Kites, Accordians, and Black Gold

A coach bus scooped us up from the Havod Arms and took us to Holyhead in order to catch the ferry for Dublin. The bus-ride was long, but after a short bathroom stop my attitude was transformed. Drew bought me a coloring book and some colored pencils which instantly lifted my spirits, but nearly getting hit by a car a second later made me feel like it's just good to be alive, even if I'm stuck on a bus with the beautiful heavy scent of bus-stall hovering. (I hurriedly ran across the street to get a sweet new hat, yea, but I left the book and pencils in the shop, crap). The "Cruise-ferry" as they called it, brought us to Dublin fresh from a nap and energetic with instant coffee (that's all they got here, but it's kinda good). We made it to our apartments, ran out to get some Indian food, and spent the rest of the night fighting sweaty Irish at the Bleeding Horse (a pleasant pub name), ecstatic with our first Guiness's-in-Dublin. Yes, they taste better here, and after a tour of the Guiness Storehouse I know, well, I guess I know where it comes from. But, regardless, the Black Gold is good.

Kreeger and I left early the next morning for Galway via train (West Coast). I expected a beautiful ride through rolling green hills and old stone castle ruins, but we pretty much just saw flatness and once in awhile a mound of garbage. I guess the Irish dump all their old lawn chairs, broken bikes, ripped car seats, and garbage bags over the fence on the track banks. Galway was cold and sunny, then cold and rainy, then kinda warm and sunny, then cloudy--all within the two hours we spent there. We ate at Finnegan's, a little section of old brick in the midst of the newer shops, for lunch...dang good. After a wander around, we hopped a bus for the country to the "birthplace of traditional irish music," Doolin. We entered a full bus, but ended up being the last two on it an hour and half later. We were suprised, after expecting to discover a lively town with pubs and music everywhere, when the driver stopped outiside a sad little strip of shops behind farms of sheep and horses. We said "no, we're actually going all the way to Doolin," he said sharply in his thick accent, "This is Doolin." Drew says the place smelt like EZ cheez. We dumped our gear at the hostel and headed for the only place to go, Gus O'Connors. We sat at the bar and before we knew it the Irish blokes came to the bar, one after the other, to grab a Guiness and proceed to tuning their instruments. Soon 9 musicians were circled around a round table playing their country's heart with laughing eyes. We couldn't have asked for a more incredible night. Here we were, in Ireland, the heart of the country in a place that smells like cheese, in a dark Irish pub, no tourists, only farmers and some travellers, listening to accordians, bazouki's, flutes, bagpipes, penny whistles, and bellowing Irishmen holding their glasses high. We slept well and content.

The next morning we walked four miles to the Cliffs of Moher. I have no words really to give you, they were unbelievable. Even though the place is a tourist Mecca complete with paved walkways and info signs, the Cliffs are untouched and "couldn't be bothered" by all the camera's and souvenirs. Drew and I sat on a sandstone ledge that stuck out to a point over the atlantic about 650ft. We sat, as it's called in Doolin, on Europe's window ledge and looked at our home from the other side of the pond. Incredible to say the very least. And then my recently made dream came true: we flew a kite over the rocky cliffs, catching the furious wind from the ocean. Well, we didn't really fly it, we tried though, it would kind of float for a second and then dive, but we did it. The kite, the only one we could find, was all the colors of the rainbow, and Drew and I, without shame, ran with it smiling. Yea, people stared. Anyway, no time left, will write soon.

Cheers.