Cork & Galway

Cork & Galway, a set on Flickr.

Photos! Dublin and England to Follow.

Irlande

Hey All,

Brace yourself this is a long one.

It has been a while since I posted last. As I mentioned before, I spent my break traveling around Ireland and England. I returned to Cergy only an hour before my first class of the week and have been busy since then. I have also been having problems with internet in my apartment so I have only been online for a short time each day. Tomorrow, I will put some photos up from Ireland. They will all have captions below the photos when you view them one at a time, so I will try not to repeat anything here.

My trip started quite early in the morning. I had a microelectronic devices lab until late the day before so I decided to come back to the apartment and get a good night’s  sleep rather than worrying about packing. I woke up Saturday morning very early, packed my backpack, and left my apartment by 6am. The goal of the trip was to travel as cheaply as possible, so I opted to take a flight out of London rather than Paris. To get to England I caught a coach bus out of Charles de Gaulle airport on the eastern side of Paris. The coach left at about 10am and drove northeast towards Port Callais on the English Channel.

The coach was quite full and when I got on I had to ask a gentleman to move his baggage aside so I could take one of the last available seats. Naturally since we were in Paris, I asked him to do so in French and he obliged. The ride to the coast would take about four hours, so I bought a book in Charles de Gaulle before I left (the French translation of The Road by Cormac McCarthy of No Country for Old Men fame). I discovered that aside from a few families, nearly everyone on the bus was English including the gentleman I was sitting next to. I remembered what our French professor had told us, that travel out of France was mostly vacationers returning to their home countries. “The French don’t leave the country a lot” she said, “they like France too much.” To my amusement, this gentleman assumed (quite logically) that since I spoke to him French and was reading a French novel that I was French and did not speak any English. He would occasionally lean over and point something out (such as the shelf to store my jacket) using hand gestures and single word sentences.  

From Port Callais we took a ferry across the channel to Dover. The ferry was impressive, it must have fit well over two hundred coach busses the same size as ours. On the top decks of the ship were restaurants, lounges, and stores. I was in the company of likely the entire primary-school population of the UK, who were all wearing matching class trip t-shirts and talking loudly. The few adults who were onboard took refuge by the bar for the remainder of the trip. I decided to have a sandwich and grab a seat near the top deck. I explained to the gentleman that I only had Euros to pay with. He said that was no problem but he’d have to give me “sterling” back for change. In my head I thought “a third currency? Why can’t he just give me the change back in pounds?” I would soon find that the English have a nickname for everything.

I was impressed how large the English Channel was. After a few minutes, you couldn’t see land on either side and I could have sworn I was in the middle of an ocean. After a journey of ninety minutes I headed back to the relative quiet of the coach and popped two Advil from my small medicine kit (thanks Dad!). We docked and we were underway, though not for long. Unfortunately the only person on the coach who did not speak any English was our bus driver, nor did he understand the phrase “passenger manifest” which was cause for the UK border guards to ask us to pull over to the side. We had to take our bags out of the bus, go through scanners, and have our passports checked whist our bus was searched with dogs. It wasn’t a big deal for most people, everyone with a UK passport was waved through. However, it took me quite some time to explain that I was a US citizen, living in France, going to England in order to fly to Ireland. I needed his assistance to fill out the non-EU citizen paperwork too, since it was asking for things such as “Address of Residence while in the UK” (um, the airport?) and “Duration of Stay in the UK” (hmm, well its 2pm now and my flight is at 9pm, so seven hours?). I was the last person to board the bus on the other side of the checkpoint. My friend in the seat next to me was slightly curious and greeted me with “Did you have any problems?” You can imagine his surprise when I repeated the story to him in fluent English!

I arrived at London Victoria a few hours later and took an airport connecting coach to London Stansted. I learned the lesson that just because an airport says the name of a city does not mean that it is right inside the city. I was expecting a short ride a few miles beyond the city limits, but I was brought all the way into the countryside. It was night and I was one of a few dozen people in the airport. I went through security (with my liquids in a plastic bag and shoes off, grr) and caught my flight to Cork.

I was the last flight to land in Ireland. Going through Irish customs was an entirely different experience. They had a separate line for just non-EU citizens of which I was the only one. The gentleman at customs was exactly how I pictured an older Irish guy to be. He was slightly overweight, stout, and had frayed graying hair. As I walked up he pulled himself up in his seat and let out a small yawn.

“A visitor?” he said and I replied to the affirmative. He didn’t even look at my passport as he stamped it.

“Good travels to ye,” he said handing my passport back with a smile. I walked outside and stood in queue for a cab to the city center. As mine pulled up I read the word ‘tacsaí’ on the top. I initially thought that I got a cab from the Arabic taxi company until I started reading a few of the Gaelic signs that we were passing. He drove eighty miles per hour in the bus lane on his phone the whole time. In short, it was everything I wanted and more from what I believe was my first ever taxi cab ride.

I stepped out of the taxi cab and checked into my hostel just before midnight, done with the most roundabout way to get from France to Ireland. The hostel staff was exceedingly friendly throughout our stay, even offering us touring advice, maps, and bus schedules. I found my room and woke up a sleeping Kaitlin while unpacking my things. The hostel was quite what one would expect with slightly creaky bunk beds, shower rooms, and many young backpackers speaking in different languages, several of whom were returning from an apparently ambitious night out. But for less than 9€ each night, there was nothing that was worth complaining about. They even served a free breakfast of tea and toast.

We wanted to spend our first full day heading out to Blarney Castle, a short bus ride away. The tour of the castle was pretty cool, rounded out by a kiss of the famous Blarney Stone. Interestingly enough, when someone (or a guidebook) says that the stone is part of the castle, what they actually mean is that it is castle-adjacent. To reach the stone, you have to lay on your back and gab a bar above you. You then have a gentleman grab ahold of your midsection while you slide out over the edge of the castle wall bending over backwards far enough to touch the stone. It takes a little flexibility and a lot of faith in the man holding you up. 

The next day we hung out in Cork for a while before taking our train to Galway.

Galway was a city about the same size as Cork, but quite a bit livelier. It is said to be Ireland’s youngest city. We arrived rather late and the nightlife was in full swing. Walking along the main drag you could hear live music from adjacent pubs blending together amidst the shouts of young partygoers. We were very hungry, but decided to check into our hostel first. When we first took the elevator up into the lobby on the third floor I thought we had the wrong address. The reception was wide open, with a kitchen to the left and a large common area with beanbag chairs and leather couches behind. Everything was very bright, colorful, and clean. The staff was equally helpful and gave us the keycards to our room. The rooms were lined along a hallway that was exactly like a hotel with sconce lighting, carpet, and hand-painted murals on each wall. Our room had six bunks and a shower in-suite, everything was in good repair with freshly washed sheets on each bunk. I was extremely impressed, especially considering that we were paying only around $10 per night. 

We stopped in just long enough to claim a bunk and say hello to our roommates, a group of college students and an elderly Irish gentleman, before heading out to eat. We had a nice dinner and stopped by one of the pubs playing traditional music for a drink. There we ran into the older gentleman from our room who was also enjoying the music. As much as we would have liked to stay for a while we decided to make it an early night. We enjoyed a few hours of peaceful sleep until our friend from the pub came back slightly more intoxicated than when we saw him last and decided to get into an argument with one of the ladies in the room about opening a window. He announced in a heavy accent that he was too ‘expletive’-ing hot and proceeded to strip down to rather revealing speedo-sized underwear and went to sleep. We made it a point to leave for the day before he awoke.

In addition to touring around the city we also visited the Aran Islands just off the Western Coast on my dad’s recommendation. We went to the largest island, Inishmore, which itself is only 12 square miles. At one time one of the last refuges for Irish Catholics in the 17^th century, the island has a permanent residence of less than nine hundred people many of whom work in tourist-industry related jobs. Our ferry landed in the town of Kilronan, the one and only town on the island complete with a few bed and breakfasts, bars, and shops. It is also one of the few Gaeltachts, districts of the country where Irish is the primary spoken and written language. Since it was still winter, there were very few visitors to the island, perhaps a few dozen on our ferry. We rented bicycles and set off along the coast of the island. The weather was chilly and cloudy, but turned to a misty rain after a few miles.

We visited the main castle ruin of the island, Dún Aonghasa, said to be built several centuries BC. It is only a castle ruin in the sense that there are several intact walls standing a few feet high, but the view of the cliffs along the back end of the island was magnificent. As we were walking back down a small tour bus unloaded with our fellow ferrygoers heading to the ruin as well. Several people commented that we were brave to ride bikes in such a weather. One couple said that they wished they could ride around the island, but they “ended up on the bus.” All I could vision in my head was the guy turning to his wife after five minutes on the bus and saying “honey, I don’t think we’re on a bike.”

As the wind was picking up, we decided to head back along the main road to Kilronan and pick up something to eat. As we got into town there was a friendly black and white dog sniffing around the side of a building that came running up to our side as we rode past. We went into the only bar that was open that day, took off our wet jackets, and sat down. Besides a couple eating, the only others there were a handful of people at the bar drinking Guinness and talking in rapid Irish, one of whom I recognized as the captain of our ferry.  I couldn’t help but think that they were trash talking the tourists the entire time, but I will never know. We stayed and enjoyed a cup of coffee and a hot meal before heading out again.

The weather had improved significantly and though it was still overcast, the rain had stopped. We decided to do some more riding and started along a road to the southern end of end of the island. Sure enough, as soon as we started our canine friend ran up right along side of us. We rode to the southern tip and back, a journey of about two hours. The dog stayed with us the entire time. He must have been having the time of his life because he showed no signs of tiring and was blissfully unaware of his surroundings. He would stand in the middle of the road towards an oncoming car with a look of “well are you going to move now or what?” We met a lady on the way back from the grocery store who said that the dog was following people around yesterday and that she think it must be from a different part of the island (or a very good swimmer). The 5pm ferry took us back to Galway and to our hostel.

The next morning we walked around the city for a bit before heading to the train station to catch our train to Dublin. In queue to board the train we ran into the same middle-aged couple from the Aran Islands. We chatted for a minute and they informed us that they are also going to Dublin but, due to a change of plans, will be heading out earlier than they expected. As such, the bus tour tickets that they bought would have to go to waste, so they offered them to us and we gladly accepted.

Our hostel in Dublin was not owned by the same company, but also was a great modern facility with staff that went out of their way to be helpful and friendly. We were located in Temple Bar, an artsy and bohemian district which is famed to be the ‘party’ center of the city, and it sure is. We arrived in early evening, and the party was in full swing. Each block was packed with pubs, clubs, restaurants, and many people enjoying the calm evening and live music that was not only in the pubs, but performed outside by street musicians. The revelry spilled out of the pubs and into the cobblestone streets, echoing off the brick buildings. The noise and music drifted up from the streets to the balcony of our room from early afternoon until the small hours of the morning. It was not a relaxing spot to stay, but it was lively and varied in a very awesome way. In the common room we met a large group of girls who were staying in our room and the same elderly man who had come from Galway, who thankfully was not.

We had two days to spend in the city, and we had an aggressive agenda. Medieval Dublin, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin Zoo, and Kilmainham Gaol were all easy to get to with our bus passes. We toured Trinity College including the Book of Kells and the coolest library I’ve ever seen in my life. Thanks for the suggestion, Uncle Tom! We also stopped by the Guinness Storehouse to see the museum and have a pint just pulled off the line at the highest bar in Dublin. I think I’m quoting Trish’s description of the same place when I say “it was pretty much amazing.” At one time the Guinness factory employed over 100,000 people, and still covers an absolutely massive area of the city. Arthur Guinness was so sure of the success of his product that he signed a 10,000 year lease on the property.

Having some time to kill after dark, we decided to take in a bit of the nightlife and went around to a few pubs in the city. I was amazed by their scale. You could walk into a small double door of an unassuming brick building and be in a pub that was over five stories with a maze of wooden staircases and a bar on each level, easily holding several hundred people. Many of the pubs in Temple Bar served much more than a variety of the local drinks, the place where we ate dinner did full course meals and had a variety of drinks from across the world!

After stopping by a few large places such as that we found our way into a single-story pub on the edge of the Temple Bar district. There were maybe forty people there including a guitarist playing a few of the more well-known Irish tunes. After a few minutes he started a new song and dedicated it to a young lady in the audience. He asked her name and where she was from. Considering that we were over 3,000 miles from the United States, you can imagine my surprise when she said Buffalo, New York!  As the guitarist started playing I made my way over to the lady, perhaps in her late twenties and said that I was, in fact, from Buffalo as well. We exchanged introductions and I asked her what brought her to Ireland. She said that her husband was working all week preparing for a big fundraiser at the end of the month since he is the fundraising director for a Buffalo private high school, so she and the girls caught a cheap flight here. Rather than ask her which high school I took a wild guess and I was right: Canisius High School. As it turns out she is a graduate of Nardin Academy and met her husband when they were both in high school. I told her that I was a graduate of Canisius and that my cousin was starting at Nardin next year. She was thrilled and said that her choice of high school was one of the best decisions she made, and wanted me to wish my cousin the best of luck for her. What a small world!

Heading back to our hostel, we sat for a while in the common room before heading of to bed. In the common room a few of the girls we were sharing our room with were talking about how annoying their traveling companion was. Overhearing bits and pieces of their conversation we gathered that their plan was to leave the hostel tomorrow morning, a day ahead of schedule, without informing one girl in their group. Hoping to mess with their plan a bit, I set my alarm extra early and made it a point to make a decent amount of nose getting out of bed. Alas, in the early morning the other bunks were already empty leaving behind one girl who spent the morning tying to get through to her traveling companions without success. Some friends they were! Sick of a week of free toast and tea, we headed across the street to a café that was serving a traditional Irish breakfast: eggs, sausage, bacon, black and white pudding, and toast. It was delicious but would likely kill you if you ate one every day.

Having our full of Dublin’s sights we checked out of our hostel and rode a bus to the airport. Our next stop was Liverpool, just across the Irish Channel. As such, the flight between the two cities cost only about 15€, less than the cost of a pizza. It was a small jet sitting on the tarmac that we had to grab our backpacks and walk up to. As we approached the plane I thought that they were playing music on board, but walking up the stairs I realized that it was singing. Before us, occupying about fifty of the perhaps sixty seats of the airplane was a group of college-aged footballers all wearing jerseys and all rather drunk. They were singing at the top of their lungs in a heavy English accent and making cat calls at the stewardess as she walked past. As we took our seats a rather stern looking male flight attendant came on over the loudspeaker.

“Either you can all be quiet and respect our other passengers,” he said, “or I can have the Garda escort you off the flight.”

They fell silent for a few seconds then responded in unison with an ‘Oooohhh’ such as one would make if the teacher gave someone detention in grammar school and then continued to sing.

To be continued…