So, the luck of the Irish must have been with me, because somehow I got included on a girl's trip to Ireland with some of my in-laws. After my return my son said, "But, mom, you invited yourself" (after I had told him it is not polite to ask someone to take you somewhere) and.....well.....I guess, he was right, I kind of did. I'll think of it more as the power of intention. Here is how it went: They were talking about the upcoming trip that had been planned for my husband's dad's wife, Karen (or one of my mother-in-laws as I call her) for her 60th birthday present and I swear I heard someone say, "does anyone else want to go?" and I said, "I want to go" (because.....well....I did want to go) and in the back of my mind thinking haha, there is no way I can (I mean there are plenty of things I want to do, but.....you know).
But, the wheels of fate instantly started turning and it seemed like they really thought it was a good idea that I join them, so when I protested that "there is no way I can leave my kids again so soon after Bali" and "Hello? how can I afford a trip like that so soon after Bali?" the next thing I know my father-in-law was generously offering up his skymiles and offering up his son (my husband) to care for the kids and it became more of a question of "how can I pass up this opportunity?' Even my husband agreed. When I mentioned to my brother-in-law that it gave me anxiety whenever I thought about actually going, he gave me this simple and sound advice, "Just don't think about it then." And just like that, I was magically scheduled on a trip to go to Ireland within weeks of returning from Bali and I took his advice and didn't think about it (too much), other than to occasionally giggle with excitement that yes, I was actually going to Ireland, a place that I had always wanted to go.
Fortunately, my sister-in-law, Jennifer, had things well-planned with her travel connections, so I really didn't need to think about it much. When we stepped off the plane in Shannon everything was all set to go and we jumped in the rental car and headed off (on the left side of the treacherously, narrow road, which took some getting used to, even for the passengers) to where? I had no clue.
We arrived in the cutest little town, Ennis, to stay at the Old Ground Hotel. We must have looked pretty clueless, because when we asked a friendly policewoman (Garda) directions to the hotel she offered to lead us there by car. She didn't seem the least bit annoyed by us "tourists" (a word which, in my experience of living in many tourist towns in America, might be said with thinly veiled contempt, and synonymous with the word nuisance by many locals). This was to be our first lesson on the happy and friendly nature of the Irish, about which I cannot say enough. The stereotype is true, especially in the smaller communities.
That night we felt like honored guests at the Medieval banquet in Bunratty castle where we ate without utensils, except a knife, which I imagine was there in case we needed to stab someone (at least that is what comes to mind when I think of medieval times?). We drank lovely Mead, a mixture of wine and honey (I think) and enjoyed feasting on many different foods (a vegetarians nightmare, of course, they did offer an alternative, but come on, when in Rome or in this case the middle ages......). And, as we licked our fingers clean we were entertained by some lovely musicians and singers, with a flair for the theatrical. It was really fun, and I was so happy that we were seated next to a very cute, Irish newlywed couple, it made the experience feel much less touristy being able to have a good conversation with real Irish people (which to me being a psych-soci-counselor-type is the best part about travel--the people).
But......we soon found that the most authentic Irish experience was to be found, nowhere else but, you guessed it......THE PUBS. I instantly fell in love with the pubs. Even the one right next to Bunratty, was astonishingly quaint and filled with many locals and the most EXCELLENT CRACK! Yes, we wondered the same thing as you are wondering when we heard people exclaiming, "this is good crack!" that first night in the pub. We knew they weren't high, but weren't quite certain what they were referring to. Well, we did our homework and found that good crack (also spelled craic) means: good music, good fun, good conversation, conviviality, good times, good drinks, it can include all of these things and more or just some of them, I think. But, it is my belief, no question, that whatever it is, Ireland (particularly in the pubs), has got it!......And, I LOVED IT!......and quickly adopted the phrase as my own, forever exclaiming, "THIS is good crack!"
Oh, and the crack was good that first night at Durty Nelly's, as we would find to be the case at nearly all of the pubs we came across in Ireland. The pubs were like that famous bar we all know about, where "everybody knows your name"......except......they don't. When we entered the pubs it was like we were magically transported to a place where time seemed to stand still and there was a never-ending supply of good crack. And like so many other nights (or so we would soon find), it seemed the fun had just gotten going and, what? Where had the time gone? And there we were, like 4 Cinderellas, with the difficult task of tearing ourselves away from the fun and all of the great people we had met (the last thing we wanted to do), before the clock struck.......well.....whatever, because we had some serious sightseeing to do the next day, you know.
The next day was a bit rough, I will say, but nothing that the awesome beauty of the Cliffs of Moher couldn't cure. WOW! I promptly renamed them the "Sacred Cliffs of Moher" in Balinese fashion, where it seemed anything of great natural beauty, the things that I would usually consider sacred (maybe not using that word exactly), the Balinese would just name sacred. Nothing like calling a spade a spade, or something like that. They were truly breathtaking, and with each round of the bend a more spectacular view. I could have walked, gawked, gaped and just drank in the views forever, but, it seems, you can't put off that most important part of the day forever, and, well......it was almost Guinness time and we had a way to drive still.
We found, that, no, it wasn't just a fluke, that first pub was not so unusual, when we went to the pub attached to our hotel in Ennis that evening and found more of, you guessed it, GREAT CRACK! There was a group of musicians playing traditional Irish folk music in a booth around the corner from us. The group started with just 3, but gradually expanded to.......I am not really sure how many were playing by the end, it was like a large jam session and was very fun! Something my husband would have loved seeing, although, he probably would have joined in at some point, and I don't think the band would have really minded. And, again, many locals mixing it up, we were entertained by one Irish man doing some serious boogying. Alas, we were all really tired from the much later night before AND many of the smaller town pubs closed much earlier (thank goodness!) so we were off to get some needed rest early (actually early took on a completely different meaning for me in Ireland than it ever had at home).
The next morning we were off again, taking the scenic route on our way to the town of Cashel, outside of Connemara National Park. The scenery was beautiful, of course. The green hills dotted with white sheep and sectioned with stone walls were nothing less than storybook, as well as the frequent castles, in various levels of repair. The historical sites and old architecture were amazing, as you might expect, especially for someone like me from the U.S. where we just don't have stuff that old (I know, the American Indians, but you know what I mean), the cities are just so much older than ours.
The Burren, was a completely unique area, too, with limestone covered hills and megalithic tombs and dolmens (which we didn't view up close), and great rock climbing areas, which we viewed from the road. It definitely made for an interesting drive. We passed many small towns that were very cute, too, as many houses had thatched roofs and were just very quaint looking.
When we arrived at the Cashel house I could not believe my good fortune. I mean, the Old Ground Hotel, in Ennis had been very beautiful, a former manor house from the 18th century, but the Cashel house, also a manor house from the 18th century, was even more amazing. Maybe it was because of it's remote location, but something about it felt so relaxing.....almost.......magical. And if you know me, you know that I love being in the beauty of the outdoors and right away I was excited, because when we checked in they gave us a booklet with all of the walks (rambles) you could take right from the hotel. You could say I was in heaven......
Of course, there was the rain......but, I expected nothing less from Ireland, I mean there is a saying, "You don't go to Ireland for the weather." I decided that afternoon, to wander through some of the 50 acres of gardens that they have right there at the hotel, because, well, I enjoy walking in the rain and I was thinking this might be my only chance to see the gardens since I was planning a nice long ramble through the countryside first thing in the morning.
As I walked through some of the most amazing gardens I have ever seen, I kept seeing movement out of the corner of my eye and could easily see why people could believe there were fairies about, especially after a few pints. I, of course, knew that it was only the way the water droplets bounced on the leaves that gave the illusion. I wandered around through all of the little paths and began feeling that this really was a mystical place. After a while I came upon a gate that I thought I recognized from one of the paths in the booklet and thought, "why not?" I could just go a little way (without a map) and then turn around and make it back for dinner, right? That's me, always looking for an adventure.
So, I quickly exited the gate wondering if I was really supposed to be going through it. I tried my best on the horse trail, not to step in the really muddy areas, at first. I followed for a while, but eventually it didn't seem like there was much of a trail. I wasn't worried, from my vantage point on the hill I could see the grounds of the hotel and would certainly be able to make my way back there. I turned around and looked beyond the hotel grounds at a spectacular view of the Cashel bay and thought, "Okay, this is worth it." When I turned back around and looked up the hillside, I thought I saw, from a distance, some landmarks from what I had read in the booklet, such as a tomb, and thought I must be pretty close to some kind of trail and I did remember reading that we should let them know if any of the trails need upkeep, so, maybe, I was actually on the trail.
I REALLY had to fight my urge to continue on up the hill, because I knew my time was limited, and how angry would they be if I missed the dinner we had reservations for, especially since it was not a casual affair and by this time, even with my light step, my shins had gotten very intimate with the mud, so to speak. I had to turn around. So, I did. On my way back down I didn't think too much about the trail and figured I would run into the horse prints again soon enough, or something. Somehow I ended up in an overgrown thicket following what looked like paths where the grass was matted down. There were many of them. They looked like people paths, but each time I would follow one very far I would end up at a place that was impassable for the bushes. They really looked like paths made by people (or even a horse), and they seemed fairly fresh, but I certainly couldn't get through them and they seemed to keep going under the bushes. Under? Hmmm......
I thought to myself, "Could it be?" I mean, I don't really believe, but have no real proof otherwise. I come from a culture where most people believe in things like pregnant Virgins, angels, and.......our country's democratic process.......so, it's not THAT big of a leap really. Is it? I am not going to say the L word, but it would explain the small paths and it would explain why I got so turned around when I was only about 10 steps from the Cashel house grounds, crossing the same thicket twice and seemingly going in circles and getting slightly disoriented, while being attacked by the same blackberry bush in two different instances. My concern with the time certainly didn't help.
They are real tricksters, you know. I was trying to go the straightforward route to the grounds, but, I soon realized, I was not meant to go that way, and the unseen forces were going to see to it that I didn't........so, now feeling a bit worried about the time and not wanting to lose my status as the "good" daughter-in-law, I turned back up the hill and followed the horse path in the opposite direction, which seemed to be away from the hotel. Fortunately, it just took me to the horse stables on the grounds, and from there I was able to follow the road back to the garden entrance.....Phew! What a relief. I wondered if the nice hotel worker (Eddie, who we later shared good crack with) could see it in my face when I came to the door drenched and a bit muddy, as I apologetically, took my shoes and socks off and explained I had gone for a little walk. I was a little embarrassed, especially when I saw all of the umbrellas and....the rubber boots by the door. I joked, "oh, that's what those are for--haha."
Well, I will never know for sure what was really going on back there, but I could have sworn........it was.......something. Luckily, I did make it in time for a quick shower before dinner, which was probably one of the best meals of the trip and, of course, I said "yes!" to all 5 courses, I had earned it.
The next morning I was happy I had chosen to take my little adventure, because the interesting conversation with our newfound friend Eddie (a French transplant, who had been working in Ireland for years) kept us up much later than we had planned that night (again, this was beginning to become a habit). Jennifer and I blamed the rain for keeping us indoors that morning instead of on our planned trek, and, well, I am going to go ahead and stick with that story, the rain is a likely culprit.
We left Cashel that day for Dublin, although I wouldn't have minded staying on, it probably was better for the group that we left, because even by my standards, and I could easily be considered one of the most boring people on the planet, it was a little slow. And........somehow, this trip.......something.....had gotten into me......and I think.........I might know just what it was.
The only thing that pours more steadily than the rain here in Ireland, is.........the Guinness. It just so happens that the Guinness here, is one of the best things I have ever tasted. SO tasty, SO smooth, SO drinkable, and so much better and lighter than it is in the US. I became completely captivated by it. And, it seems, the closer you get to Dublin, the better the Guinness tastes (at least that is what the locals tell us, and I certainly couldn't argue with it). So, by the time we made it to Dublin, it was no surprise that, not unlike Augustus Gloop upon arrival at WIlly Wonka's place, I fell head first into the chocolate river...........of Guinness.
Now, if you know me very well, you know that I really don't drink that much, at least not often (I mean sure there was a time, but that was years ago), and my husband will attest I certainly didn't drink that much Bintang while in Bali. But Bintang and Guinness are of an entirely different breed now aren't they? It is unfair to Bintang, which has it's own merits, to even put it in the same class as Guinness.
I became so fond of the Guinness and so disheartened that I had never had anything close to this Guinness in the states and may never again, that I began to study the workings of the
Guinness pour, thinking perhaps, there would be some clue in the pour, that maybe......THIS was the answer. When I suggested to the bar tender (or is that pub tender?) at the famous
O'Donoghue's pub in Dublin, that I thought pouring Guinness might be an art, he offered to let me come behind the bar and try it out. SO...I did. I am not sure if it has to do with the distance that it travels, the pour, or something else, but I doubt I will ever get one quite so perfect tasting as I did in Dublin (that just might be a blessing since I did come home with a bit of beer gut working, and I am not sure I have the will power it would take to avoid heavy Guinness drinking, if it were so readily available).
Aside from the Guinness, Dublin was a lovely city. The colorful doors and bright buildings were a welcome contrast to the dreary, gray skies. We ate good food, and explored the city (in between Guinness breaks). I always love my visits to the city, and Dublin was no exception, I thought it was a very quaint city with a lot of character. It was, Trinity College and viewing the famous gospel writings: the Book of Kells by day, and Temple Bar, Dublin's cultural center and tourist hotspot by night. As if there wasn't enough to do and see in the city, we decided to venture out of the city one day to
New Grange, the megalithic tomb and a must-see on our list. How could we leave Ireland without taking the opportunity to see something that had been built 3000 years BEFORE CHRIST. Yes, that is what I said. A passage tomb built oh......about......5000 years ago, give or take a few hundred years. I honestly can't even wrap my mind around that amount of time, but I am definitely going to take note of whatever message they had to offer. The most interesting thing about it, is that it was built so that each year during the winter solstice, the passage is illuminated by a shaft of light from the sun. Pretty fascinating, in my opinion, and since I am forever in search of a mystical experience, or at least of seeing a unique phenomenon, this seemed like a good place to start.
Once back in the city, we were on a mission, although we weren't quite aware of it then, looking back now, it seems to be the only explanation. I think we were trying to pack in as much good crack as possible before leaving Dublin. I lost count on how many places we actually visited that night, but it was more than 4 and I could not get enough of my new true love: Guinness. We met so many people and had so much fun, I don't know where I would even start. At the first pub, where I poured Guinness? At the place we had a traditional (greasy) fish & chips dinner where there was some music and a man doing some serious spoon-playing? The dance club (In Seine, pronounced insane) where we experienced some Clublin (clubbin' in Dublin)? The pub, that I so stealthily crept away from the club to visit, in the wee hours? (because frankly, I could get that club scene anywhere, not so, the pubs, I was so fond of).
I don't know. What I do know, is that the next morning I would regret having laughed at the German boys we had sat near at New Grange who had been telling a story in German and the only part we understood was what we had termed "the international language of vomit" because I too, was now speaking it. That is what I get for laughing. The Guinness had finally caught up with me. It was only a matter of time really, because like I said, I NEVER drink that much, so was very ill-prepared for the week long marathon of pint-tipping.
I had to keep up appearances enough to climb the beloved
Blarney castle and kiss the stone as we passed by on our way to Killarney. You know that anyone who kisses the stone is supposed to instantly have bestowed upon them the gift of "Blarney". Of course, I
had to kiss it. And the nice views and fresh air from atop, was probably the best thing for me.
It was a short stint in Killarney. By the time we got there we were pretty well spent and only had two nights left in Ireland. After driving as much as we had, which if you have never driven there you might not understand, it is NOT like driving in the US, and it takes a lot longer than it looks like it will on the map, we (or rather, our overworked, main driver, Jennifer) couldn't bring ourselves to drive to the Dingle Peninsula or the RIng of Kerry as we had originally planned (do I smell another trip?). So, we settled on exploring the town of Killarney, which was a much needed reprieve from sitting in the car that last day (I mean we DID still have the drive to Shannon and long flight to sit through).
OH Yeah! I almost forgot, and I would be really remiss if I failed to mention.....THE MEN (don't worry Thayer has already seen the pictures). Perhaps, it was because I had never been on a girls-trip of this sort before, so was unfamiliar with this kind of experience, or maybe it was that our fearless well-seasoned, girls-trip leader, Jennifer looks like Barbie (without the plastic), she's beautiful, and her mother, Karen looks like....well, a well-aged version of her daughter and Bernadette, Karen's sister looks like them, too and is generally the friendliest person in the bar, and I have my cheeks (the ones on my face, unusually, which the men seemed to be obsessed with), but, for some reason we seemed to garner a LOT of attention from the men.
I would never have guessed there would be this many HOT men in Ireland. Beginning with the Irish man who sat reciting poetry and telling stories, to the two young men serenading Karen with "Jenny's mom has got it going on", to the German soccer players, and Englishmen with their accents and Scottish men with their accents and the men from Holland, and Italian men offering to "make Jenny pasta", and well, I could go on, but I won't. I won't say that I did not enjoy the attention, but I was not used to that, and since my wedding ring is broken right now, at one point considered borrowing Jennifer's ring, not her wedding one, her other one, to help with my case. I took one look at it and realized that I did not want to be responsible for that, in my state, I mean, I didn't want to walk around with what was, essentially, another trip to Ireland on my finger all night, you know. SO, I just had to suck it up, and accept all of that attention, (all the while protesting, "yes, I really am married.") what else could I do? I had no choice.
Well, one thing is for certain, those of us who hadn't already known, learned the real value of the girls-trip. And for Karen, who'd waited 60 years to find out, it was not a moment too soon. As for Ireland, I would highly recommend it to anyone in search of really excellent crack (the good kind, not the derelict-producing kind) because Ireland not only has it, Ireland invented it! (actually some historians will argue with that, but I am obviously, not a historian).
Now, if you enjoyed this story then let's chalk one up for the Blarney stone, if not, eww....I kissed that disgusting, germ-covered, slab of rock that has been kissed by a million other bacteria-ridden mouths...for......NOTHING?
