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.