Galway (part 1)

(though this says Wednesday 28th, it wasn't posted until Saturday 1st, so don't believe the lying blogger date attachment.) :)


So, in the aftermath of the Icelandic volcano making it very difficult to travel anywhere by plane, I decided to just explore the bits of Ireland that I had only seen in passing. One city in particular caught my attention.

Though we had stopped in Galway after our trip to the Aran Islands, we had only spent about an hour or two; it was really just a glorified rest stop to most of us. Still, even in the brief time I was there, the beauty of the architecture and the laid back feel of the city (even for Ireland standards) left a lasting impression in my mind. So, I thought, why not head back and actually get to know the place a bit? I researched a bit, found a good hostel and made reservations. On Dad's advice, I took the train (thank you, student discounts!) and with only a short ride and a few transfers, I was standing in the usual Irish rain outside the station. Thankfully, the hostel was right across the street, so I made my way through the traffic and sea of umbrellas (some kindly held up above my head, some needing to be ducked under) and pressed the button to be buzzed into the building.

After a bit of explanation that I was not, in fact, Scandinavian as the hostel's reservations computer described me, I carried my duffel and backpack up to the second floor (the third floor to us Americans, since the Irish set floors as Ground-1st-2nd-etc) and met my roommates. Interestingly (and a bit disappointingly) all were American, with two girls on vacation from their study abroad in Spain and two guys on a Europe backpacking trip. They were fairly typical Irish week visitors, angry at the weather and anxious to get to the pub, but still nice people. We got along well, and traded stories of our overseas experiences, and I shared advice about Irish pub etiquette and good drinks to try. Like most college students, they were more interested in quantity than quality though, and nightfall saw me nursing an overpriced but delicious pint of Bulmers cider while they downed whatever was on tap. Though I eventually convinced them to try Guinness, I think they were too used to conventional American beers, which are generally less potent and flavorful than Irish brew. The pub we had gone to was very tourist oriented, with loud American live music and rather stereotypical pub decor (instruments hanging from walls, an actual stage for the musicians, and overabundant light sources), and was generally the kind of place I would avoid in favor of a more homey, traditional place; all the same, it was a very fun night.

The next morning, after an uncomfortable shower in the co-ed bathrooms, I was ready to hit the streets. Galway has quite a reputation for being a great walk-about city, and it did not disappoint. A particularly well-known street (Merchant's Street, I want to say, but don't trust me on that) has been closed off to road traffic for decades, and can always be counted onto have plenty of great stores and cafes; but what caught my attention was the sheer number of street musicians. Cork has it's share of musicians, but I saw more on this street in a day than I had the rest of my stay in the entire country. Singing, playing instruments (sometimes plural per person), and dancing, entertainers of all ages and skill levels lined the edges of the streets. Earlier that day, I had gotten into a conversation with an older gentleman who had said that, though the economic depression had hit some very hard, the loss of the stress caused by having the intense jobs of the recently ended Celtic Tiger period of Ireland had allowed some people to pursue hobbies and other interests that they otherwise wouldn't have had time for. This did not mean that times weren't hard for them, or that they weren't trying very hard to makes things better; but rather, they were choosing instead to take this period as a bit of an extended vacation, and making the most out of the time they had. I, who feel like I waste altogether too much time in less useful enterprises (video games, among others) felt a lot of respect for that.

After treating myself to a nice dinner, I decided to walk the other side of town, that which runs along the dock and the beach. Traffic thinned out as I moved away from the city center, and by the time I reached the edge of the bay, I was alone apart from a few evening dog walkers. The sky was that beautiful silvery color that comes along on overcast evenings when the air is clean and clear, and the breeze blowing in from the ocean, water birds hung suspended in it like they couldn't care less if they ever made headway, smelled of salt and ship's petrol. It took a bit of walking to get away from the levees and small boats docked alongside it, but as I continued on, a peculiar thing happened. You know how there are some special areas in the world, different for each person, where you just feel utterly at ease or connected to the world around you? A part of it, rather than an outside consciousness or an intruder? In a class I had recently taken, I learned that the Japanese Zen garden is created with a similar goal of connectedness in mind, but I could only grasp the idea on a superficial level. As I walked along the extended concrete pier that jutted out into the bay, I understood exactly what the professor meant. I had felt it before, usually on top of mountains on hikes I had taken with Dad, or when all of the family is gathered together like for Christmas or Easter, but now having studied it, I think I understood it a bit more than before. When I reached the end of the pier, I had a seat on the provided concrete ledge near the water, and...just sat. An hour passed very quickly, and I realized how late it was by how dark it had (suddenly) gotten. I started back reluctantly, pausing only when I noticed a a small plaque upraised on the end of the seat I was had been sitting on. Unfortunately, now as I dig frantically through the clutter on my desk for the scrap of paper on which I had written the title and author, I cannot recall the exact wording of the poem inscribed there. Internet searches are not proving helpful, no matter how I word them. All I remember is the name, "Galway," and that it was a war poem about the Troubles of the past century. I would learn later that there was evidence of ancient people fishing and living in this area well before the Ancient Egyptians started thinking about building the periods, and that the land had changed hands and been reconstructed many times over its existence. But there, with the wind and sea so close and the birds overhead, I feel that I got a taste, just a small piece, of that ancient history beyond human contact, when it was just the sea and the beach and the birds. I think I will remember that feeling for the rest of my life.

By then, unfortunately, it was starting to rain, and visibility was getting pretty bad. As I walked back to hostel, I thought I would like to return to this place some day, after I had gotten few more years of experience through me, and sit in that same spot if it's still there.


I meant to write about all of my trip in this entry, but it's getting a bit long. I hadn't set out meaning to write so much! So, I'll finish writing this very soon (and I mean it this time! It will be done!), and talk to you all then.

2 months is waaay too long

...to go without posting everything! I let it all build up on me, and now I don't even know where to start! OK, I'll try not to make this TOO long.So, back in the end of February/start of March, Arcadia had set up a trip up to Northern Ireland, specifically Belfast and surrounding area. This meant another long bus ride, mitigated partially by having the movie The Boxer playing in the background. It was a pretty good movie, more than anything just for giving us a more concrete idea of how crazy and dangerous it was living in contested ground during the IRA/ North Ireland "Troubles." I recommend it, but don't expect a comedy fun-fest for the whole family.

We stayed at a hostel very similar to the one we stayed in back in our first week at Dublin, but crazier. Many of the room were only separated from others by sliding partitions, meaning that you had about 25 people jammed into what was technically a single space. Thankfully, I wasn't in that one, so I could visit the craziness without having to worry about sleeping there.
The next day, we were off bright and early (about 10:00) to the Giant's causeway. Now, this is almost impossible to describe without seeing it yourself, so pictures first!This doesn't really do the whole thing justice, but it shows the shapes of the rocks and natural columns. it all has to do with how the lava(!) that burst out of the area cooled over an unnaturally slow amount of time, in the 10s of thousands of years. At least that's what the guide said.
From the side, it looks a bit closer to this, without each rock being about 2 feet in diameter.
It just juts out a couple of hundred feet straight into the ocean, and it's all surrounded by these massive volcanic rock cliffs, of which I am not-too-intelligently standing on the edge of here:
We were lucky it was such a clear day; we could easily make out the outline of Scotland in the distance, which apparently is pretty rare to see. Ooo right, and it's got this great background story. Supposedly, the famous Irish hero and giant Finn MacCool (awesomest name ever) got into a shouting match with the Scottish giant Benandonner. Since Benandonner couldn't swim but both demanded satisfaction, MacCool starts tearing big chunks of the cliff out and building a causeway between the islands. The next day, . Finn looks out to see if Benandonner is coming, and realizes that the Scottish giant is big. And not just big, but BIG, as in much larger than MacCool. So, he runs back home to his wife (a very cool-headed druidess supposedly , but unfortunately nameless) who tells him to get into the baby's cradle and feign sleep. Confused, but compliant, he does so just as Benandonner comes pounding on the door. MacCool's wife open the door, and says Finn is out, but invites Benandonner in for tea while he waits. Inside, Benandonner looks into the cradle to give a compliment, and realizes sees how huge the 'baby' is. He thinks, if the baby's this big, how ferkin' big is his Da?! He excuses himself and hightails it back to Scottland, followed at a distance by MacCool, who tears down the causeway from the Ireland side. Hence, big broken Giant's Causeway.

OK, time for lunch. More to come soon!