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October 14, 2006

Last Stop: Ireland

It was a long 24 hour journey from Nairobi to Ireland involving two flights and eleven hours of layover in airports. We had booked with Emirates, an outstanding airline for its quality of service, but for the first time I regretted all the in-flight conveniences on offer. Seatback TV panels provided over a hundred movies to choose from, in addition to video games, full cds and radio stations, but all I wanted to do was sleep. The temptation was too much to resist and for most of the all night flight we stayed awake playing with the toys. We arrived into Shannon airport red eyed, haggard, and probably looking like we had spent the past fourteen months traveling.

Watch your step at the Cliffs of Moher

For the first six days in Ireland we hardly moved from the tiny village of Corofin. In County Clare, a region famous for its traditional music, Corofin is really just one main street containing as many pubs as shops, all brightly painted. Sinead’s aunt and uncle put us up in their hostel that adjoins the house and nursed us back to life with breakfasts of eggs, rashers, and sausages. Good coffee, wine and home cooked meals were all luxuries that we had missed and we over indulged the entire time we were there. For the first couple of days the rain pounded down with such fury that it felt as if we had already made it to Vancouver. It gave us a chance to wash every item of clothing that we owned. Our attempts at hand washing in Africa were not as successful as we had originally thought – after running the clothes through the first time, a thick layer of mud was left in the bottom of the washing machine, requiring further attempts. We soon abandoned the effort and headed into the nearby town of Ennis to pick up new clothes at the Irish equivalent to Winners – Pennies!

Between rainy spells Marie took us through the countryside and showed us the sights. Through the rocky landscape of the Burren and up to Galway Bay castles would pop up in the most unusual places. Most often all that was left was a crumbling wall surrounded by shaggy sheep which occupied the corner of a farmer’s field, as if there was no reason why it shouldn’t be there. East through the surf town of Lahinch we reached the Cliffs of Moher, one of Irelands premiere tourist attractions. A newly constructed walkway and retaining wall keep most people away from the edge, but for those (us) that ignore the “Do Not Enter” sign and walk along the unprotected edge, it’s a 203 m sheer drop to the ocean below. Of all that we saw in County Clare, I’d have to say the most interesting was the Lisdoonvarna matchmaking festival. Traditionally held in September at the end of the harvest, hordes of older singles flock to the dances in hopes of finding true love. We stopped by a pub hosting one of these dances but a steep five euro cover charge was levied – probably intended to kept the riff raff such as ourselves from actually entering. We poked our heads in anyway to get a good look and then sat in the noon day sun with our pints, peering through the windows at the packed crowd slow dancing to the live music within.

Shoe repair shop & pub all in one

Since it was the end of the trip, we splurged and got a rental car. I’ve since found out that nothing stresses me out more than renting a car. Convinced that the rental company was out to screw us, I drove the car cautiously for the week that we had it, which is no easy task in Ireland. Roads barely wide enough for one vehicle are lined with what look like harmless hedges, but are actually stone walls in disguise waiting to ruin the day for careless individuals that decided to forgo the extra insurance on their rental car. Throw in reckless local drivers, indecisive sheep, thick fog, and driving on the opposite side of the road, and you have the recipe for a very unrelaxing drive through some very beautiful countryside.

Normally a tourist hot spot, with every second building housing a B&B, the port town of Dingle had pretty much shut down for the season. Pubs and restaurants were empty and boat trips to see the world famous resident dolphin, Fungie, had stopped running due to stormy weather. We escaped the rain by doing a two person pub crawl – and what better way to start it off than with a full roast meal and a pint of Guinness in Murphy’s Pub. It amazes me that pubs in Ireland all seem to have roast specials at lunch, and throughout our time there I think I averaged a roast every other day. No wonder the clothes I had tailor made in Vietnam are feeling a little snug. Murphy’s contained a key element that I feel is lacking in all Canadian pubs: a dog. This guy waddled around the place with his stomach dragging on the ground and looking as if he had eaten every scrap leftover since the bar opened. Much to my delight, dogs in pubs became a regular sighting. Next stop on the pub crawl was Foxy John’s, one of those multi-purpose pubs that also doubled as a hardware store. On one side is a counter selling hardware and on the other, the bar. Thankfully, heavy machinery wasn’t available after dark. Next up was the famous Dick Mack’s, another quirky pub that also does shoe repair. By the end of the night we were listening to live music at one of the pubs on the main street. Unlike the excellent jam session we saw in the Corofin pub, this one seems put on for the tourists, but it was still good music to listen to as I sat back and sipped a pint of the black stuff.

Losing my dignity at the Blarney Stone

Back in the rental car we navigated the Dingle Pennisula with limited visibility in the pouring rain which together with the high kilometer winds ensured that every inch of our clothes were saturated in a two minute hiatus from the car. Things brightened up completely by the time we got to the Ring of Kerry, a coastal drive through some spectacular scenery. Distances in Ireland are deceiving as all major roads pass through every village along the way. Just as the car reaches a cruising speed of 100 km/hour, a “Traffic Calming” sign will appear, and I’d be back down to 50 km/hr. On the way to Wexford to visit another of Sinead’s aunts, we couldn’t resist the urge to stop off and kiss the Blarney stone. Through a winding stone staircase we climbed to the top of Blarney castle to plant one on the famous stone. When I saw the procedure that was involved, I almost immediately backed out. Kissing the stone involved much more than leaning over and giving a smooch to some rock. Eloquence seekers must lie on their back, grab on to two support bars, and lean their head way back over an open drop with puckered lips to reach the stone. All the while a burly man holds you in place while your shirt falls over your head in an incredibly unflattering pose. It is impossible to have any sort of grace or elegance while doing this, but somehow the operators still manage to squeeze ten euro out of people to buy what is probably the worst photograph ever taken of them. We decided that we couldn’t get this far and not follow through, but it wasn’t one of my finer moments.

After a brief visit to Jo and David in Wexford, we stuffed their two dogs in our rental car trunk and took them to the beach. Before any animal lovers start crying fowl, let me assure you that the dogs love riding in the trunk. In fact you must physically hold them back if you ever want to open your trunk in their presence. Sadly, we spent the afternoon throwing plastic bottles into the ocean because it was the only thing that they insisted on playing fetch with. Only half were retrieved. North up to Dublin we made our way to the mecca for beer lovers, The Guinness Brewery. We patiently stood in line for over an hour an a half to take the sensational self directed brewery tour with all the fanfare before cashing in on our “free” pint of Guinness at the Gravity bar. The museum may be a little over the top, but the pint of Guinness was the best I’ve ever had with a head so thick that the dent from my lips could be seen in the dregs of my beer. After spending the weekend in Dublin with a few of Sinead's cousins, we had one last taste of Irish hospitality in Cavan at her grannie's house.

Last night of the trip in a black cab

Trying to match up a cheap Ryan Air flight to London with our connecting flight to Vancouver proved to be difficult, so we opted for one action packed day and night in London. Given its size and outrageously high prices, it was a little ridiculous of us to even attempt to take in London in one day. Considering that my bagel sandwich cost me $9, we knew it was going to be expensive. Once in the center of town we caught a hop-on hop-off double decker tour bus that took in all the sights. We raced around London checking out all that we could. We had decided that we could only afford to actually visit one of the sights along the way, so intrigued by tales of torture, rebellion, and priceless jewels, we chose the Tower of London. It was the wrong choice. I couldn’t help thinking “We paid $50 for this??” as we wandered through uninspiring and rather uninformative presentations on the tower’s history.

The main highlight of London was the chance to meet up with Jonald and Claire, friends we met while we were in Buenos Aires. One of the best things about traveling is the people you meet. It’s funny how you can meet people, spend only a couple days with them, and feel like you have made some great friends. It was this way with Jonald and Claire, and meeting up with them in London was almost as if we had just left them in Buenos Aires. They took us to an Argentine steak restaurant, so authentic that all the waiters even sported the mullet that all Argentine men seem to be so fond of. Beer, wine, good company, and a trip home from the restaurant in a London black cab made for a great finale to our journey. So after four hundred and thirty one days on the road, we slung our bags on our backs for the last time and headed for home.

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Posted by brett at October 14, 2006 09:56 PM

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Posted by: john mccormack at October 15, 2006 12:32 PM

Posted by: dom at October 15, 2006 01:51 PM

Posted by: Cairine at October 16, 2006 08:03 AM

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