Ireland 2006 Journal

Give Ireland Back to the Irish

26 June 2005 - 27 June 2006

Disclaimer: Rather than spend my entire trip writing in my journal, my approach is to take notes and later develop the notes into prose. Although it's less than a wholly genuine take on my feelings moment to moment, it's my preferred approach. My memory is too porous to do without notes, and frankly, it's getting a bit porous even with the notes. There's undoubtedly a lot here that's utterly uninteresting to anyone, but it's my way of making each day, each experience, each moment a bit more memorable. And as anyone knows me will testify, I tend to dwell on negative things more than positives because it's just too irresistible not to complain. Fortunately this trip's journal has less of that as there really was very little to gripe about. Yeah, I'm bitter. Not enough agita.

Despite plenty of planning the departure caught me largely off guard. I had packed a couple days before the trip but there were things missing from my suitcase until the last minute, and I kept changing my mind about how many long-sleeved shirts and pants to bring. It turned out that even though I added items, I probably should have had more long-sleeved clothes and could have dispensed with the 800 t-shirts. Maybe before I die I'll figure out how to pack properly.

Eileen and Lily dropped me off at the high school. Saying goodbye to my wife isn't nearly as hard as saying goodbye to my daughter these days. She was excited about the presents I would bring her home and waved to me as they drove away, taking a piece of me with them. I'm glad I won't be traveling without them next year as it would be impossible to say goodbye to two daughters at their ages.

Just like last year, the bus driver went through New York City to get to JFK, stopping in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I guess whatever way I drove there a few years back proscribes bus traffic. Must be the reason, because who would want to drive a bus in NYC? We arrived at the airport with plenty of time, however, and we checked in very quickly as there was no line at all. A longer line awaited us at security, which was probably a good thing, because I had Emily ask whether any restaurants lay beyond the security gate. The answer was a single bar, so instead we spent 45 minutes in the part of the airport with the shops and restaurants. No particular food appealed to me and I foolishly ended up buying Chinese food, an awful beef and broccoli approximation. Foolishly because I was throwing caution to the chicken winds as so many Chinese restaurants like to poison me via what should be poultry-free dishes. I spend the next hour worrying that I'd have a reaction... and having left both my Benadryl and Adrenalin in my suitcase, it could have been pretty bad. Fortunately, nothing happened.

While we waited to board our flight, Joe, Eddie and Will played Galaga and Ms. Pac Man and Mark impressed on Cruis'n Exotica. Stash showed off her new journal, dissing my beautiful yellow legal pad journal. At one point I noticed Vanessa crawling underneath the chairs we were sitting on to fetch her dropped passport.

We boarded the plane and I began to read Guns, Germs and Steel, a nonfiction book on the development of civilization, seeking to explain why certain societies thrived while others lagged behind. Yes, very light reading. I basically could only read one paragraph at a time. Hurray for my attention span! The author, Jared Diamond, makes some really interesting arguments. In the first chapter he claims that New Guineans are actually mentally superior to westerners, and does so pretty convincingly. I can't wait to turn this into a discussion in my World classes in the fall. I didn't get much beyond that and instead struck up a conversation with the guy seated next to me. For some odd reason we were spread out all over the plane and there was no one from my crew within four seats of me.

My fellow traveler had been reading Angels & Demons, and held a couple of Italian tour books in his hands. I therefore made the Sherlock Holmes-ian deduction that he was headed to Italy. Having been there a couple years back I offered my suggestions and gave a few pieces of advice for this first-time overseas traveler. I neglected to mention that we sat on the tarmac for nearly 90 minutes because of bad weather out west. That's right, out west. Several planes that were headed in that direction had to wait to take off and were in the queue ahead of us. There were clear skies to the east, but I guess they have no mechanism for moving planes backwards or forwards in the queue. Nick had a connected flight out of Dublin to Naples and became increasingly concerned that he'd miss it. In the end it all seems to have worked out all right as an agent met him at the gate and hurried him through security (I assume).

The meal on the plane was awful (shocking!), consisting of some gross beef with pasta and vegetables, cold bread, tasteless cheese, crackers, a chocolate mint, a salad consisting of a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, a tomato and a few carrot slices, a dessert that probably was supposed to be cheesecake, water and tea. Lots of items, but none of them any good.

As usual, I couldn't sleep on the plane but tried nonetheless. I fell into a slight doze, but awoke extremely hot, somewhat faint and feeling miserable. When I finally decided to stop trying to sleep I had what felt like a moment of intellectual clarity, wanting to do some school work. At this point the lights in the plane had all been dimmed, so I pierced the darkness with my little seat spotlight. But feeling too uncomfortable and cramped, I couldn't get anything done. That and I probably couldn't come up with anything all that practical. At this point I was so desperate I started watching a bit of the latest Steve Martin pukefest, The Pink Panther. It's so sad how someone so talented has made so many awful films. It didn't take long to confirm how miserably miscast he was in this role (I think Kevin Kline, who plays his nemesis in the film, would have been a far better choice). I only watched it for a few minutes as the audio was beset by a nasty crackling. Oh yeah, and it sucked so bad I couldn't deal with it any longer. I did see a mildly interesting "mind control" show featuring a British guy named Derren Brown. Obviously the typical magician/psychic stuff, but I couldn't for the life of me figuring out how he was doing his shtick.

The flight mercifully ended, we quickly gathered our luggage and found two men waiting for us, Noel and Neal. Noel was our tour guide who lived in southwestern Ireland, and Neal our bus driver from northwestern Ireland. We boarded the bus and headed for the Citywest Hotel outside the city. Noel explained that Dublin airport was terribly overburdened with 20 million travelers last year. Like the city of Dublin, the airport was under constant construction. A new terminal to alleviate some of the problems wouldn't be opened until 2008. The airport is located 12 miles north of Dublin, but the hotel is about the same distance west of the city. A trip that shouldn't take too long, regrettably becomes an hour plus trip because of horrible rush hour traffic in the morning and early evening, and just normally bad congestion the rest of the time. The population of Dublin has increased 25 percent in the last five years to 1.25 million and will likely continue at a rapid pace for the foreseeable future.

Driving in Ireland is just like in the United Kingdom, on the left side of the road. There are some interesting differences (although I never traveled in rural England, so it might be the same). Slow traffic stays to the left, naturally, but they also have a sort of breakdown lane that isn't quite the width of a vehicle like a bus. On a one-lane road, the bus driver would pull into that lane (mostly) and traffic would pass him on the right. All they would need is another foot or two to make two full lanes, but evidently they don't feel it's necessary.

Our hotel is owned by the richest man in Ireland, a self-made billionaire named Mansfield. There was more to the story but I zoned out. When we arrived at the hotel, the largest in Ireland, we were struck by the huge estate. I believe they have two golf courses on the premises and multiple buildings (with constant construction on site). We were all tickled by the site of several helicopters in a special parking lot; the movers and shakers must obviously like this place to play golf. Our rooms were, unsurprisingly not ready since we were arriving so early (about 9 a.m.). Actually Noel indicated that he thought they would be ready based on a conversation he had with an employee the night before, but we had to kill about an hour and a half before we could wash up. Most of us ended up buying breakfast at the hotel. The continental breakfast was an obscene $8.50 (all dollar amounts will be Euro dollars unless otherwise specified), while the full Irish breakfast was $11.95. The former came with croissants, pain au chocolate, cereal, coffee/tea and not much else. The latter had fried eggs, scrambled eggs, sausage, fat European bacon, hash browns, toast, baked beans, fresh fruit and some other things. Most of us opted for the latter and were pleased with the quality. The coffee was great, nearly Starbucks' quality. We also got to wander around the hotel and found a number of great lobbies and sitting rooms. There was a rather enormous fitness center with an indoor pool, though everyone was weirded out by the "swim cap" requirement. They would be nice enough to rent us one for $1.50, but no one went swimming at the pool the three days we were there, to my knowledge. The sign said "All swimmers must wear pool caps. Ensure that you wear one." (I should mention I later saw people in the pool without one. Grr.)

In the rush to prepare our rooms, they actually gave us a weird allotment. Sean was put by himself, so we moved Richie out of a triple to be with him. Many of the rooms had space for an extra person, but Explorica guarantees no quads. The rooms themselves were great. Bathrooms with a separate toilet room, a decent shower and a nice tub. The hotel was a bit like HHS with extra hallways and building additions tacked on, it took a few minutes to walk from the lobby to one's room, using multiple elevators or stairwells to get to one's destination. Cyrena referred to the hallways as something out of The Shining. I cited Barton Fink, but both were equally apt. When a group went to the pool and were rebuffed with the swim cap rule, they came back to a sitting room to play cards (BS). I took a much needed nap, although I woke up completely exhausted with terrible indigestion.

We got back on the bus and Noel resumed his description of Dublin. I thought it amusing that the Irish version of "knock on wood" is "touch wood." With a couple of Tums from Emily I sat back and listened to Noel. Dublin has scant mass transportation, just a tram system call the LUAS, which is in what he termed a primitive stage of development. The weather was very Londonesque, grey, sporadic rain, requiring a light jacket and pants... at least that day. Prior to 2000, Dublin stopped issuing taxi licenses, making them available only via transfer from one hack to another. Such licenses were being sold for over $120,000. In 2000 they changed the law and now there are more taxis in Dublin than in New York City. Dublin is built on the River Liffey, which actually divides North Dublin from South Dublin. Driving through the city, it seemed very similar to the Seine with stone bridges and walls along the banks. He highlighted the Half Penny Bridge, a small bridge that used to have a toll. Guess how much the toll was. In 2000, the bridge was rebuilt because 95% of its nuts and bolts were completely rusted. We passed by the Spire of Dublin, or as Noel referred to it "The Spike," a 393-foot high tribute to Daniel O'Connell, the nationalist Irish leader whose efforts achieved Catholic Emancipation. The Spike has a bunch of other nicknames (look it up on Wikipedia) as well. O'Connell Street is the widest street in Ireland and one of the widest in all of Europe. There are some expensive shops, but unfortunately there's also the worst of Dublin just a few blocks from the Spike. Incidentally no other structure in Dublin is allowed to surpass 200 feet, making the Spike a good beacon for lost tourists.

We moved onto the old House of Parliament which had no windows, and became a bank in 1801 and still is to this day. Noel pointed out buildings without windows saying that they were so because of security reasons, to prevent distractions, and in the case of homes, to avoid a window tax of days gone by. Our first stop was lunch. On the plane I was skimming through the airline magazine when I saw an add for a favorite restaurant of mine from London, Wagamama. They have two locations in Ireland, one in Cork, and one in Dublin. The whole crew headed there. We had to split up into two groups because this location was so much smaller than the ones I've been to in London, but I think everyone enjoyed the refreshing noodle dishes. In fact the Pumas liked it so much they would return the next day.

To get to Wagamama we walked down the main tourist shopping area, Grafton Street. After lunch we checked out the tacky stores, buying various articles of clothing with Ireland literally or figuratively stamped on them (football shirts, track jackets, hats, etc.). I found a couple of awesome articles for my daughters and had to restrain myself from buying everything that would fit them. The Pumas and I located the Starbucks and gave in to our lame tradition of buying the city mugs. I stopped at a dirt cheap Internet cafe which also provided incredibly inexpensive calling (ten cents a minute to the US) and tried to make contact with home, but Eileen was out. I had bought an international cell phone for the trip, but was thus far unable to get it to work. As Eileen was almost eight months pregnant at the time, it was imperative that she be able to contact me. This phone situation would serve to drive me batty over the next couple of days; so much so that I'm not sure I'm going to have the energy to recount the full story. We'll see.

I also purchased a bunch of clothing for Lily and Maggie, and bought a couple of books, Nick Hornby's memoir on soccer, Fever Pitch, and a book that might as well have been written by Eileen called Is It Me Or Is Everything Shit? Seems like half the entries are about British things that we won't get, but the other half are pretty funny. Except the anti-Ryan Adams diatribe under Alt-Country. Sheesh, get a clue.

Dinner at the hotel was a very pleasant surprise. They served us a carrot and coriander soup as a starter and then we went up to a buffet where there were three entrees and several side dishes. None of the dishes wowed me, but having beef and fish as two of the entrees, in addition to french fries, rice and new potatoes, was a positive thing. Add to that the fact that we weren't restricted in having any one dish. I should mention that we had two vegetarians (Richie and Annie), a vegan (Cyrena) and a newly christened vegan (Sean, who to this point was a vegetarian), and all were worried over what they'd be able to eat. I'm not sure if they were prepared anything beyond the buffet, only that Cyrena abruptly left the meal. She hadn't been in the best mood to start, so the chaperones were somewhat concerned by this (in addition, the group rule is that we eat all dinners together, whether one is hungry or not). Turns out that she had been eating a roll and realized mid-way that it had butter in it (which I suppose is lucky since many of them had BACON in them), got nauseous and didn't want to be around food. We discussed it the next day at breakfast; I told her that she should have communicated with a chaperon rather than disappear. She rolled her eyes and I began to really worry that Cyrena would be a problem. I'm pleased to say that she wasn't, in part, I suspect, because the cooks at all the hotels were very accommodating to her. So much so that many of us wanted the vegan meals when we saw what she was given.

Being at least 30 minutes away from Dublin, we hung out in the hotel after dinner. I played the party game psychiatrist with Will, Eddie, Joe, Emily, Josh, Kelli and Mark. I'll let other people describe the highlights of this game. Suffice it to say that Mark's investigative and intuitive skills aren't quite on par with his knowledge of the Civil War.

28 June 2006

Random facts: According to Noel, there are only 40,000 people who primarily speak Gaelic. I was surprised to find that they refer to the language as "Irish" when speaking English, "Gaelica" when speaking, well that other language. However, most people in Ireland speak both languages as all official documents in the country are written in Gaelic first, then English in brackets, and all signs are in both languages. Ireland's economy is booming and there is nearly no unemployment. There has a been a large influx of Eastern European immigrants to take on many available jobs. The Irish license plate is a lot like France's plates, where the numbers and letters explain the year of manufacture and place of purchase in addition to a numeric identifier. For example, 03-D-2264 would mean a car was sold in Dublin.

The word "Dublin" means black pool; in Gaelic it means town over the heart of the fault. Okay. Anyway, the Vikings founded the city in 795 AD. He described them as raiders and traders who summered in Ireland. The Book of Kells, which is the story of the four Gospels, was hidden from the Vikings, restored at Trinity College and separated into four manuscripts in 1954. The college was built just outside what were the city walls at the time. Our visit to see the Book of Kells was rather underwhelming as we waited in line for a long time to finally be admitted to a dimly lit room with dozens of people squeezing into look at the books. Having seen illuminated manuscripts at the British Library -- with no one pushing against me -- I barely glanced at them and moved on. More interesting to me was the beautiful library which was part of the same tour; thousands of antique books shelved to the two-floor high ceilings.

Noel related a bon mot that a fellow tour guide came up with. When asked what the official bird of Ireland was, he responded, "the crane," as in the construction machinery.

We also went to Phoenix Park, the home of two whole individuals, the president of Ireland and the American ambassador. The latter was given this prestigious home because the United States was the first nation to recognize the independence of the Republic of Ireland. The Irish president's residence was designed by the same architect who made the White House. The park is lit by gas lights (though we visited in the daytime). Noel pointed out that the Irish police don't like to be called police because of the association with the British and instead are referred to as the Guard. Then he pointed out the park's dueling grounds and we took a photo break at the Papal Cross built in 1979 for the Pope's appearance. Basically it's a huge, plain white cross atop some steps. Nothing breathtaking to look at, but we all dutifully snapped photos of it and the countryside. Then someone got the idea to take the Jew group photo in front of it, so Fraylie, Josh, Jenny, Lisa (half) and I posed for Richie, whose photographic difficulties made the joke very old fast. We then asked Vanessa to take over -- she got a good photo of the group, but managed to crop out much of the cross, also ruining the joke. Oh well, it's not like it was a funny joke in the first place.

Let's see, some more random facts: Dublin is the 73rd most expensive city in the world. The president is the second woman to hold the job, and she was re-elected to a second term unopposed. She's actually from Northern Ireland and requires the permission of the British prime minister to visit her home. Guinness, the beer manufacturer, is located in Ireland. When the then undesirable patch of land in Dublin was being sold, no one was interested, so the CEO made a brilliant offer to rent the land for some nominal fee for 9,000 years. As we drove past it Noel got interrupted by wailing sirens and a convoy of Guard motorcycles and vehicles. He indicated that it was likely for a murder trial.

Both major churches in Dublin are actually Anglican despite the predominance of Catholics. Noel talked a bit about Henry VIII and used a line I must remember about Henry's wives: divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. It was in 1801 that the Act of Union was passed, discriminating against Catholics and in 1828 that Daniel O'Connell worked his magic to get emancipation. During our bus tour of Dublin, Noel repeated a number of things he said the day before, but I thought this was a smart move, both because so many people had been sleeping during that bus ride, and because seeing things in context made it clearer.

We next stopped at St. Patrick's Cathedral. The only thing of particular interest to me here was the grave of Jonathan Swift, who I didn't realize was actually in charge of the Church for some time.

We then went to a section of the city with beautiful Georgian architecture. The most unusual feature are the brightly colored and audaciously decorated doors. Beyond aesthetic reasons, evidently one purpose of these doors was to help drunken sots find their way home. The Georgian buildings tended to have full basements where the kitchen was located and third floors for the servants. Servants who were practically starving back in the day were ordered to whistle or sing when bringing food to their masters lest they be tempted to eat the food on the way up. The windows on each floor decreased in size on the way up as servants didn't really have as much need for light.

A group of us went to lunch in the Temple Bar district, Jenny's idea. It's probably the hippest part of the city, reminding me of a couple of the nicer college towns in the States. We picked a pub and went upstairs to their tables, confronted by a sad "funny" sign reading "God invented alcohol to keep the Irish from ruling the world." It was rather expensive and ultimately not very good, at least what Will and I had, the steak sandwich with fries. It was truly a steak sandwich -- a large steak stuck between two pieces of bread. I remember it was pretty tough, but it did the trick. It took forever for us to get the bill and we ended up being a few minutes late for our planned rendezvous to go to the history museum with anyone who was interested. Turned out it was just the Pumas. And even worse, the museum was nothing but ancient history, artifacts and Vikings. Nothing on the famine, English occupation, etc. I bailed out of the museum rather quickly to go to Archbishop Ryan Park, better known as Merrion Square. There I snapped the photos of the cute Oscar Wilde memorial sculpture and walked the paths covered with so much plant life that I felt in the middle of the woods; a beautiful respite from the city. Walking by myself now I made a token visit to the National Gallery before embarking on my adventures in international cell phone frustration. In the end it probably cost me $175 in total to have a working international phone in Ireland -- although "working" is a debatable term now that I think of it. Fortunately no emergency occurred and I was able to speak to Eileen and Lily a few times during the week.

Overall my impression of the city wasn't all that favorable, but to be fair I stayed largely in one section of it and didn't really get a taste of what life in Dublin would really be like. But I didn't come to Ireland for the cities, I came for rolling hills and sheep. I was very excited about getting on the bus in the morning to head for the coast and the Ring of Kerry.

But first dinner at the hotel. I once again had two edible entrees, vegetable lasagna and Guinness Pie (a beef dish). More interesting was the strawberry cheesecake dessert. Josh and I decided to use the leisure center to work out. I brought my camera thinking I'd snap a few photos of the place and of our crew exercising, but after taking a couple pictures I was told to stop for "security reasons." I can understand why they might not want someone taking pictures of random people in the gym, but security reasons? Whatev.

29 June 2006

Breakfast was the same at the hotel, that is to say really, really good. I came to grips with the fact that I was probably going to get re-addicted to coffee (I had broken my addiction a month previously) if the quality remained this high. We boarded the bus and heded toward Blarney Castle. Today we would climb the steps, kiss the stone and receive the gift of the gab. But it was several hours away, so first Noel would provide lots more tidbits on Irish culture and history.

Ireland is about the size of Maine, 302 miles in length, 150 miles wide, but is actually 3,500 in circumference, if one were to measure the actual coastline. It has 26 counties plus the six in Ulster/Northern Ireland. There's more rain on the west coast, just about 100 inches per year. Irish schools don't differ that much from ours, excet for the high stakes exams at years three and five of secondary school (essentially 10th and 12th grades). Students need to pass the exam to get their certificates. After year three, many of the less academic-oriented students change course and enroll in trade schools. Ninety-eight percent of public schools require uniforms. The overwhelming majority of public schools are run by Catholics, but they have non-discriminatory policies against people of other faiths. There is a very high demand for teachers in Ireland at the moment, especially at the elementary level, and especially for male teachers, but salaries are low, even by our standards. Fairly recently Ireland eliminated university fees, making college free for residents. An American citizen would have to pay $15,000 for college, and $30,000 for medical school.

Gas costs about $8 per gallon, though the listed prices are low because they use a smaller unit of measurement. The minimum wage is $10. Health care is heavily subsidized by the government, but the hospitals are horribly overcrowded. Many Irish cities begin with "Kil" and "Bally," the former meaning church and the latter town. Ireland stays neutral in foreign conflicts, only using its soldiers as peacekeepers.

And now, some gab by Noel:

The only two days of the year that alcohol is prohibited in Ireland are Christmas and Good Friday. However, there was an ordinance that prohibited it in Dublin on St. Patrick's Day. They made an exemption for people attending a dog show on the holiday. He then regaled us with tales of homeless men producing dogs to enable them to drink. The result was an increase of strays and a repealing of the law. Something didn't add up here, but I'm sure there was at least a kernel of truth.
Drunk driving in Ireland is not a problem for the Irish drivers. It's evidently caused by Eastern Europeans, primarily folks from Russia, Estonia and Latvia having "no respect for the laws of this country."
Speaking of roads, there was a proposed road delayed because an indigenous snail would have been endangered. After a long, drawn-out court case, "The snails lost their case, and the motorway was built."
After witnessing a woman leaving a baby unattended in its stroller on the street TWICE, as she went shopping, he told us of the Travellers or Tinkers, a nomadic people living in Ireland. Although Noel was the model of objectivity when it came to political conflicts between Catholics and Irish, he couldn't help himself here as he portrayed these folks as irresponsible, violent and lawless. He even produced a couple of clippings from the newspaper as support for his positions. I subsequently looked up this group -- there are 25,000 of them in Ireland, and 10,000 in the United States. They call themselves the Pavee. Brad Pitt played a Pavee in Snatch (if you saw the movie, "pikey" is a derogatory term for this group).

At this last stopped most of us hit a small supermarket where we bought junk food. My favorite item, just for the name and the packaging, was "Jammie Dodgers." Alysia also bought them and people seemed to really enjoy them. I bought a package for Lily, who imitates our bad Oliver Twist accents when she says "Jammie Dudgas."

We arrived at Blarney Castle, fortified by Noel's anecdotes/tales, ready to get the gift of gab for ourselves. I headed towards the castle with Megan, Meghan, Sarah, Stacy, Lauren, Vanessa and Annie. We waited on line for a long time as people made their way up the stairs (and more stairs, something like 150 of them) to the top of Blarney Castle. The steps seemed to get narrower and narrower as we climbed, but as most of it was enclosed, the height didn't get to me. And then we made it to the open roof and I was a bit more nervous. The castle has no roof, but some of the walls are NINE feet thick. Shortly before we boarded the bus someone mentioned hearing that Irish locals have drunken parties at the castle and urinate on the stone to spite the tourists. Noel disabused us of the notion right before we arrived, asserting that the castle had 24 hour security.

When we emerged from the interior of the castle we could see the stone, and that the promise that there would be two large men to support us when we bent over backwards to kiss the stone were not quite accurate. There were two people, but one was standing on a platform taking pictures. The other was a 60-something guy who was doing the actual supporting. Basically when it's your turn you lie down, arch your back and kiss the wall. You need to do this because there's a three-foot gap from where one's butt sits. There are railings built in for you to hold onto for support, and the guy to help you. And you can buy a souvenir photo for just $15. I took video of most of my group kissing the stone and some snapped photos of one another to avoid the pricey purchase (though Kelli, and I think Mark, both bought it).

We ate lunch at the cafeteria near the castle before heading to the Blarney Woolen Mills to buy Aran sweaters and other souvenirs. I had soup for the third of eight times on the trip (which is something I rarely get to eat out because of chicken broth, but they're big on vegetable and potato leek soup in Ireland). I actually opted to not eat the soup on two occasions later in the trip because I was souped out. I did buy Aran sweaters for the girls, praying that I got the right sizes -- as long as they are reasonably close for the holiday photos!

Back on the bus on our way to Ballybunion, a seaside town, I started reading the Hornby book accompanied by my iPod. Once again, a lot of the book just went over my head because of the cultural touchstones, but anyone who has an obsessive side to their personality or loves sports will enjoy it. I didn't read too carefully as I wanted to watch some of the oh-so-green scenery, even as precipitation began flipping between mist and rain. I gazed at sheep, horses and cows and more greenery for much of the trip. A quick word on the weather: we were SO lucky on this trip. It did rain a few times, but almost exclusively when we were aboard the bus. The weather cleared up and was sunny during the most important times (the drive through the Ring of Kerry and the visit to the Giant's Causeway). We lucked out.

We arrived at the Golf Hotel shortly after Noel pointed out the one statue in the town, of a familiar bulbous-nosed politician. Yep, Bill Clinton comes to Ballybunion to play golf on the links course on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. After checking into the hotel, and finding our rooms surprisingly nice, most of us headed to the beach, a scant 1,000 feet away from the hotel's front door. The remains of a castle are atop a cliff, and beneath it are gorgeous black rocks. Next to the rocks is the white sandy beach. On the opposite end are cave-like holes in the larger cliff (atop which the golf course resides). The only negative of the beach was the incredible amount of jellyfish in the surf. The water was utterly freezing of course, so only an insane person would go in. Suffice it to say, Joe and Megan both went swimming. We also got to play Ultimate. Despite the fact that my team had most of the best players, we palyed pathetically and failed to score more than once or twice. I blame Josh's smothering defense.

Dinner was served on the top floor of the hotel, giving a breathtaking view of the ocean, cliffs and beach. Chicken was the main dish, so they gave me the vegetarian option... and lucky me! It was a vegetable stir fry and utterly delicious, easily the best meal on the trip thus far. There was also a group salad, vegetable soup, and gateau (cake). None of those were anything special, but with that stir fry and the ambience, I couldn't ask for more.

In the evening we wondered about the town, finding nothing much there. At one point, Eric and I were walking down the street about 100 feet behind Jenny, Fraylie and some other girls, and witnessed three punk kids (maybe 10 years old?) harrassing them, bouncing a Nerf-style frisbee off of them -- and then, the piece de resistance, smacking their behinds. Utterly shocked at their behavior, the girls cackled with laughter. I briefly contemplated making a scene with the kids, but the gales of laughter undermined any opening for that. I guess they'll have to find a way to cope with being sexually harrassed by a trio of pre-teens.

Later that night as I’m sorting through my stuff, I hear banging on the door across the hall. I ignored it for a few minutes, but as it repeated I went out to find a note in the hallway (slide out from the door across from me) saying, “Door is stuck – we are locked in. Rm 220.” The lock bolt was jammed (due to some of our crew, ahem Fraylie and Jenny knocking and shoving on the door). I called the hotel staff and they came up and attempted to take off the lock mechanism to no avail. They finally got a crow bar and were in the process of prying off the door frame when the pressure from it moved the bolt and the girls got out. I thought of requesting a room change, but the girls promised not to lock the bolt.

30 June 2006

Where’s my watch? I know I had it with me last night, but now I can’t find it. Aargh. Oh well, I’ll use the cell phone and/or iPod to tell the time. Still, that’s a pain when you don’t want to bring them with you. And I like that watch.

Our breakfast was continental, which at this point is a bit of a relief. I’ve been gorging myself at each meal with the worry that the next meal will be awful. And I’ve gotten into the habit of munching in between meals. Seems like I’m constantly eating on this trip.

This is the day I’ve been waiting for, I think: the drive around the Ring of Kerry, the beautiful landscape of southwestern Ireland. As we pull away from Ballybunion the already green land becomes more lush and vibrant. There’s even fewer homes and more sheep. In fact, despite the miles of fence, sheep periodically crop up in the middle of the road. Each sheet has spray paint on them rather than a brand, marking ownership. There’s simply no way I can do the geography justice by writing about it. Looking at the pictures would help, but one needs to actually see in person to understand.

Along the way we saw lots of small, white windmills, which Noel said were a new initiative to replace fossil fuels in this part of Ireland. It seemed hard to believe that they could be effective, but he indicated that they expected significant inroads via the windmills. Cool.

Our first stop is at the Bog Village, a seemingly authentic centuries-old village (or a reasonable facsimile). One is quickly struck by the stench of burning peat, which is basically hardened earth. There are about 10 little homes with thatched roofs in the village and we all take our turns going into them; the first is a cute little two-room structure with an active fireplace. I was in the back of the group so I had the warning of people staggering out of the house with looks of disgust on their faces. Once I got inside I understood why. The peat fire had blackened the air and the stench was simply overwhelming. Thought it’s environmentally friendly, I can’t imagine it’s all that good for the lungs. It’s funny, there’s a piece of the smell that I liked, but taken as a whole, it was killer. Hours later I could still smell it. I sniffed my clothes… that wasn’t it. Then I sniffed my bag, that wasn’t it. Ah, my hair. Even the next day some of us could still catch wafts of it.

The village on the whole was pretty lame, especially when one takes into account the village we would see the next day. Still we enjoyed the cute old dog and the adorable little black kitten. There were three horses as well, two of which looked dead, splayed out on the ground. Apparently after I moved on Stacy was, in her words, “traumatized,” when one of the horses stood up displaying a part of its anatomy that was described by several people as a “third leg.”

Along the way to our next stop, Noel talked about the potato famine of the 1840s. I was frankly shocked that this would be pretty much our only encounter with the famine as we saw no exhibits or monuments that I can recall dealing with this traumatic event. The 1845 potato blight, which according to Noel actually began in the United States, killed 90% of the crop by 1847 (hence the name “Black 47”). There was almost no food available for purchase in 1847, so one million Irish died, and another million emigrated on “coffin ships” to the United States. It also fundamentally changed patterns of marriage and child production. Today potential blight is controlled by copper sulfate spray.

We passed the remains of yet another castle and Noel told an amusing story of how the owner of the castle hired an architect who designed and built a beautiful castle, but ran off with the owner’s wife. Then we stopped at Dingel Bay (as the crew played Beavis and Butthead, giggling at the name) for pictures of an incredible scenic vista.

For lunch we stopped in the small town of Sneem, marked by brightly colored buildings. It had recently won an award for being the cleanest town of its size in Ireland, a cool contest every state should copy. Since we were near the water, the Pumas and I all bought mussels at the Blue Bull Restaurant. They were good, but we didn’t get nearly the portion we had in France.

Next came what was the highlight of the trip for many: a stop at a sheep farm. Not coincidentally run by Noel’s brother, John Kissane, and owned by the family. His farm is right on the road going through the Ring of Kerry, covering an unfathomable 3,000 acres. We first encountered a bunch of lambs in a pen bleating for our attention. Everyone fawned over them, petting the little critters, until John’s wife greeted us and brought us into a barn where we held and fed a couple tiny lambs (with baby bottles). Then John showed us how his dogs herd the sheep, using a young dog and a semi-retired older dog with hip dysplasia. Basically John shouted a dog’s name and then told him or her to go left, right, back, etc. Pretty cool to watch. During his real work, he uses four dogs to trek the endless acres, up and down mountains. After the demo, we went back into the barn and John sheared a sheep, before giving some of our crew the chance.

Evidently sheep’s coats get so thick that they need to have them sheared or they get diseased. It’s odd that nature could create an animal that without human intervention would die a horrible death. Unfortunately the farm barely makes ends meet (hence the visits from tourists, who pay $5 a head for the demonstration). The Kissane farm also offers hiking trails, fishing and more. We drove past one lake that was breathtakingly beautiful (which is saying something considering the surrounding topography), and Noel said that there was an even more beautiful one up one of the mountains. When I return to Ireland I’m definitely coming back here to walk the wilderness of this gorgeous tract of land. To help make ends meet, they also take donations via an adopt-a-sheep program. The info is here: http://www.adopt-a-sheep.ie

We stopped for another scenic view, possibly the best one yet, but what captured most of our imaginations was an amazing climbing tree and accompanying rocks. I climbed up as high as I felt comfortable with my sandals and then pointed out a cool approach for Sean to climb. Given his druthers Sean would probably have climbed to the top of the tree (check out the picture of him climbing the Giant’s Organ – I’ll explain the name later, Beavis), then ran back to snap a picture of him. The grass was a bit slippy (an official word in Ireland, evidently, as we saw it on printed signs and heard it in common usage), and my feet went out from under me. Ow. Nasty bruises on my thigh, but fortunately no blood. I managed to get grass stains all over my khakis too. But nothing’s going to ruin this day, my friends.

We stopped one last time today in Killarney, an excellent town with a string of great shops. Noel mentioned that a bed and breakfast in the area would cost $40 per night during the peak season. What?!? It could be as low as $25 off season. Wow. Go. Now.

Back at the hotel in Ballybunion, the entrée was fried plaice (fish). The vegetarians and vegans got spring rolls, and Cyrena gave me one of hers. I’m starting to think of “converting.”

At some point in here, the girls in Room 220 discovered that they couldn’t get in their room. Then they found the entire lock mechanism removed and all of their items relocated to another room in the exact configuration where things had been placed, down to the direction and angle of the toothbrush.

After dinner the Pumas, some of the girls and I crossed the street to a local pub to watch the world cup quarterfinal soccer game. When I was little my father and I used to go to Cosmos games at the Meadowlands. I have fond memories of watching Pele and Giorgio Chinaglia play, but like most Americans, I’m not that into soccer. As Eric is a soccer coach (and Italian), he was excited about the tournament. And watching it in Europe made it more exciting as they literally live, breathe and eat the sport. Well, not literally, since that would be impossible.

It was interesting that no one bothered us. Only a few people were watching the big screen with us (there was a small screen by the bar), and no one cared that most of us didn’t order anything to drink. The last time I had taken a sip of beer (and the only time) was at someone’s post-Bar Mitzvah gathering in their basement. I remember hating it and thinking “I’ll never drink this swill again.” Well, as I was in Ireland, I decided to try a Guinness. And it was amazing… in that I remembered the exact sensation of sharpness in my nose and dryness in my throat. I couldn’t help myself but say, “Yecch, it’s disgusting!” I think one of the locals nearby heard me, but fortunately didn’t say anything. Not exactly a way to endear yourself to people. Stupid ugly teetotalling American. The game was fun and we headed back to the hotel.

A quick mention of an awesome PSA on drunk driving we saw during the game. It obliquely showed some of the consequences of drunk driving, usually formed as a question, the most haunting for me was the two adults sitting in the car with the question, “How do we tell her?” This was aired during the game and the entire bar got quiet for a minute. So much more effective than having some actress from the “Law & Order” series get all earnest and lecture the audience.

I played some poker with the guys and lost four euros. Up to bed and an attempt to sleep to the banging techno music from the disco next door. I ended up watching The Taking of Pelham 123, a hostage flick I’d always wanted to see but could never find on DVD. Good stuff. It’s nice that European television allows profanity and limited commercials. What a difference.

1 July 2006

Now where the hell is my credit card?!? This is unreal. I don’t lose things. Or I didn’t. Not good. I know for a fact I had it last night in the lobby, but no one turned it in and I can’t find it anywhere in my luggage. Ugh. At least I have my ATM check card with me. I would, naturally, find my watch on the last day AND my credit card ended up being in the grass-stained khakis at the bottom of my laundry bag. Minor inconveniences, but nothing bad came out of my sudden inability to keep things organized.

After another continental breakfast on the top floor of the restaurant, we headed out for another long day of driving. We passed by Limerick, which Noel said was nicknamed “Stab City.” Nice.

Our major stop today was at Bunratty Castle, built in the 14th century. The castle had narrow windows for defense (easy to shoot arrows out of, but hard to get them in), narrow circular staircases in all corners, and was decorated as if it were inhabited with appropriate clothing and furniture. Despite their best efforts to use certain stairwells for going up and others for going down, it was impossible to prevent significant congestion. I got up to the top, but couldn’t get down because of a queue of people making their way single file up towards me.

There’s only so much medieval castle gazing I can do so I spent much more time in the village surrounding the castle, which put the Bog Village to shame. This village had more diverse housing and had actors playing the various roles. My favorite stop, other than the animals I’ll talk about in a second, was in a middle class house where two women were making apple pies. A quartet of Italian tourists were visiting. One spoke broken English, the others none, and it was fun listening to her attempt to translate questions for the Irish women from her traveling companions. After five minutes or so (at least, as I wasn’t there when they arrived), the translator asked on behalf of an Italian man whether he could give them a kiss. They replied, “Certainly,” and a string of hugs and kisses ensued. Conviviality abounded as the man shrugged and said, “Italiano!”

They also had a bunch of animals in the village, nothing incredibly unique, but besides the pigs, ducks (and ducklings!), goats and sheep, was a beautiful horse standing outside an old mill. As I walked up to the mill, I saw her, but she was so still I thought she might be a statue. No one else was at the mill, so when I approached, she did move and I was able to pet her for a bit. I’m pretty good with domesticated animals, as I get just about any cat or dog to adore me whether I try or not, but large farm animals are a bit intimidating. This horse, however, was as sweet as could be, seeking affection and attention.

I bought some trinkets and a bracelet for my wife at the gift shop and got back on the bus, once again smell of burning peat.

Our next stop was at the Cliffs of Moher, a lovely scenic vista for thousands of tourists a day, though Neal, our bus driver told me they were going to be dramatically increasing parking fees to the point that people might no longer want to go. Having been to the Cliffs of Etretat in France the previous year, I felt like I had seen it already and I didn’t walk all the way out to the highest cliff. I was tired and it seemed like the long walk wouldn’t be worth it. I snapped a few photos from the first observation area and then headed inside to grab a quick lunch (naturally I had soup for the fifth or sixth time as none of the sandwiches appealed to me). My other fellow French travelers confirmed my supposition, that there was nothing special to see here if one had been on the trip last year.

On the bus lots of people went to sleep (and I dutifully snapped pictures of people with their mouths open, drooling, the whole deal) while those of us in the front amused ourselves with the word game Ghost, and especially Mark’s comments.

We had one last visit this day to the lively city of Galway, filled with lots of interesting shops. It seems like a nice place to visit, but I had done my shopping and just wanted to relax at this point, not killing an hour and a half walking back and forth.

We arrived in the middle of nowhere to stay at the Hotel Carraroe, a family-owned hotel strategically located on our journey. It was the least impressive of the hotels we stayed at, but had a certain charm, and was better than many of the hotels I stayed at in Italy and France. Dinner was nothing to write home about, although the crispy bread they served at the beginning of the meal was piping hot and delicious. I almost ate an entire basket by myself. Once again we had a choice of entrée and dessert (baked cod or beef stroganoff, apple pie or something else). I had the beef and the apple pie. The entrée was so-so, and the pie tasted like it was made from Granny Smith apples, too tart. The coffee was surprisingly good though, and I took a cup out to the lobby to watch the Brazil-France game. There I saw Zinedine Zidane for the second time and really got to see what great soccer looks like. A pity that he ended his career with a head butt in the final.

After that I played poker with Sean, Joe, Josh, Cyrena and Will and ran the table, winning about $32. The last hand was against Sean. I had pocket sevens and he had some face card and a 9. The flop included a pair of 9s, and it appeared I was dead. But the next card was a seven and I took him with a full house.

Because the hotel room was small, they mounted the telephones just above the bed. Helpful for the wake-up call, I suppose, but I think I’d rather have an end table. When I laid down to go to sleep I noticed the bed slanted slightly, almost imperceptibly to my right. Not to the point where I thought I would role off, but somewhat discomfiting. But as it was just one night, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

2 July 2006

My morning shower – ah, nothing like two tiny streams of water dripping on you as you try to rinse soap and shampoo away. At least breakfast was good. Continental, but a ton of fresh fruit and a few choices of yogurt. All in all, a very nice spread.

Noel gave a brief history of Northern Ireland on the bus to prepare us for the visit to Derry and Belfast the next day. He talked about Henry VIII, a nine-year war at the end of the 16th century which created the seeds or Irish resistance, the Easter Rebellion and Michael Collins, the war of independence from 1918-1921, the Irish Civil War from 1921-1923, the persecution of Catholics in Ulster in the 1950s and 1960s, the onset of the Irish Republican Army in the 1970s, the hunger strikes, the tit-for-tat killings in the 1980s, and the intervention of Bill Clinton leading to the 1994 cease fire and the 1998 Good Friday Agreement. A peace treaty was put in place, political convicts released, and no significant violence occurred as a consequence.

Unfortunately in 2002, there was a falling out of the complex web of parties and direct British rule resumed. The parties now face a November 2006 deadline. We were visiting just before “marching season” began. Noel said that on July 12, the Protestants would be celebrating the anniversary of the victory of the Protestant king. He would tell us two days later as we were leaving Belfast that he had see out his hotel window, little Protestant punks gathering wood and old tires to feed a bonfire they would like, burning Catholic symbols in effigy, most pointedly the Irish tri-color flag. The marches would take the particular group through their counterpart’s neighborhoods. Sometimes the incidents would be minor, other times not so minor. Sixty percent of Northern Ireland is Protestant, while only 10% of the Republic of Ireland is.

We arrived in Sligo for lunch to find that the whole of the town was at church or sleeping. We almost couldn’t find a place to eat, but finally settled on a cafeteria-style restaurant called the Rooftop Café. Not quite the scenic view provided by the Golf Hotel – Sligo is an ugly industrial city, from what I saw. I had a seafood chowder (yeah, more soup!) and apple pie for dessert. Once again, it was too tart for my taste. Meanwhile we had been playing a game of Ghost on the bus for some time and it was down to Josh and me. He would have won the game if he had any confidence in his spelling of “tying,” but I snowed him into thinking “tieing” was the proper spelling. Sucker.

We then went to see where William Butler Yeats was buried, winner of the 1923 Nobel Prize for literature. Yeats loved Ireland, particularly the area outside Sligo, under the flat-topped mountain of Benbulben. But because of an illness necessitating treatment abroad, he didn’t die in Ireland. His death occurred in 1939 in France. He was buried there, but moved after the war.

I should mention that the weather today was really hot. Most of us had dressed in long pants and brought jackets as the previous day had been surprisingly chilly. Fortunately I brought shorts in my backpack just in case, and it worked out all right for me.

We then visited an ancient burial ground consisting of a bunch of stones. It was actually much cooler than it sounds, and the panorama was lovely. Back on the bus until we arrived in Donegal, staying at the Hotel Abbey at the dead center of town. I checked out the Leisure Center at the sister hotel next door and worked out for an hour including a quick swim in the pool (swim cap compliments of the hotel). I decided to check out the steam room. I opened the door and was hit by what felt like fire. I took at least a minute adjusting my mental attitude to force myself into the room. I sat for 30 seconds, a minute at most, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t going to die. The air was so thick, I felt like I was drinking it. If that’s what a steam room is supposed to be like, I can’t fathom how people could use it. It MUST have been too hot. I bailed, went up to my room, showered and got ready for dinner.

I should mention that this was a terrific hotel, though when we arrived in the afternoon our rooms weren’t ready. Everyone dropped their bags in their dirty rooms and headed out on the town while they finished cleaning. I went out for a bit, but kept coming back hoping to use my room only to find them very slowly progressing through the rooms. The hallways were filled with dirty sheets and towels, room service items, and so forth… well into the evening. It wasn’t until after dinner that they were cleared. Yeesh.

Once again at dinner we had a bevy of choices (which, again, is something I have never experienced on these trips). I had a seafood cocktail as an appetizer (not the soup, I’ll point out), a beef dish as an entrée, and ice cream as the dessert. Many of those who had been eating ice cream at every meal opted for a dessert plate medley which included a cream puff and a couple of unidentifiable (and evidently unedible) pastries.

After dinner a large group of us went to the Scotsman’s Pub around the corner to hear traditional Irish music in the wonderful setting of a dive bar. The main guy was a guitarist and singer who was accompanied by a rotating group of accordion players, basically people who worked at the bar or regulars. At one point a female bartender (or owner?) sang a killer a capella song about the famine. Amazing to hear everyone in the bar become utterly attentive and silent. Stash spent the time sketching the musicians, and naturally, they noticed it, repeatedly begging her to “be kind.” Over the next hour and a half, our crew had gotten their fill with the exception of Stash and Richie. I ultimately had to drag them out of the place.

Somewhere in there I played a little more poker with the guys and Cyrena, but had an off night. I blame Will’s dreadfully random betting… and Joe who exploited a weakness in my game.

3 July 2006

Breakfast was a full Irish breakfast, but I felt somewhat rushed to get the bus loaded (probably because I was groggy after a late night). But as it turned out, this would be my favorite day of the trip.

We headed off to Northern Ireland, first to visit the heavily Catholic Derry. The British refer to it as London Derry, but anywhere in a Catholic neighborhood, “London” is scratched off or blacked out. We drive through the sketchy part of the city, the Bogside, where we saw gorgeous political murals covering the sides of buildings. People tried to get decent photos from the bus, but the shine off the glass and the movement of the bus made it difficult. Noel indicated that tourists aren’t made to feel welcome and it would be dangerous to stop the bus there.

He showed us the first of several streets where on one side were Catholics, and on the other high walls with barbed wire, separating them from the Protestants on the other side. Creepy. We then visited the walls of the city, pretty much intact from long ago. More facts on Northern Ireland: it’s 5,500 square miles, roughly the size of Connecticut. There are 1.6 million people there, half living in the city of Belfast. On the city walls we observed (and took pictures of) IRA graffiti.

Noel forgot to remind us that as Northern Ireland is part of the UK, the only accepted currency is pounds. Credit cards would work with sizeable purchases, but most of us had to his the ATM machine. As I didn’t have anything much to buy, I just got 10 pounds (which is almost $20 with the lousy exchange rate). I didn’t feel that hungry (which was unique on this trip), so after the group finished a brief inspection of city hall, I headed for the Bogside. I walked back to the city wall, down a steep hill and found myself in the midst of the murals. I dutifully took a picture of each artwork and then saw a sign for a Bloody Sunday exhibit. It was a small exhibit, but included powerful pictures of the terrible conflict in 1920. I didn’t stay long as I didn’t have much time, but it was one of the best things for me on this trip.

I quickly walked up the hundreds of steps to get to the city walls and found that I was sweating profusely. It wasn’t that hot, but I probably had my adrenaline pumping from the Bogside experience. By now I was hungry, so I stopped at a chip shop. I violated one of my pet peeves and asked, “Can I get fish and chips, please?” The woman said, “Yes, just one?” For a second I thought, maybe it’s a really small portion, but I stuck with my order. It took seemingly forever, but when she finally gave me the package, it felt like it was three pounds. And for good reason: the fish was an entire filet, probably close to a pound, with a ton of fries to match. I took it as “take away,” not realizing that I had nothing to eat the fish with. Suffice it to say, I was very greasy for awhile that afternoon.

I still had a bit of time to kill, but I couldn’t find any shops I was interested in (particularly since not only was the exchange rate horrible, but the prices in Derry were grossly overinflated). I did find a CD store and was struck by what was playing while I was browsing. The vocalist sounded exactly like Cat Stevens, but the music was closer to Damien Rice. I looked at the “now playing” display and made a mental note to look up the artist, but realizing it might be easier to remember the album title, I went with that. With in 20 minutes, I had forgotten it. D’oh!

Next was the highlight of the trip for me, a stop at the Giant’s Causeway. The causeway is a set of thousands of mostly hexagonal basalt columns created by volcanic eruption millions of years ago. That description doesn’t begin to do the scene justice. These flat-topped columnar rocks are lined up at varying heights, enabling the visitor to walk and climb and gaze out at the blue waters of the Atlantic (what? The Atlantic has blue water??). We watched a short film about the Causeway in which they explained the Irish legend about its creation: The Irish giant Finn McCool (Alysia’s ancestor?), built the causeway stretching from Ireland to Scotland with the intention of fighting the Scottish giant Benandonner. After seeing that Benandonner was much bigger than him, Finn ran home and had his wife disguise him as a baby. When the Scottish giant crossed the Causeway and came to Finn’s home, he freaked when he saw the size of the baby. He fled in terror, destroying most of the bridge home, leaving just enough for people to make up a legend about it.

We also looked at a large rock called the Giant’s Boot (guess what it looked like), and of course, the aforementioned Giant’s Organ, as in pipe organ. Rather than wait for the shuttle bus to take us down the hill from the entrance of the park, most of us walked the long trek uphill. Stash and I decided to get competitive and actually ran the last stretch. That’s right, Stash was running. I have photo evidence to prove it.

We next arrived in Belfast, which Noel described as “still a volatile city.” Our lovely hotel, the largest in Northern Ireland, was near the center of the city, but also just outside the entrance to Sandy Row, a seedy Catholic enclave. As July 12 was fast approaching as well as the 25th anniversary of the hunger strikes, Noel was a bit apprehensive about giving us much free time in Belfast. He later related that he was not afraid of the adults, but the 7 and 8 year olds. During one of our stops, several cars had deliberately boxed the bus in, but Neal was able to convince them to move. Once they heard his accent (from the North), they were willing to cut him slack. At another stop, I think it was at the Causeway, Noel bought a roll and a pat of butter. The cashier was going to charge him 20 pence – which he questioned. When she heard his accent she said, “40 pence for you.” He decided to go without the food.

Belfast. Let’s see, the Titanic was built here. Don’t know what else to say. Another city, not nearly as nice as Derry. I guess I’ll mention the traffic lights. Not unique to Ireland or Northern Ireland, but European traffic lights are cool. The same set-up, red, yellow, green, but when the light is going to turn from red to green, the yellow also comes on, so you know it’s about to change. I guess American drivers who try to time the lights would be disappointed if we had such a logical approach here.

Dinner at the hotel was excellent. Once again, multiple choices. The vegans got a fantastic looking stir fry, but my favorite was the vegetarian pasta. That is until dessert. I had assumed I would have to make a choice between apple pie with custard and an ice cream trio, but they let us have whatever we wanted. Finally, apple pie worth eating. The custard wasn’t wholly necessary, but added a nice touch.

We stayed in as (a) stores closed at 6 p.m., and (b) we were in Belfast. I continued my alternating poker success, finishing the trip with a second near run of the table. I think I figured out the right strategy when playing with a mix of experienced players (Sean, Josh, Joe) and novice lunatics (Will, Cyrena). Now if only I could recreate that on a weekly basis, I’d have a nice second income.

4 July 2006

During our bus tour of Belfast, I noticed a printed sign on a butcher shop that said, “Continuous 6 Day Meat Sale” and wondered precisely what that was meant to convey. We went through the Catholic area on Falls Road, seeing the Sinn Fein offices and more murals. Noel pointed out the bank that had been robbed of $26 million pounds, and told us that only one of the robbers was caught. He evidently thought the police were closing in so he started burning millions of notes in the fireplace. The neighbors reported him when burning money kept flying out of the chimney. Noel evidently felt it would be too dicey for us to see the Protestant slums, so we had to do without.

We had some free time in the morning to shop, but I didn’t buy anything except food at a Quick Stop. They had a little deli and a set menu with particular sandwiches. There was a good sounding roast beef sandwich (roast beef is hard to find in Europe) with some neat twists. So I ordered that, but was told they were out of mushrooms. And the onions I wanted. And the garlic sauce. So I settled for lettuce, red onions and French dressing. It was pretty terrible, but I ended up eating half of it. Good thing I was gorging myself at every other meal.

Just over the border into Ireland, we stopped at a small town. With just under an hour to spend, Noel brought us to a small mall. I bought an ordinary strawberry shake and killed time in an awful discount CD store. On prominent display was the soundtrack to Rocky II, if that helps. But lo and behold, I saw the album cover of the CD that I had forgotten the artist and title of. The price was 18 euros; I checked my pocket and found 18 euros. The album is The Swell Season by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. It’s quite lovely, though I imagine some would be bored by it. I found out that Hansard is a prominent member of a Dublin-based rock band called The Frames that has been around for awhile. Irglova is a Czech singer. If you like Damien Rice and Iron and Wine, this would be up your alley. (Or the vocals of Cat Stevens. Frighteningly similar.)

I had nothing to do so I went outside to find the bus. Neal was still in the mall, so I found a spot to sit and read. I began hearing the smashing of bottles and allowed my paranoia to get the best of me, thinking it was another group of unruly kids fixing to do something bad. I walked around the bus to take a peak at where the sound was coming from only to find a 40-year-old man with his young son, loading bottles into a recycling bin.

We headed back to the hotel outside Dublin for the last few hours of our trip. I challenged Josh to a workout showdown and we kept going and going until we mutually declared our competition a tie. An hour of cardio and some weights seemed like a good idea at the time, then I thought about having muscle cramps while being stuck on a seven-hour flight. Smart thinking.

We had the usual choices at dinner. I had fish and a lot of starch (French fries, new potatoes mostly) and then finished Alysia delicious stir fry. We hustled down to the bar to watch the Italy-Germany match just as we noticed a gaggle of German tourists checking into the hotel. Fortunately though, they were an older group, so we didn’t have to deal with fights breaking out in the bar.

5 July 2006

Because we had to get to the airport early, we had a five o’clock wake up call. Naturally I awoke at 4:50. Our breakfast was very continental (what cook is going to wake up just for a small group?). We encountered no traffic on the way to the airport. We said farewell to Neal, and Noel brought us inside and went on his way. At the check-in I had a brief scare when the computer wouldn’t let me do a self-check in, and the clerk said, “Did you change your date of departure?” Actually “scare” isn’t the right word for it. Chills running down my spine… then I blocked it out and waited. Sure enough, we were okay. We dropped our luggage and headed for our gate only to find that it was in a separate part of the terminal, not open to us for awhile. Some more time killing and then we went through the American pre-boarding area (which was neat because we could skip the screening after landing).

We waited for a long time while everyone took last pictures of each other. Sarah told a hilarious story about her mother’s passport. It seems that through typographical error she was identified as a male, something that went unnoticed by everyone for several years. When she sought to have it corrected, she got a new passport with the disclaimer “Susan Millar has had a sex change operation.” This led to Sarah’s friends referring to her as Stu Miller.

We boarded the plane, this time sitting next to one another for the most part. Fraylie and I were sitting next to each other, but she moved to sit next to a couple of other people (there were numerous empty seats on the return flight), giving me room to stretch out. The flight was uneventful and I even dozed for 20 minutes or so without suffering the ill physical effects of the previous flight. The film? “Take the Lead” starring Antonio Banderas as yet another teacher in the ghetto who inspires his kids to rise about their humble environs. I couldn’t read anymore so I ended up watching about 20 minutes of this treacle. Great job, Aer Lingus.

We bypassed customs immediately and then waited for our luggage, which took about 20 minutes in total. The bus was actually waiting for us and we headed home, once again through New York City. The Pumas and I handed back people’s extra photos and passport copies, though Eric decided to have fun exit interviews with each student. “What do you feel was your best contribution to the group? What would you do differently?”

Back at HHS we quickly said goodbye to one another, greeted our loved ones and headed home.

Although Ireland didn’t have the specific attractions that my other trips had, the leisurely and laid-back pace was so much better. We had tons of free time – in fact, almost too much of it! If I had the trip to do over again, I’d have made it a little less ambitious with more time in certain locations, skipping others altogether. When I return to Ireland with my family in 7 to 10 years, we’ll skip Northern Ireland (which I really enjoyed seeing once), and spend more time down in the Ring of Kerry. But what made this arguably the best trip I’ve done (London is hard to beat) is the company. I’ve never had a trip so free of drama and so full of camaraderie. Students who didn’t know each other became best of friends, and students who didn’t get along (and requested not to be roomed together) also ended up the best of friends. Well, some of them. Those with real differences kept them close to the vest and didn’t let anything we did become divisive. The sheep farm, the drive through the Ring of Kerry, the Giant’s Causeway, the games of Ghost, Road Trip and poker, watching the World Cup… tons of great memories. I'm almost sorry that this journal isn't more replete with my trademarking whining and grousing. I hate having a good time. See you in 2008. I'll practice being a malcontent in the interim.