Love, Jimmie

We were settling in and just as we were drifting off to sleep in this very cushy, very plush, very large B&B, very much opposite the one in Doolin where we were terrified we’d hear someone having echo-y sex, we heard the couple in the bedroom above ours begin an amorous, rhythmic, thumping party that we could not ignore. “Go on with your bad selves,” I thought. And then sighed. Every silver lining has a cloud, I guess.

The Great Sex Fest: Ireland, 2013 ended shortly and very soon after that Woney and I were jolted awake by thunder and the smell of rain. We leapt out of bed and immediately beat a hasty path to the driveway. We stood there like turkeys, staring up at the sky for endless minutes, just waiting for it to rain. It did – six whole drops. That, friends, was the extent of the relentless Irish rain we’d heard so much about. Six drops in eight days.

The next morning brought another traditional Irish breakfast. Yay. Woney and I shoved our food all around our plates and opted for a piece of toast with a token bite taken out of other offerings just to make nice. The toast was fabulous, though! Really, very good.

We loaded our car with our ridiculous suitcases and my ridiculous pillow, and then thought to check on all of our purchases we had been lugging around since day one. Remember Lulu and Wilhelmina? They had been cruising around in the boot (Irish word! I’m so cultured!) for eight days and I was worried that the heat had done them in. Lulu was fine. Looked just like she did the moment Woney finished painting on her coconut bra. Wilhelmina, on the other hand, suffered facial damage. The sun had melted her little teddy bear face into itself and so she looked a lot like she had Bell’s Palsy. Poor baby. I was planning on breaking her up into bite-sized pieces to share at work but I was bitterly disappointed that she didn’t last longer so I could have first shown her off intact.

We headed into Trim for our last day and night in Ireland. It was a solemn drive. We were both a little sad and a little quiet, feeling thrilled at the prospect of home but also somewhat melancholy that the trip was nearing its end. The B&B we were scheduled for that night was perfect in that the husband-half of the proprietor couple, Mike, was such a talker! He gave us loads of things to do for the day, none of which involved scenic drives or castles.

Trim, on the way to Newgrange

Traditonal Irish Countryside

Our first stop after delivering our heavy bags was Newgrange in County Meath. We had seen pictures of it, sort of, and knew that it was a really old monument, sort of. We were intrigued to say the least and hopped in the car to seek it out. We found it eventually and discovered that it was a religious monument, sort of, and that it was built in 3200 BC, sort of. Really, not a lot of information is known about it, but scholars agree that it most likely was created as a passage tomb and had something to do with the Winter Solstice. An entire demonstration was done to show how light enters into the structure during Winter Solstice which lasted all of seventeen minutes from start to finish. I personally feel that the decades it took for Newgrangians to build that mound seems like a lot of time and effort for a seventeen minute light show once a year. Honestly, because so little was known about it I was slightly uncomfortable being there so all pictures you see here are Woney’s handiwork or taken off the internet. It was a neat thing to see but if you want more information on it, I recommend Google.

Credit: Station House Hotel
Newgrange Monument

Credit: Woney
Monument Entrance

What really got me jazzed, though, was the sheep/wool/spinning farm we stopped by on our way out of Newgrange. We saw a sign that said “Souvenirs” and you know Woney and I took that turn! Turns out it was one of the best memories I have of Ireland. We visited the sheep on the farm, and then watched a woman comb the wool, card the wool and then spin yarn from the wool. Smelled terrible in there but I loved it and bought all kinda presents for people in her shop. That is the part of Ireland I am going to miss, the interaction with the people.

Woney and I also got really jazzed about something else that day. I’m embarrassed to even tell you this. I can’t believe I’m still typing it. But we had seen some McDonald’s signs here and there and also signs for something called Supermac’s. It wasn’t until the last day that we realized Supermac’s was Ireland’s version of McDonald’s. It took a sign reading “Supermac’s: More Irish than Ronald” for us to get it, and since we were feeling very cultured and classy, we decided Supermac’s was our lunchtime choice. For the first time in eight days we had the opportunity to get a fountain Coke. Do you know how good fountain Cokes are? Do you have any idea how much you will miss them when you can’t get one anymore? I think lunch was pretty good, I cannot recall, but that Coke? Man, it was delicious!

Later that night, Woney and I had a quiet dinner at a local club house recommended by Mike. We talked about everything we had done over the last eight days. We continued to plan our move to Ireland. We still talk about that, actually. We made lists of all our purchases for customs and we packed our bags for the last time. As we were reading that night one of us would sniffle a little and then the other of us would sigh. It was a monumental trip and it was almost over. A lot of emotion there, but all of it good. Sleep came easy for us that night – a good thing since we had a long day ahead of us.

Next stop: Dublin, for one last go round!

Doolin was assuredly my favorite place. The people. The views. The chocolate. The Cliffs. Oh, those Cliffs. I’m not sure I will ever get over them.

Woney and I had gone to bed the night before, exhausted and spent but full of the experience of the Cliffs. The fire on my face made me crabby and tired, though, so I was ready for some rest. Anyone having truly experienced a proper sunburn knows of what I speak. The next morning as the sun came up, Woney and I awoke, and as we sat up in our respective beds to greet the day, Woney said, “Oh, Jimmie, your poor face.”

As she said it, I realized that the fire had not gone away overnight. Not only was my skin tight and a violent shade of red, it was also puffy from sleep. An excellent look for a woman in her forties. After we showered and I attempted to cover my lobster face with makeup, Woney and I headed down the stairs for our traditional Irish breakfast. I have to say, if I never see another egg again it will be too soon. A few days prior I had started picking my way through the breakfast, indulging in the tomato, the bacon and of course, the toast. Toast! I’ll never get over toast. But the egg and the sausage were grossing me out anymore. Blergh.

The proprietors at our B&B were lovely people, and as we were leaving, the husband, doing his B&B duty, began pointing out the authentic castle and gorgeous coastlines we should visit on our way to Galway. “No!” Woney and I both yelped, much to his dismay and surprise. We explained that authentic castles and scenic drives were no longer of interest to us. We were full. We could take no more eggs, no more castles and no more coastlines. I thought longingly of my umbrella that had been packed away in my suitcase since the beginning of the trip, just waiting to be opened for the first time. I was yearning for a cool breeze and soft rain and any kind of break from the heat. My face was on fire and I just wanted to experience some gloom, some damp. So no, gorgeous sunny coastlines were no longer on my list of things to see. Try explaining this to an Irishman who has lived his entire life in a state of gloom and rain and for once, has experienced a sunny break in his traditional gray life. Just try. It will not go over well, I assure you.

I think it was safe to say that Woney and I were tired. Woney had been doing a lot of driving and I had been doing a lot of passenger seat braking and reading of maps (wrongly, of course). This trip was thrilling, no doubt, but we were wearing out a little. We drove into Galway with this fatigue. We parked our car and schlepped out of it and trudged our way onto the brick streets that pave the city center of Galway.

Let me segue for just a bit. Once, when I was 19, I visited Sienna, Italy with Auntie Anne, Madre, and Martie. What a gorgeous place that was! The streets of Sienna were paved with bricks which gave it an old world feel – accurate as Sienna is old world. Sienna, at the time I was 19, was also full of military men, much to the delight of Martie and also me. We found ourselves some Italian boyfriends, Martie and I, and spent a happy two days in Sienna speaking the language of like on the brick-paved streets with two gorgeous military men, Luigi and Alessandro.

It think it is safe to say that brick-paved streets evoke fond memories in me and I’m telling you, the moment I put my foot on that brick street in Galway, I was shifted back to my time in Sienna. The excitement I felt there rushed back into me and suddenly, I was no longer fatigued. With a spring in my step, I trotted around Galway with Woney for the better part of the morning. She was pretty springy, too. We found Galway to be marvelous and truly, I was happy to experience it in the sunshine. Had it been raining we would have missed the man who made the most astonishing balloon figures, I conceded. It was fascinating to watch him create an Elmo with googly eyes and a Superman with a six-pack set of abs out of long skinny strips of rubber. We would have missed the street performers and the street fair where we spent exorbitant amounts of money on gifts for our friends and family. I had my first Irish tea at a sidewalk café. We had lunch at McDonough’s, a place we’d been hearing about since we left New York City. Go there for fish and chips. Don’t even waste your time having this dish anywhere else. McDonough’s. Make note of it.

With some regret Woney and I drove out of Galway that afternoon and headed for Westport. Days before we had begun to make pipe-dream plans to move to Ireland. Every city on our path was evaluated based on our pipe-dream criteria (are the people nice, how are the pubs, is there a dentist office). It didn’t take us long to realize that Galway would fit the bill nicely. So yes, we had regrets about leaving. Until we got to Westport.

True to form, our B&B in Westport was gorgeous! The proprietor was a sweet, shy woman and the city was just as friendly as every place we had visited thus far. Woney and I were thrilled with our first floor room as our ridiculous suitcases were becoming increasingly heavier the more we shopped.

We were even more thrilled when we learned from the sweet proprietor that there was a spa nearby that offered the fish pedicures we didn’t even know we wanted. Fish pedicures! Do you even know what that is? (Martie and Daisy – I am cautioning you to stop reading right now. Really, stop. This will turn your stomach.) Tiny little piranha-like fish in a tank rush to the dead skin on your feet and chew it off. We’d heard about it but being as how it’s not legal in the States, Woney and I had never dreamed we would get to experience it.

Y’all, experience it we did. With some trepidation we booked our appointment, made our way into the city, cleaned our feet, and then stared with wide eyes into the fish tanks. The fish were so . . . . tiny. They looked harmless. They just kind of flittered around in the tank, being lazy, being fish. Woney and I perched on our respective benches and on the count of three, plunged our feet into the tanks. Oh. Oh! OHOHOH! Those tiny harmless fish did turn into little mini-piranhas. In a frenzy they swarmed to our feet, like little leeches, and attached themselves to the dead skin on our feet for 25 minutes. It was such a strange sensation, like a tickling, buzzing, leech-y feeling. We loved it. Absolutely loved it! Highly Recommend Fish Pedicures.

Later that night, Woney and collapsed into our beds, totally happy with our experiences that day. We were settling in and just as we were drifting off to sleep in this very cushy, very plush, very large B&B, very much opposite the one in Doolin where we were terrified we’d hear someone having echo-y sex, we heard the couple in the bedroom above ours begin an amorous, rhythmic, thumping party that we could not ignore. “Go on with your bad selves,” I thought. And then sighed. Every silver lining has a cloud, I guess.

Next Stop: Trim!

I heard another couple come in the front door of the B&B, thump down the hall, have a conversation, and my last thought before I drifted off to sleep in that echo-y loud no-privacy B&B was, “Please, God, don’t let them have sex. We’ll hear it ALL and I just can’t take that.”

The night passed uneventfully and to my knowledge, no sex was had. Woney and I packed up our suitcases after another traditional Irish breakfast, complete with toast, and headed into Doolin proper. It was a 2.5 minute drive and that’s only because the road narrowed to a single lane and we had to wait for a car to first pass over the bridge.

We’d heard that an Island tour existed, that you could see the Cliffs of Moher from a boat, and I’ll tell you, the heat was such that a windy cruise was of great interest to us. I was sweating buckets and it was barely 9:00 a.m. I desperately wanted to walk the Cliffs, to hike them the old fashioned way but the cruise was cheap enough and enticing enough that we pushed the walking off until later. Woney and I purchased our tickets and then went shopping to amuse ourselves until the boat departed.

Y’all, I use the term “shopping” loosely. There were perhaps three stores meant for shopping in Doolin and one of them was a wool shop. It was 90 degrees – thus the very idea of wool shopping was abhorrent. The chocolate shop, on the other hand, was awarded our business and we spend an inordinate amount of time in there because quite simply, there was nothing else to do.

Sign Reads: Dangerous for Bathing Beyond this Point

Moo. That’s Gaelic for Moo.

We eventually wandered our way down a pretty long road to get to the boat docks and finally, our boat came. First we visited the Aran Islands where we had the best lunch of our entire lives.

Best Lunch Ever

We took a horse and buggy tour of the Island and again, attempted to amuse ourselves with the rest of our time by shopping. If you guessed that there was really no shopping, you’d be correct. The local population of that island is about 300 people, give or take five. One man was selling pieces of slate on which he hand-carved Gaelic symbols and letters. He was quite popular with the 300 citizens and managed to do a tidy business as all the tourists with money burning a hole in their pockets emptied them into his ready hands.

View from Aran Island

Shipwreck on the Island

Our Pony, Jack

See the rocks in the field?

The farming families who live here move the rocks from the field and build the paddocks. Millions of rocks, hundreds of paddocks.

Just because it’s pretty . . . .

Next we hopped back on the boat to visit the Cliffs. It was here, on this boat, that I blistered my nose so badly that the skin hardened into a protective covering like a cicada. I didn’t realize that was happening because of the wind and the beauty but when Woney said as I took off my sunglasses, “Wow, you look like a raccoon” I wised up.

I didn’t mention much about either of these jaunts because again, Ireland is just such a beautiful place that I’m going to let it speak for itself. I will tell you that the Cliffs are so massive that when you approach them from the water and you try to look up to see the top of them, you can’t. The sheer magnitude of them will make your breath catch in your throat and you’ll realize just how small you really are. Absolutely gorgeous. Woney and I just breathed it all in, as much as we could take.

Cliffs from a distance

Cliffs of Moher

Free Standing Rock

Cliffs of Moher

Moher Rock

Moher Rock – Every white dot is a Puffin.

Limp with all the beauty we had experienced, Woney and I drug ourselves back down that long road to our car and drug ourselves out of Doolin. We both made a half-hearted attempt at offering to walk the Cliffs with the other but I could already feel my skin beginning to puff up from the burn. Woney could see this for herself and so we made our way to Galway for the night. We were exhausted. Even if Hugh Jackman dressed in full Wolverine gear had streaked naked through our B&B I would not have noticed. (This might be a lie.) I was completely satiated. I could not take in anymore.

Doolin was assuredly my favorite place. The people. The views. The chocolate. The Cliffs. Oh, those Cliffs. I’m not sure I will ever get over them.

Next Stop: Westport!

Ireland

We felt like we were somebody as we sat in the parlor after dinner reading our books and nibbling on excellent Butler’s chocolates, passing an evening in the way the royals do. It was such a lovely day. We went to bed that night sighing over our good fortune.

I’d love to tell you that our good fortune extended through the night but to do so would be a lie. Woney and I were cozy in our beds, snoozing away, dreaming in limericks in the middle of the night when out of nowhere, a blaring buzzing horn began to echo through the halls of the castle. Woney and I leapt out of bed, hearts racing, instantly alert. We frantically scrambled around for a moment, Woney tripped over her suitcase and faceplanted on the carpet, and we headed for the door.

An interesting point of note is that when in Ireland, you should become accustomed to using a real live skeleton key to lock and unlock every bedroom door in all B&Bs and Castle/Hotels. At night, you lock yourself into the room with the same skeleton key you used to unlock the door when checking in. This little nugget of information would have been useful to remember before we jammed our fingers into the locked doorframe and creatively spouted words that would make Madre blush as we tried to dutifully make our smoke alarm exit. It took us a moment, and after we calmed down we donned the fluffy castle robes left for us in the armoire, utilized our skeleton key and exited our room.

Perhaps it is because Americans are drama queens or perhaps everyone else lodging at the Castle/Hotel was out whooping it up at the pub at 2:00 a.m., but Woney and I were the only patrons to follow protocol for smoke alarm blarings. We wandered the dark, quiet halls in our snazzy, fluffy robes for a few minutes and then deciding that we were in no danger, headed back to bed.

The next morning brought another traditional Irish breakfast, this time with toast, and I made my rounds saying good-bye to the castle. We lugged our ridiculous suitcases and my ridiculous pillow down three flights of stairs and out to the car to take off for another day of sight-seeing.

Jimmie and the Castle Dog

The Bunratty Castle was on our list. Before we could get there, we had to cross a body of water, and that meant a ferry ride. Woney drove our tiny little car onto the ferry, grabbed a hoodie and made for the top of the ferry. I think we both just wanted an excuse to wear a hoodie more than anything but for a few minutes, we saw Ireland from the middle of the water. Awesome. Of course I don’t have a picture because I am a moron.

Our Mini Car

At this point, I’d like you to remember how I alluded to some foreshadowing in one of my earlier Ireland posts. I’d like you to recall the mentions I’ve made re: our getting lost. Oh. My. God. You guys, I am embarrassed to even tell you this, but despite our having specific directions on how to find the Bunratty Castle from the ferry, we got lost. “It’s right next to Durty Nellie’s,” everyone said. “Right next door. Can’t miss it.” Well, miss it we did, at least four times. Finally we just parked at Durty Nellie’s and said, “We’ll go in and ask.” Thank the Lord we didn’t because we would have been laughed right out of the joint.

The Bunratty Castle is, quite literally, right next to Durty Nellie’s. They share a parking lot. Our problem, see, was that there was a giant hedge between the two and Woney and I never dreamed that a hedge would hide the castle. We are Philistines. Good for us that we saw it as we entered the parking lot, and so we made our way sheepishly to the castle.

Bunratty Castle

The castle was nice. Very authentic. Kind of full of rocks and stones and drafts. We traipsed up and down the spiral staircases and checked out the bedrooms and narrow windows but honestly, Woney and I were castled out. We attemped a few “oohs” and some “aahs”. At best they were halfhearted. Lunch, on the other hand, was of great interest to us and so we made our way back to Durty Nellie’s for the absolute best toasted cheese and ham sandwich I have ever had or ever hope to have again. I’m very sorry that experience is over.

After Bunratty, we headed for Doolin. The next day would bring our tour of the Cliffs of Moher so taking a scenic leisurely drive was of interest as we really had nothing better to do. We simply followed signs to Doolin, having decided that Gwendolyn was an idiot, and remember how I alluded to some foreshadowing in one of my earlier Ireland posts? I’d like you to recall the mentions I’ve made re: our getting lost. Oh. My. God. I’m not sure how we did it but Woney and I ended up in the middle of the back of beyond. Twice. We were on roads that were closed. We were on roads that did not exist. We were on roads that just followed a never-ending circle. Finally we broke down and asked Gwendolyn for help and do you know what she did to us? Took us into people’s driveways. Took us on bicycle paths not meant for cars. She took us around the same road we had already been on. Twice. It was exhausting. I wish we had a Map My Run feature on at the time because I’ll bet the aerial view was ridiculous, like a corn maze except worse.

Eventually we topped a hill in the middle of BFE and Woney said, “I know where we are.” How she did that I will never know being as how neither of us had ever been to Ireland before, but sure enough we drove down the hill and straight into Doolin.

View from the top of our hill

Here ends the exciting part of my story. Doolin is a very boring town full of very nice people but that’s it as far at the town goes. There’s no shopping. There’s a pub or two but nothing super exciting. I’d like to tell great stories about how wonderful the people were and aside from our bartender, Carmel, and her friend Aine, I can’t. Carmel was fabulous to Woney when Woney got her foot stuck in some tar on the super boring road in the super boring town and for that Woney is forever grateful. I could wax poetic about Carmel all day, really, but seriously, this town was D-E-A-D. I think all their energy goes into the Cliffs and the Cliffs alone.

Woney’s foot that got stuck in tar, soaking in a Coke bath (which incidentally, did not help)

We checked in to our B&B for the night and for once got a room on the first floor. I’m sad to report that again, here ends the exciting part of my story. This B&B was the most impersonal, institutional, dreary B&B we had encountered thus far. Our room was so tiny that we both could not stand at once. Everything echoed in the room and down the hall as there was no carpet, no rug, no soft surface of any sort, including the proprietor who was minus a personality. After we had some dinner and drinks with Carmel and Aine, Woney and I were tired and scooched into our tiny twin beds. I heard another couple come in the front door of the B&B, thump down the hall, have a conversation, and my last thought before I drifted off to sleep in that echo-y loud no-privacy B&B was, “Please, God, don’t let them have sex. We’ll hear it ALL and I just can’t take that.”

Our Mini Room

Next Stop: Galway!