to be home. Today, I'll tell you the tale of my tyre and the puncture (an Irish car and an Irish mishap deserve their native words, I deem).
On Monday, I got up and packed the car and took off for points west and north. After about a half-hour of roundabouts and neat little housing developments in the suburbs, the road narrowed (of course!) and the country changed pretty quickly. First, more pines and a greater sense of what I can only describe as wildness. Then, mountains in the distance, fewer trees and great wide fields of rolling hills and long grass, all brown and ochre, many rivers and lakes, with blue-black waters rushing fast. And the sheep! Sheep everywhere, just rambling around and eating; scattered across the hills, climbing craggy hillsides, popping up in the bushes along the edge of the road. I missed what would have been the best sheep photo ever because I was too slow - a group of three, one of which stood with back legs all akimbo and looking over its shoulder as if it had been interrupted doing something about which it was slightly ashamed. It was so funny.
I don't know if it was the time of year, the road itself, maybe just a blessing ... but there was nearly no traffic going my way which was a huge relief, as I could drive like a holiday-maker - that is to say, slowly, and pulling over when there was a place to pull off onto, and take photos. I came along through Clifden which was a cute little down worthy of a stop in future, I'd say, though I didn't (one disadvantage of a driving trip in winter, the early dark; and I believe I've already covered how I feel about driving after dark). The roads were full of hairpin curves, and as I was pointed eastward, back along the coastline and past the Twelve Bens, rains began to roll through again. In a clear patch, I stopped briefly at Connemara National Park, to which I'd dearly love to return with others (the other disadvantage of traveling alone: some things seem a bit imprudent for a woman, alone, in a place she doesn't know; hiking back along a deserted trail seems one of them). Simply gorgeous. Shortly after I passed Kylemore Abbey, which sits picture perfect on Lough Kylemore ... and about which the guidebooks say, skip the interior, nothing to see there. Being that it was too late for their gardens as well, I did take the advice though I sheltered from a bit of a pour in the gift shop, which was having a sale, so that worked out well. They had some nice items which some of you will be seeing presently.
After that, the road goes east in earnest and along to the village of Leenane (emphasis on nane), where I had a lovely bowl of vegetable soup and brown bread in a little pub, near the fireplace. I never liked what they called Irish soda bread here in the states, it was always rather hard and unpleasant; but I believe it's striving for the brown bread I experienced while there, and that is just so good. Kind of a crunchy crust, and a nice medium between soft bread and having a bit of body ... tastes like real food, like it came from the earth, and just lovely with butter. I miss it already.
It was after that, in my possibly too-complacent state brought on by a full stomach and a warm car, that my troubles struck. Coming along the Westport road, the number of curves increased a bit, if that was even possible, and rain blew in again, but in earnest this time. I was taken a bit by surprise by a sharpish turn - there may have been someone coming the other way, I don't recall, but that would explain me getting a bit too close on the left side - and in any case, we had a bit of slippage on the back passenger side, followed by a loud and distinct thumping. Yeah. Shit. Remember, I'm still on a longish curve on an extremely narrow road which is, to me, essentially in the middle of nowhere. No village, no people, just fields and mountains and sheep and a lot of rain. And absolutely no manuals at all in the car despite the fact that the jack directed one to look for instructions. Well, my dad showed me how to change a tire when I started driving, but that was about 15 years ago, and not in a foreign country on the other side of the road all by myself. After a moment or two I pulled myself together and pulled round to a driveway - dark house, closed gate. No joy there. Ignoring the ominous thumping, and trying not to think about the effect on the sporty, low profile rims of my Fiesta (yes, that's right - does a Fiesta need to be sporty? is it even possible?! why bother then? especially in a country which is mostly two lane tracks with no shoulder to speak of?), I pulled up and along a bit of a hill to another cottage I saw, which had a car in front of it. Hope cautiously revived.
Bless them, they answered the door. Middle aged Patsy was there to check on her very elderly mother (who certainly wouldn't have been able to get up to answer my knock, nor to be of help with a punctured tyre) and had been just about to leave. Thank God I caught her. She too felt useless with a jack and tyre change, so she got out her mother's black address book and took to calling the neighbors: first Pat (not at home), then Michael. Ten minutes later, here came Michael along the road on his (bi-)cycle, in knee high wellies, a picture-perfect Irish farmer. We diagnosed the problem and he changed my tyre for me. He was a man of few words but we had a laugh over silly American girls who drive about in the country and then can't change their own tyres - I did do a bit of thinking about how independence is all relative. I thanked him profusely, and he waved me off, and went in to have a bit of tea and a visit with the old lady while I went on my way.
Happily the rental company provided the car with an actual tire as a spare, and not one of those temporary, 'donut' spares. Another 45 minutes saw me into Westport and the nicest hotel of this trip - actually, perhaps of a good many of my trips. I've never been so pleased to see a jacuzzi bath and king size bed.
Thank you Michael, and thank you Patsy, for your kindness to a stranger; I don't know your last names, or your addresses, so this thank you card is the best I can do. God bless you! I can only hope to be in the right place at the right time, with a willing heart to help someone else in future.
06 December 2007
Words to the wise
A few lessons learned on this trip to Ireland while they're fresh in my mind, as I sit here enjoying the free wireless in the Shannon Airport departures area ...
Time to go. Later taters.
- Do not on any account forget your travel clock or a watch. No room I stayed in had an actual clock - only at the Westport Plaza was there a display of the time, and that was part of the flat screen TV.
- Consider GPS if you are going to do a lot of driving, or at least spend some time mapping out the routes and be sure to note town names along the way; several times I came upon an unexpected junction and just had to work out by process of elimination what to do.
Which brings me to ... - Signage. Sometimes, there's so much and yet it tells you nothing. Other times (more frequently) there's none. At all. Until the instant you are supposed to turn/merge/yield/etc and then it's the size of a postage stamp. I did quite a bit of looping around.
- This probably goes without saying, but the importance of rain gear (at least during the time of year I have been here) cannot be overestimated.
Time to go. Later taters.
04 December 2007
Luxury
What is luxury? I begin to think it must be relative. I'm going to stop with the travelogue postings just for the moment and fast forward to something I've been mulling over this afternoon.
It's only in the last couple or three years where I have been at a place which allows me to consider, and occasionally obtain, what I might consider luxurious. This is not to say the world was a vale of tears before, or that I was raised on a shoestring and a crust of bread you understand, but simply that a) I hadn't really had a lot of opportunity to travel; and b) whether at home or away, my situation was - while not desperate - tight enough that focusing on the necessities and on economy was generally the order of the day.
I doubt spendthrift is a word almost anyone who knows me might use in describing me; still, I like nice things (who doesn't?) and the older I get, the more I notice, especially when traveling.
I guess the point of this is to say, I am so grateful that I have reached a place in my life where I can stay at a nice hotel. Funny, up until just recently, the words 'stay' and 'sleep' would have been interchangeable in that sentence. You check into a hotel, you leave your stuff, you sleep there, and you go and do whatever it was you came to do all day. The idea of coming to a really nice hotel, where you could not only check in, leave your stuff, sleep there, and go and do whatever ... which also includes, staying around the hotel - this is an almost entirely new and amazing concept to me. I happily achieved a similar state of affairs in my home (as an adult anyway) just in the last three years: I love my apartment. I love Chicago too, but I love to be at home. I like to dwell there. One of the meanings of dwell is to linger.
Today I woke up pretty early, and pottered around in my room for a while, blogged verbosely away, went down for breakfast. Then I decided I should really go outside while the weather was better to see the town - so I did a little 5k loop around towards Clew Bay and back in along what we'd call a Rails to Trails line in the States. I popped in and out of some stores, got hungry, decided to go for lunch... back at my hotel. In the very comfortable bar area, I had some lovely soup, watched it rain outside, thought how glad I was to have snug wireless and tasty brown bread. Went up to my room and just relaxed. I enjoyed my meal in the hotel restaurant so much last night, I'm going back tonight ... I know there are other places to eat here but I am just really loving dwelling in this super nice hotel. So easy. (And, the other place I thought of trying has decamped all the way down at the Quay, where I walked this morning; it's rainy, it's windy, that's too far).
Is this what people do when they go on vacation? I'm not sure I've taken many vacations where the whole point was to ramble, do nothing and eat. I believe I have been applying my Protestant work ethic to my holidays all these years.
[NB: Another illustration/point I meant to include about the difference between sleeping and staying ... when you sleep somewhere it's usually because you don't want to hang around there during the day, for whatever reason. My first apartment in Chicago: way small. Didn't really want to hang around all the time. The B&B I was just at: certainly clean, and just fine, but not really a destination in and of itself. As a result I felt sort of thrust out into the city, which puts a certain amount of pressure on the place to 'perform' for me, I must say -- Keep me happy! Give me a place to sit! etc.]
It's only in the last couple or three years where I have been at a place which allows me to consider, and occasionally obtain, what I might consider luxurious. This is not to say the world was a vale of tears before, or that I was raised on a shoestring and a crust of bread you understand, but simply that a) I hadn't really had a lot of opportunity to travel; and b) whether at home or away, my situation was - while not desperate - tight enough that focusing on the necessities and on economy was generally the order of the day.
I doubt spendthrift is a word almost anyone who knows me might use in describing me; still, I like nice things (who doesn't?) and the older I get, the more I notice, especially when traveling.
I guess the point of this is to say, I am so grateful that I have reached a place in my life where I can stay at a nice hotel. Funny, up until just recently, the words 'stay' and 'sleep' would have been interchangeable in that sentence. You check into a hotel, you leave your stuff, you sleep there, and you go and do whatever it was you came to do all day. The idea of coming to a really nice hotel, where you could not only check in, leave your stuff, sleep there, and go and do whatever ... which also includes, staying around the hotel - this is an almost entirely new and amazing concept to me. I happily achieved a similar state of affairs in my home (as an adult anyway) just in the last three years: I love my apartment. I love Chicago too, but I love to be at home. I like to dwell there. One of the meanings of dwell is to linger.
Today I woke up pretty early, and pottered around in my room for a while, blogged verbosely away, went down for breakfast. Then I decided I should really go outside while the weather was better to see the town - so I did a little 5k loop around towards Clew Bay and back in along what we'd call a Rails to Trails line in the States. I popped in and out of some stores, got hungry, decided to go for lunch... back at my hotel. In the very comfortable bar area, I had some lovely soup, watched it rain outside, thought how glad I was to have snug wireless and tasty brown bread. Went up to my room and just relaxed. I enjoyed my meal in the hotel restaurant so much last night, I'm going back tonight ... I know there are other places to eat here but I am just really loving dwelling in this super nice hotel. So easy. (And, the other place I thought of trying has decamped all the way down at the Quay, where I walked this morning; it's rainy, it's windy, that's too far).
Is this what people do when they go on vacation? I'm not sure I've taken many vacations where the whole point was to ramble, do nothing and eat. I believe I have been applying my Protestant work ethic to my holidays all these years.
[NB: Another illustration/point I meant to include about the difference between sleeping and staying ... when you sleep somewhere it's usually because you don't want to hang around there during the day, for whatever reason. My first apartment in Chicago: way small. Didn't really want to hang around all the time. The B&B I was just at: certainly clean, and just fine, but not really a destination in and of itself. As a result I felt sort of thrust out into the city, which puts a certain amount of pressure on the place to 'perform' for me, I must say -- Keep me happy! Give me a place to sit! etc.]
How slow?
I love this! I was so glad I got to go back on foot and document. A lot of information is made available via the pavement. I saw one series, rather like the Burma Shave ads, 'SLOW' 'SLOWER' 'VERY SLOW' ... but this takes the cake.
the Tig Coili
The guy who took this fancied up the color a bit, but it is bright red. You can see Taaffe's there in the center right of the background.
Sláinte
On Sunday afternoon, following my chat with the singular garbageman (doesn't that sound like a Sherlock Holmes story? 'The Case of the Singular Garbageman'), I walked along to the Cathedral and past there to the University of Galway, then back around towards the Old Spanish Arch, a relic of a visit of Columbus in 1477, or so they believe. I rattled around here and there until just on 2pm, when I had read that there would be a traditional music session in one of the bars along what you might call the main drag.
There are several bars, of course - more like many, really - but two of the better known in the pedestrian town center are just about right across from each other: Taaffe's and Tig Coili. I'll post a photo of each presently if I can find a good one on Flickr. So it was Tig Coili that had the session at 2pm, and Taaffe's had one going at 5pm ... based on my experience the previous day, when I had popped into Tig Coili just at the tail end of a session which had lasted about an hour or 90 minutes all told, I figured I might go from one to the other. One of my high priorities on this trip was to hear some live traditional music and I hadn't managed to do so yet, so I felt I had some time to make up. I stuck my head in to confirm that there really would be someone playing, and also got some tips from the bartender on where to grab something to eat; I've not been training for afternoons spent drinking, particularly with no lunch, and I don't like hangovers during the day (even worse when they are the result of one measly pint! pathetic). So, I nipped around the corner to the crepe man, who was very pleasant, and whose son (about 8 or 10, I think) peppered me with questions, my favorite of which was: Can you tell me any words in American? On short notice the best I could come up with was boot/trunk and vacation/holidays.
Went back into the bar (by now it's about 2:15) and snagged a barstool just at the turn, which is a good place to be as you then have something to anchor yourself to, if it becomes necessary. The musicians started around 2:30 ('You know how musicians are,' said the bartender, 'they just show up when they like and they start when they please.') ... and at 6:45 I left.
I kept thinking to myself, well, I'll leave when they finish, it's just too good to leave before that, and they just kept playing and playing, until nearly 6:30. Outside it rained and rained, and it was chilly, but in the bar it was quite pleasant. And so I sat there, for a long time, and enjoyed myself immensely, doing nothing really. I paid for not one drink, the whole long afternoon:
After I pried myself off the barstool, I went down the way to a restaurant Jason had described as 'cheap and cheerful' to get a bit of dinner, though after the Guinness I didn't feel so hungry. At the door, there was a menu and myself and a man sort of arrived at the same time to investigate it. He was a bit older, greyish-white hair, and a full beard, and was after bacon and cabbage. There was no bacon and cabbage listed, but he went in anyway to inquire, and I went in to eat. It was a small place, with a funny L shaped table going around a corner, at which we were both sat ... so we basically ended up eating together. Turns out his name was Nick, and he had been one of the musicians who'd just been playing at Tig Coili (I knew he looked familiar!) He was full of yarns, a real talker, and I think he needed an ear - perhaps four hours of talking was pent up from all that playing. He'd just had a drink with Ray Manzarek's son (of Doors fame) ... anyway, it was a trip. And then, when I got up to go (he was in no hurry, I got the feeling; the vast amount of beef in my stew made laying down ASAP imperative as total shutdown was imminent) he insisted on paying my bill. I have his address and I am supposed to send him a Christmas card.
What a day! Goodness. Just wait until you hear about Monday.
There are several bars, of course - more like many, really - but two of the better known in the pedestrian town center are just about right across from each other: Taaffe's and Tig Coili. I'll post a photo of each presently if I can find a good one on Flickr. So it was Tig Coili that had the session at 2pm, and Taaffe's had one going at 5pm ... based on my experience the previous day, when I had popped into Tig Coili just at the tail end of a session which had lasted about an hour or 90 minutes all told, I figured I might go from one to the other. One of my high priorities on this trip was to hear some live traditional music and I hadn't managed to do so yet, so I felt I had some time to make up. I stuck my head in to confirm that there really would be someone playing, and also got some tips from the bartender on where to grab something to eat; I've not been training for afternoons spent drinking, particularly with no lunch, and I don't like hangovers during the day (even worse when they are the result of one measly pint! pathetic). So, I nipped around the corner to the crepe man, who was very pleasant, and whose son (about 8 or 10, I think) peppered me with questions, my favorite of which was: Can you tell me any words in American? On short notice the best I could come up with was boot/trunk and vacation/holidays.
Went back into the bar (by now it's about 2:15) and snagged a barstool just at the turn, which is a good place to be as you then have something to anchor yourself to, if it becomes necessary. The musicians started around 2:30 ('You know how musicians are,' said the bartender, 'they just show up when they like and they start when they please.') ... and at 6:45 I left.
I kept thinking to myself, well, I'll leave when they finish, it's just too good to leave before that, and they just kept playing and playing, until nearly 6:30. Outside it rained and rained, and it was chilly, but in the bar it was quite pleasant. And so I sat there, for a long time, and enjoyed myself immensely, doing nothing really. I paid for not one drink, the whole long afternoon:
- First, a pint of Bullmer's, an Irish cider, bought by a big, cheery gentleman two seats down in the bar (missing both his front teeth; I'm guessing rugby) who never really said two words to me, just smiled a lot and occasionally winked when something transpired which merited a wink;
- Second, a bottle of some other kind of cider - Swedish, I think, and not unpleasant but rather light and sweet for the weather ... it was one of those things where you make conversation with the bartender about cider, he shows you something and you wind up trying it, more out of an effort to be amiable than anything... anyway, the cider was bought by my next door neighbor, another big man whose name I can't recall, but who I am thinking of as Bob. I don't feel bad about not remembering his name because he told me he was terrible at names, and would definitely have forgotten mine by the next day. Though rather dour to start, and a man of few words in the best of situations as far as I could tell, Bob and I also covered the US and Ireland, spec. Galway (of course), the weather, Canada (his friend's wife is Canadian), and Irish dance; all this in bibs and bobs, over a period of about three hours. Bob seemed convinced that the bartender had taken a shine to me (nice to know you can rely on something), and offered as evidence...
- A bottle of sparkling water (pacing myself, I was) tossed in gratis by Jason, the aforementioned bartender, who in his in-between moments (not many, it was pretty busy) pulled up to my end of the bar to chat. Further evidence offered by Bob of Jason's preference included the fact that Jason told me his name (Bob had been there longer; no introductions for him), and, possibly most spuriously, that he (Jason) didn't like him (Bob) because he (Bob) had bought me a drink. It was all rather droll, however it might sound here. If Bob were hoping for some other outcome from this gambit, it was unsuccessful. Jason's commentary was a bit more free-flowing and substantive, probably a good thing for a barman (he is apparently also working on a degree in environmental science, whereas I got the impression Bob was not what you might call a university man), and he sort of reminded me of someone, but I'm not sure who - embarrassingly, a taller and bigger Bono comes to mind. I'm sure that comparison will come back to haunt me later. Maybe it was the pitch of his voice or his accent. I don't know. Turns out Bob was right as the offer of a drink 'later' was slid across the table, as it were, but it was a bit vague (understandable, being that he was on duty at the time) and our paths didn't cross again. I was sorry, because he was friendly and kind, and not pushy or creepy as bartenders often can be, especially to young ladies travelling unaccompanied; and he'd lived several places in Ireland and had a sister in Australia ... seemed as if he'd have good stories;
- Fourth and fifth, two glasses (half pints) of Guinness, fronted by Michael, a perfect image of an elderly Irishman. I could have put him in my pocket: rather short, with red cheeks, white hair, and sporting a tie, sweater vest and coat, Michael took over the seat Bob had vacated. He was a foreman at the docks and used to bring in the big ships, 7-10 ton ships, although apparently those aren't that big because there are other bigger ones which would have to anchor off-shore and be unloaded. Michael had several children, all of whom were engineers (good for them!); and we talked a bit about them, about the new drinking/driving limits in Ireland and how it's led to many a country bar closing up, where to go in Mayo, and his relationship with Guinness (apparently they've got some loyal customer thing here where they send you a calendar that has a coupon for a free pint on every month). A single free pint a month was pretty funny to both of us. He also taught me some Gaelic -- slainte, which you probably all have heard, it means 'health' and Go mbeire muid beo ar an am seo aris, which means 'may we be alive this time next year'. I enjoyed talking to him immensely.
After I pried myself off the barstool, I went down the way to a restaurant Jason had described as 'cheap and cheerful' to get a bit of dinner, though after the Guinness I didn't feel so hungry. At the door, there was a menu and myself and a man sort of arrived at the same time to investigate it. He was a bit older, greyish-white hair, and a full beard, and was after bacon and cabbage. There was no bacon and cabbage listed, but he went in anyway to inquire, and I went in to eat. It was a small place, with a funny L shaped table going around a corner, at which we were both sat ... so we basically ended up eating together. Turns out his name was Nick, and he had been one of the musicians who'd just been playing at Tig Coili (I knew he looked familiar!) He was full of yarns, a real talker, and I think he needed an ear - perhaps four hours of talking was pent up from all that playing. He'd just had a drink with Ray Manzarek's son (of Doors fame) ... anyway, it was a trip. And then, when I got up to go (he was in no hurry, I got the feeling; the vast amount of beef in my stew made laying down ASAP imperative as total shutdown was imminent) he insisted on paying my bill. I have his address and I am supposed to send him a Christmas card.
What a day! Goodness. Just wait until you hear about Monday.
Shelter
Picking up my story with Sunday, which would be the third day of my trip ...
Having slept much better on Saturday night than on Friday, I felt quite a bit more cheery on Sunday (not to say that I was blue on Saturday, but rather tired, a little stressed from the driving and getting lost, and with my eating disrupted. If you know me well, you'll know that the great revelation of my solo trip in summer 2003 was that relatively regular eating, drinking and sleeping are necessary for me to keep things on an even keel. This doesn't mean I can't travel, it just means I am wise to watch it and not over- or under-do things particularly on trips). Another advantage of being anywhere a second day is that you get a sense of the rhythms of that place, and such. Apparently the storms I was experiencing on Saturday (as my little car was rained, and then sleeted upon), along with the rest of the West of Ireland, were quite unusual and extreme. There was even a lightning storm over the bay, which I'm sorry to say I missed seeing. Imagine the pictures! And, I gather from my B&B host, they nearly never get lightning or thunder. In fact, there was a feature in Monday's paper about some guys surfing some huge waves off the coast of Donegal (it seems there is a man doing a documentary about Irish surfing). On Sunday things had evened out a bit though there was intermittent rain: 15-30 minutes of rain, followed by 30-60 minutes of clear skies. You can actually just watch the rain clouds blow in off the sea, and see the clear skies as the cloudbreaks sweep over as well. Armed with this knowledge, it's much easier to stay dry and warm, and thus, happy. Finally knowing the signs of imminent showers, I'd cut and take cover anywhere that seemed reasonable until it blew over, which seemed to be the practice of most folks; a rain jacket and an umbrella are all well and good, but the winds were very strong and getting soaked seemed an inevitability if you insisted on walking around in the open.
Sometimes these destinations were more sustainable than others. My first shelter was the colonnade of the High Court building (closed as it was Sunday). While I waited out the rain, a garbage truck pulled up to the curb. The driver set the flashers and walked over to check the municipal bin in the courtyard right in front of me. He then proceeded over to me and remarked, "There'll be no court today. They're closed for Sunday" -- which I think was his opening to start into what was clearly an issue that was of great importance to him, observance of the Sabbath; specifically, Sunday isn't really - and couldn't be - the Sabbath day, despite Christian tradition, which is why he had no objection to working on it. When he encountered no resistance from me on that point (actually I rather egged him on with some factoid I recently picked up as to why worship got moved to Sundays to start with), he plunged into a thoughtful, wide-ranging exegesis, amply supported by Scripture, on (as mentioned) the origin of the Sabbath, the creation of the world, the co-existence of God and science, and the Catholic Church (and a Synod the date & place of which I should remember from my medieval history classes, but don't right now). We tossed the ball back and forth for a bit. It was really quite extraordinary. All the while his truck idled away.
Obviously the following can't apply to everyone in Ireland - but apparently it is true for many - that people really love to talk here, as I have often read and heard in the past. Now, I don't mean necessarily to rattle on junior-high-style for hours with anything that crosses your mind (usually on the phone, right, with your best friend, like, as soon as you get home from the mall) - but to tell stories, to discuss, to play with language. I can't tell you how much I enjoy it. Every time I've fallen into these conversations it's like a little gift. Furthermore, apparently what you might call the Irish sense of humor was preserved in my antecedents even more than I realized, because it all feels familiar to me.
The whole time talking with your man the garbageman (as they'd say here ... anyone you don't know is just 'your man there'), I kept thinking to myself, 'This conversation would be completely impossible and improbable anywhere but here,' and was reminded of the scene at the train station in the Quiet Man. I was delighted; he obviously didn't want to quarrel or hail down condemnation, but to engage. Having frequently felt that my impassioned and energetic 'discuss' was interpreted as a difficult and argumentative 'quarrel' in the past, I'm rather sympathetic to that myself and grateful when that's not the case. He was just what this lonely American girl needed, a real conversation and a real cultural experience (and he made some good points too).
I hope I haven't inadvertently made him sound like a kook, because he was anything but; really, more of your Average Joe you might say, going to work and to the pub, just your average day to day. I feel like Americans in particular so often get the heebie-jeebies if anyone actually integrates the Bible into their real life, or talks about it, or God, as a matter of course (I am excluding the fire and brimstone street sermons, or explicit religiosity, and thinking more about the day-to-day of just somebody, anybody); perhaps that's common everywhere in the world, I don't know. There are kooks with Bibles, to be sure -- and plenty of kooks without them; just like there are kind, sane, reasonable people both with and without Bibles. People have bad experiences with religion and religious folks; I myself have had a few, and am no fan of boxing anyone up, much less putting God in a box, which often seems the end result of religion to me (to do an extreme gloss on my opinions on that subject). Judgment meted out often results in judgment returned; hypocrisy stinks; watch out for your own log, forget the toothpick; etc. Anyway, all that mess just makes me feel sorry and kind of sad. Jesus had plenty to say on these subjects, and I'll leave you to ferret it out of the Gospels yourself, should you so choose, as it is time for breakfast and I am so hungry... how does that keep happening, when I was so full last night?
Sunday afternoon will have to wait for another post, it'll be a long one - lots of stories to relay.
Having slept much better on Saturday night than on Friday, I felt quite a bit more cheery on Sunday (not to say that I was blue on Saturday, but rather tired, a little stressed from the driving and getting lost, and with my eating disrupted. If you know me well, you'll know that the great revelation of my solo trip in summer 2003 was that relatively regular eating, drinking and sleeping are necessary for me to keep things on an even keel. This doesn't mean I can't travel, it just means I am wise to watch it and not over- or under-do things particularly on trips). Another advantage of being anywhere a second day is that you get a sense of the rhythms of that place, and such. Apparently the storms I was experiencing on Saturday (as my little car was rained, and then sleeted upon), along with the rest of the West of Ireland, were quite unusual and extreme. There was even a lightning storm over the bay, which I'm sorry to say I missed seeing. Imagine the pictures! And, I gather from my B&B host, they nearly never get lightning or thunder. In fact, there was a feature in Monday's paper about some guys surfing some huge waves off the coast of Donegal (it seems there is a man doing a documentary about Irish surfing). On Sunday things had evened out a bit though there was intermittent rain: 15-30 minutes of rain, followed by 30-60 minutes of clear skies. You can actually just watch the rain clouds blow in off the sea, and see the clear skies as the cloudbreaks sweep over as well. Armed with this knowledge, it's much easier to stay dry and warm, and thus, happy. Finally knowing the signs of imminent showers, I'd cut and take cover anywhere that seemed reasonable until it blew over, which seemed to be the practice of most folks; a rain jacket and an umbrella are all well and good, but the winds were very strong and getting soaked seemed an inevitability if you insisted on walking around in the open.
Sometimes these destinations were more sustainable than others. My first shelter was the colonnade of the High Court building (closed as it was Sunday). While I waited out the rain, a garbage truck pulled up to the curb. The driver set the flashers and walked over to check the municipal bin in the courtyard right in front of me. He then proceeded over to me and remarked, "There'll be no court today. They're closed for Sunday" -- which I think was his opening to start into what was clearly an issue that was of great importance to him, observance of the Sabbath; specifically, Sunday isn't really - and couldn't be - the Sabbath day, despite Christian tradition, which is why he had no objection to working on it. When he encountered no resistance from me on that point (actually I rather egged him on with some factoid I recently picked up as to why worship got moved to Sundays to start with), he plunged into a thoughtful, wide-ranging exegesis, amply supported by Scripture, on (as mentioned) the origin of the Sabbath, the creation of the world, the co-existence of God and science, and the Catholic Church (and a Synod the date & place of which I should remember from my medieval history classes, but don't right now). We tossed the ball back and forth for a bit. It was really quite extraordinary. All the while his truck idled away.
Obviously the following can't apply to everyone in Ireland - but apparently it is true for many - that people really love to talk here, as I have often read and heard in the past. Now, I don't mean necessarily to rattle on junior-high-style for hours with anything that crosses your mind (usually on the phone, right, with your best friend, like, as soon as you get home from the mall) - but to tell stories, to discuss, to play with language. I can't tell you how much I enjoy it. Every time I've fallen into these conversations it's like a little gift. Furthermore, apparently what you might call the Irish sense of humor was preserved in my antecedents even more than I realized, because it all feels familiar to me.
The whole time talking with your man the garbageman (as they'd say here ... anyone you don't know is just 'your man there'), I kept thinking to myself, 'This conversation would be completely impossible and improbable anywhere but here,' and was reminded of the scene at the train station in the Quiet Man. I was delighted; he obviously didn't want to quarrel or hail down condemnation, but to engage. Having frequently felt that my impassioned and energetic 'discuss' was interpreted as a difficult and argumentative 'quarrel' in the past, I'm rather sympathetic to that myself and grateful when that's not the case. He was just what this lonely American girl needed, a real conversation and a real cultural experience (and he made some good points too).
I hope I haven't inadvertently made him sound like a kook, because he was anything but; really, more of your Average Joe you might say, going to work and to the pub, just your average day to day. I feel like Americans in particular so often get the heebie-jeebies if anyone actually integrates the Bible into their real life, or talks about it, or God, as a matter of course (I am excluding the fire and brimstone street sermons, or explicit religiosity, and thinking more about the day-to-day of just somebody, anybody); perhaps that's common everywhere in the world, I don't know. There are kooks with Bibles, to be sure -- and plenty of kooks without them; just like there are kind, sane, reasonable people both with and without Bibles. People have bad experiences with religion and religious folks; I myself have had a few, and am no fan of boxing anyone up, much less putting God in a box, which often seems the end result of religion to me (to do an extreme gloss on my opinions on that subject). Judgment meted out often results in judgment returned; hypocrisy stinks; watch out for your own log, forget the toothpick; etc. Anyway, all that mess just makes me feel sorry and kind of sad. Jesus had plenty to say on these subjects, and I'll leave you to ferret it out of the Gospels yourself, should you so choose, as it is time for breakfast and I am so hungry... how does that keep happening, when I was so full last night?
Sunday afternoon will have to wait for another post, it'll be a long one - lots of stories to relay.
03 December 2007
High tide
So, picking up where I left off ... Left Ennis fairly early on Saturday morning, and headed out towards the coast. The country was all cows and farms and stone walls, after a bit anyway - there seems to be quite a lot of new construction surrounding the towns. Once I got up to the Cliffs, I found that I had arrived at high tide; and it was quite windy and choppy as well so the sea was quite a sight - what lovely color from the clearest green to a deep, almost dusty blue. They've quite tamed the site as one might expect given the traffic of tourists and the fact that the cliffs are in fact, cliffs, a giant drop off to the ocean, so there is a walkway around and walls put up, etc. The wind and the tide together resulted in what was almost a fountain or a geyser, a spray really, at such a velocity that I decided I needn't venture round past that point. A few other doughty sightseers were there as well, even at this very off-season time of year, some in more appropriate gear than others. It was, as I say, quite windy, and storms blew in every so often; one poor fellow was caught in his leather coat - that can't have been pleasant.
After departing from there, I sort of fell upon a dolmen / tomb - Poulnabrone - which also afforded a nice opportunity to walk around just a little in The Burren area. It's really quite extraordinary and otherworldly. I got right along into Galway city, but shot out the wrong way in a roundabout and took a detour of about an hour, then looped through Galway city center about three times before getting the right turnoff for the B&B (do you see a trend). I was rather hungry by the time I got in so I nipped straight off to the town center and had simply the loveliest lamb stew with root vegetables and mash (and a clear broth - made it just perfect, and not too heavy) and, of course, another Guinness. One must taste for consistency. This may have been an error simply from a timing point of view, but I can't say I really regret it. I puttered about the pedestrian zone for the rest of the afternoon and made an early night of it; I keep pretty early hours as it is, and being that it's just me, I didn't want to go running around too much on a Saturday night in a town I don't know.
My B&B was quite clean, and the patrons were very nice, but I must say I am not sure the B&B thing is for me. Perhaps if it weren't owner-occupied - which is not to say that doesn't have it's advantages - but I felt, just a bit, like I was staying with relatives, maybe quite distant, slightly elderly, relatives. Perhaps it all depends. Also, it was just a bit further away from the city center than was practical to be walking in and out in the evening.
My second day in Galway was more eventful, and more interesting; so I'd like to be a bit fresher to write that up. I'll see about that tomorrow.
After departing from there, I sort of fell upon a dolmen / tomb - Poulnabrone - which also afforded a nice opportunity to walk around just a little in The Burren area. It's really quite extraordinary and otherworldly. I got right along into Galway city, but shot out the wrong way in a roundabout and took a detour of about an hour, then looped through Galway city center about three times before getting the right turnoff for the B&B (do you see a trend). I was rather hungry by the time I got in so I nipped straight off to the town center and had simply the loveliest lamb stew with root vegetables and mash (and a clear broth - made it just perfect, and not too heavy) and, of course, another Guinness. One must taste for consistency. This may have been an error simply from a timing point of view, but I can't say I really regret it. I puttered about the pedestrian zone for the rest of the afternoon and made an early night of it; I keep pretty early hours as it is, and being that it's just me, I didn't want to go running around too much on a Saturday night in a town I don't know.
My B&B was quite clean, and the patrons were very nice, but I must say I am not sure the B&B thing is for me. Perhaps if it weren't owner-occupied - which is not to say that doesn't have it's advantages - but I felt, just a bit, like I was staying with relatives, maybe quite distant, slightly elderly, relatives. Perhaps it all depends. Also, it was just a bit further away from the city center than was practical to be walking in and out in the evening.
My second day in Galway was more eventful, and more interesting; so I'd like to be a bit fresher to write that up. I'll see about that tomorrow.
Stay to your left
Here I am at the truly lovely Westport Plaza hotel ... which I actually categorized immediately as a 'Peter & Conrad' hotel (it's a compliment, either way you take it)... which thoughtfully provides broadband. Ahh. I'll be here until I depart to head back down to the Shannon airport, so probably I'll post a few times and catch up on my doings. Hence, beginning with the beginning....
Descending into Shannon Airport the fog was so thick you couldn't see anything at all until we were very nearly on the ground. And, it was raining quite hard - but it would be, wouldn't it? The customs man there as well was quite inquisitive and I am sorry to say that I made another rather poor showing for the States. I had a bit of trouble making out what he was saying - but rather thought he wanted to know if I walked at home ... was this a bit of casual banter? Ah no, rather an inquiry after my employment status, if I worked in the States. I feel certain he and the other people I spoke to that night would have had ample evidence to shore up a theory on the stupidity of Americans; and may even have been surprised that I could hold down a job. Alas, what can you do.
After that I picked up the car, and got the extended insurance (which in retrospect was very prudent, more on that later but rest assured no one, including myself, has suffered any harm). Nothing like driving on the left, in a car you don't know, on pitch black roads, in the rain. With construction reroutes. A couple of times I nearly panicked, but after a few loops around the Ennis town center, I found a spot to park, hauled in my baggage, and checked in. Fast forward to a few more loops getting to the hotel parking lot, and then finally giving up and parking along the street just down. They had just finished up some renovation or other in the lobby area, so the elevator was temporarily out; and a large group, maybe a dozen, very jovial men were all trying to check in at once. You can imagine. Also, in Irish hotels it seems quite standard that you put your key in a little thingie by the door which keeps the power flowing to your room; very energy efficient and all, but the lad at the desk (very friendly) didn't tell me, I'm pretty sure, and the timer went off just as I plugged in my laptop - causing me to fear I'd somehow blown a fuse. After that I just laughed at everything. It was a comedy of errors, though really through no fault of the hotel (which was quite nice actually). By the time I sat down to some fish and chips and a pint of Guinness (of course) in their very cute pub, I was quite tired. I turned in pretty early that night so as to be up and at it promptly the next morning.
Driving is a real experience. At first, it took constant vigilance to stay along the left, and even more so to look right for oncoming traffic. But it did get easier and on the whole, I think I am doing OK with it now. Mostly. It seems slowcoaches like myself often get passed, or pull over to allow faster cars to go ahead - which I've been doing a fair bit of. Most roads are one lane, each way, with a generous sprinkling of potholes and a lot of ominous traffic signs, and the bigger lorries and buses which inevitably hurtle past the other direction on a blind curve. It's kept my heart rate up a good bit, that's for sure. A lot of times, though, when I've not been on the main national roads or highways, I've been nearly alone. Again, mostly good - but more to come there.
I'll pick up there later. In the meantime, I've uploaded some photos on Flickr, into their very own little set, if you want to take a gander.
Descending into Shannon Airport the fog was so thick you couldn't see anything at all until we were very nearly on the ground. And, it was raining quite hard - but it would be, wouldn't it? The customs man there as well was quite inquisitive and I am sorry to say that I made another rather poor showing for the States. I had a bit of trouble making out what he was saying - but rather thought he wanted to know if I walked at home ... was this a bit of casual banter? Ah no, rather an inquiry after my employment status, if I worked in the States. I feel certain he and the other people I spoke to that night would have had ample evidence to shore up a theory on the stupidity of Americans; and may even have been surprised that I could hold down a job. Alas, what can you do.
After that I picked up the car, and got the extended insurance (which in retrospect was very prudent, more on that later but rest assured no one, including myself, has suffered any harm). Nothing like driving on the left, in a car you don't know, on pitch black roads, in the rain. With construction reroutes. A couple of times I nearly panicked, but after a few loops around the Ennis town center, I found a spot to park, hauled in my baggage, and checked in. Fast forward to a few more loops getting to the hotel parking lot, and then finally giving up and parking along the street just down. They had just finished up some renovation or other in the lobby area, so the elevator was temporarily out; and a large group, maybe a dozen, very jovial men were all trying to check in at once. You can imagine. Also, in Irish hotels it seems quite standard that you put your key in a little thingie by the door which keeps the power flowing to your room; very energy efficient and all, but the lad at the desk (very friendly) didn't tell me, I'm pretty sure, and the timer went off just as I plugged in my laptop - causing me to fear I'd somehow blown a fuse. After that I just laughed at everything. It was a comedy of errors, though really through no fault of the hotel (which was quite nice actually). By the time I sat down to some fish and chips and a pint of Guinness (of course) in their very cute pub, I was quite tired. I turned in pretty early that night so as to be up and at it promptly the next morning.
Driving is a real experience. At first, it took constant vigilance to stay along the left, and even more so to look right for oncoming traffic. But it did get easier and on the whole, I think I am doing OK with it now. Mostly. It seems slowcoaches like myself often get passed, or pull over to allow faster cars to go ahead - which I've been doing a fair bit of. Most roads are one lane, each way, with a generous sprinkling of potholes and a lot of ominous traffic signs, and the bigger lorries and buses which inevitably hurtle past the other direction on a blind curve. It's kept my heart rate up a good bit, that's for sure. A lot of times, though, when I've not been on the main national roads or highways, I've been nearly alone. Again, mostly good - but more to come there.
I'll pick up there later. In the meantime, I've uploaded some photos on Flickr, into their very own little set, if you want to take a gander.
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