Ireland

“Where is she?” I asked anxiously, glancing for the hundredth time through the throbbing crowd to the door. Over an hour had already passed from the time Kelly was supposed to meet us in Oliver St. James Gogarthy’s pub in Dublin’s Temple Bar sector. The just-married American couple sitting at the table next to us made a joke about how their fellow Iowan must have gotten lost in a cornfield somewhere. I gnawed on the one Euro corncob the waitress had brought me to enjoy while we waited. Corn. Something that does not exist besides in a can back in Italy.

The honeymooning couple were telling us about the killer sheep of the Cliffs of Moher when Grace’s cell phone went off. It was Kelly. She hadn’t lost herself in Dublin’s labyrinth, and yet she couldn’t negotiate her way through the throng of people blocking us from her view at the pub’s doorway. Kelly was safe and we could finally eat. My soup came and I enjoyed it with the homemade brown bread accompanying it, but passed the Guinness bread off to Grace and Kelly for them to enjoy rather than myself. 

Thursday we set off to explore Dublin. We rented bikes from a nearby hostel and began our day after a few test runs up and down the sidewalk behind the hostel. When they asked if we wanted helmets, I enthusiastically shook my head in agreement. First stop: St. Patrick’s Cathedral and burial site of one Mr. Jonathon Swift.

 Loved the tiles!

Next on our list was the Guinness Storehouse, a tour I wasn’t exactly looking forward to because 1.) Guinness is nasty, I hadn’t ever had it before, but I knew I wouldn’t like it and 2.) There was so much for us to see in Dublin I felt like the Storehouse shouldn’t have made our final cut. It was interesting to learn about how beer is actually made and all of the different processes it must go through before it ever reaches the liquor store shelf. 

 This is how much I had left when I was finished--gross!

The Jameson Distillery came next (detecting a theme of our sightseeing?). This factory was a bit more interesting to me than the Storehouse was, but the tour was essentially the same thing: showing how the product is made with its conclusion occurring in the factory’s gift shop so you can buy a ball cap with your favorite alcoholic beverage on it. As soon as the guided tour was coming to an end, Kelly and I left Grace behind and booked it on our rental bikes to the Dublin Writers Museum. The museum was fascinating because they highlighted so many writers and poets I had never even heard of before. After the museum, we headed to our meeting point at Trinity College and ate candy on the beautiful green lawn sporting “Do Not Sit on Grass” signs.

Friday morning we hopped onto a tram in the early morning to get to the bus station. We had decided, with the encouragement of some locals, to explore the opposite coast, near Galway. After a three and a half bus ride, we arrived in Galway. It was interesting being in Galway, where USAC has another program, and where I had originally intended to study. Walking down the streets however, I was very happy with the final decision I had made in choosing to study in Viterbo.

Galway was a quiet town with not very many sites to see, so we enjoyed an incredibly long and much needed nap in our hostel room, which looked more like a hotel room, before we headed back into town to find a restaurant for dinner. Many of the restaurants on the main strip were incredibly overpriced so we kept walking. Finally we found a bustling local joint called Buon Appetito. We had to wait a little while before a table opened up inside. Strangely I was craving pasta—Italy withdrawals—so I ordered a steaming plate of carbonara—yum! While we were enjoying our meal, an American couple sitting at the table next to us, began to ask us questions about our travels. Gary and Tina, from Pittsburg Pennsylvania, had been traveling all around Ireland for the week. They would be flying out of the Dublin airport the same day as us: Easter Sunday.

Tina shared stories about her own studying abroad experiences in Spain and about her job back in the states, teaching high school Spanish. They were a fascinating couple. When we had finished eating we parted ways and headed back to our hostel. The next morning we were planning on leaving early on yet another bus to a small town nearby: Clifden. Unfortunately when we got to the bus station we discovered that the earliest bus departing to Clifden wasn’t until after 11:00. So we killed two hours at a small outside market we found by chance (I bought a ring and a gingerbread cookie!) and then hopped onto our hour and a half bus ride to the coast. The views from my bus window were some of the prettiest views I have ever seen. I attempted to take some pictures but unfortunately the blurry, finger-printed windows take away from the overall affect.

We knew we wanted to walk the coastline because we had been told we might be able to see the Cliffs of Moher. Well, when we arrived in Clifden, we had no idea where we were. We followed the signs to the tourist office which was of course closed due to a needed lunch break. Walking back to the center of town we walked in the other direction and eventually saw the signs of the ocean past a small children’s playground. We had stopped in at local grocer and were excited about the idea of picnicking on the beach. As we began walking, Grace reminded us our bus was scheduled to leave in under an hour. We began walking faster.

With only five minutes until departure we were already out of breath. We sent Kelly ahead of us at a dead sprint up the hill keeping us from our bus. Grace and I attempted to flag down an elderly man passing by with his fishing pole sticking out one window, but he simply waved and smiled at our frantic gestures. The next car by was a young woman and her golden retriever. Thankfully she slowed down enough for us to explain our predicament.

The dog was more than happy to have us sitting in his backseat. He got a little excited and peed on my coat sleeve as he attacked one of the grocery bags I was holding for Kelly. As the car moved up the steep hill we figured Kelly must have made a wrong turn because there was no way she had made it this far already. But when we crested the top of the hill, there she was, pounding away on the pavement. We screamed at her from inside of the car which caused her to look around in fright. After she had joined Grace, myself, Lisa, and Mr. Peebody we only drove another ten yards or so before we were jumping out of the car, throwing “thank you’s” over our shoulders as we raced down a side street toward the bus. The doors were already closed and the bus driver just laughed when he saw us. When I sunk down into my seat I couldn’t help but laugh either—but we had made it!

One and a half bus ride back to Galway and then another three and a half hour bus ride back to Dublin. We stepped off of the bus onto Dublin’s bustling, street lamp-lit streets around eight o’clock. We were starving. Well, unlike Italy, the kitchens in most places close around eight. So, as we were making our way from one closed kitchen to another our stomachs were growling in impatience.  Finally we found a place, open, with a reasonably priced menu. When we sat down I was admiring the amazing green stained glass windows in the back of the restaurant. Unfortunately, soon after sitting down, the waitress informed us the kitchen was, no surprise, closed, but that Flanagans was still probably serving dinner.

We set off again looking for this Flanagans which we had been told was on O’Connolly Street by the McDonalds. Well, this McDonald’s only a tourist shop and another greasy food joint. About half a mile down we found another McDonald’s, the right McDonald’s. Flanagans was busy and we sat inside the door while we waited for a table to open up. As we were sitting there, another couple entered into the restaurant behind us. I did a double take. Gary and Tina!

What were the chances of running into the same American couple we had had dinner with the night before all the way on the other side of Ireland?!?! We were all amazed at the coincidence! Tina and Gary felt that there must be a reason for us to run into one another again and continued to check on us: do you have a safe place to stay tonight; do you need any money; would you like to call home on our global phone? No, no, we are fine!

They finished their meal before we did, but when we parted I assured them we would probably run into them again someday, probably in Alaska—somewhere by chance.

My true Irish meal: steak and potatoes-yummers!

Our last day in Ireland—Happy Easter—was spent literally running from one tourist shop to another in a search for a Claddah (spelling?) ring for Kelly’s little sister. Unfortunately, the only ones we could find were €30: a little out of every traveling student’s price range. Drats!

 This country actually has muffins--delicious ones too!

 My spilled, over-priced Irish Starbucks coffee-grr

At the airport: Kelly’s contact solution was thrown away by security; Grace’s umbrella was investigated; Grace’s carry-on was deemed too large; Grace had to pay to have her bag checked. Apparently I’m a pro because I haven’t had any problems in any airport since the Sweden Swiss Army pocketknife incident (which I still have not received back in the mail—I doubt I will get it in the next two weeks either).

On the plane ride I sat down next to a man who I began talking with before takeoff. Of course, he turned out to be a Priest studying in Rome who was returning from a holiday in Ireland. I found irony in my choice of seating. On the way to the Rome airport I had met three American girls studying to become nuns, which I didn’t actually know you had to study to become nuns. They were all fascinating girls and I had some interesting questions answered by them. Then when I was in London’s airport I met two American boys studying to become Priests in Rome. I see a trend, do you?

I was not excited when we touched down in Rome because the night ahead of us was one I was dreading. I had voted for the three of us to sleep in the airport, which has security, is enclosed and for the most part quiet. However, Grace had decided we would be spending the night instead in Termini: Rome’s main train station where all of Rome’s homeless sleeps as well. Lovely. Let’s just say neither Kelly nor myself slept at all that night. Grace, whose snores also kept Kelly and I awake, had no problem sleeping on the dirty concrete floor while men peed on the train tracks near us. Never again.

The first thing I did when I reached my apartment was to burn my skin off with a scalding shower that I lingered in for more than what was necessary.

I have one more trip—Paris—before my very long trip back to the States.  Only eleven more days and I will be back in sunny California!!!