Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Meandering down to Kilkenny

Paul and I woke up at 8:30, showered, and went to the airport to get a rental car. The plan was that Paul and I would get the car while the girls went to Mass at St. Mary's Pro-Cathedral (anyone know what makes a cathedral a "pro"?). Well, we got on a local bus (2 euro), and got to the airport in about a half an hour. While on the bus, I asked someone what time it was and he said, "8:00". I thought it was 9:00, so needless to say I was confused. It turns out that during that the night before was daylight savings. We all of the sudden had added an hour to our day.

When we got to the airport, we picked up a small 4-door Nissan, and drove away – yes, it was really that easy. It took about 10 minutes to get to downtown Dublin driving on the wrong (left) side of the road. We parked where I thought Catrina had pointed out to me on a map, but it turned out that she was pointing to the north side of the river, and we parked on the south side – so we had to walk about a half a mile up to the cathedral, but still made it in time for Mass. I came in at the point where everyone has to turn to the person next him and shake hands. The priest's accent was inaudible, so when this part came, Paul and I turned to each other and the people around us and said, "Pleased to meet you, pleased to meet you…" When Catrina and Laura found out what we had said, they explained to us that we were supposed to be saying, "Peace be with you." Again, the priest really didn't annunciate very well.

During Mass, we looked around and couldn't see the girls. When we got out, we walked around the Cathedral and still didn't spy them. A couple minutes later, they finally came around the corner. They had been eating breakfast. We asked what went wrong, and apparently they didn't know about the daylight savings change either, so when they showed up for Mass at 9 (which they thought was 10), no one was there, so they walked across town to another cathedral, which unfortunately was neither open nor catholic. So they then decided to eat breakfast in a café.

We walked the half a mile to the car and hit the road. The Irish countryside is about as beautiful as any I've ever seen – especially in the fall. Every shade of yellow, orange, and green were represented and the hills were painted in fire. We lost the main highway pretty quick (I don't know if it was because Laura got shotgun – or on purpose) and drove mainly through the back-country. We stopped in a small town and bought a CD that we hoped would be Irish. When we asked the girl at the music store to give us a CD that is by and Irish artist. She found one then we asked her, "Does it sound Irish?" She turned to her boss and said, "He's old, he'll know…. Is this music Irish-ish?" The guy looked at her with a don't-ask-me look on his face, "ish…." (meaning no). We bought it anyway and it was certainly only Irish-ish, but fun to listen to as we drove. (At least more fun than listening to all that American country music they play on their radio stations).

Paul, at some point along the way, said, "I want to stop at a farmers market." Well, when we drove through a city called Athy, there was a little farmers' market in the main plaza. I got a homemade loaf of apple bread that ended up being our lunch and we talked to some people who were standing near our car. I asked one of them, "What do you do for fun in this city?" He responded without hesitation, "Drink ourselves silly." Typical. We continued on.

As we were pulling into our destination city, Kilkenny, we witnessed an interesting phenomena that rang surprisingly familiar. Droves of people were walking all in the same direction with blankets and jackets –the young boys had a strange hybrid of lacrosse and cricket mallet. We rolled down the window and asked a passerby, "What's going on here?" and they excitedly responded, "It's the country finals! The Shamrocks verses Saint Martin's." Soccer? Rugby? Cricket? We had to know. "What sport?" "Hurling!"

Hurling? Were we going to go? Of course we were going. There was no parking, but our car was small enough to pull up onto a sidewalk (not our idea, we just did what everyone else was doing). We followed the crowds to a large stadium. We asked, "Which side do we have to sit on if we support Saint Martin's?" (I still don't know why we picked St. Martin's, but once we were there, we had become die-hard Martin's fans). The man in the ticket booth said, "Oh, you can sit anywhere, we're all friends here." True to what the man said, most people we asked said that they were neutral and didn't care who won. So, needless to say, when Paul would yell his heart out in favor of St. Martin's he got more than a few awkward stares. Of course the Shamrock's won (they were national champs last year after all), and after it was over everyone went onto the field as the captain, from the stands, lifted the shiny silver cup over his head and gave a Gaelic victory speech (It was actually English, but so hard to understand that Paul attempted to give a translation.)

After the game, we went to see the castle just as it was closing. After that we walked down the main street, over the river and to a restaurant on the corner. I got fish and chips as the TV above us reported the Shamrock's victory from earlier that day. I felt Irish just for a second. We made our way out of the restaurant and asked around until we found a hostel right in the middle of the town. When we paid, everyone pulled what was left of their money, and we had to scrape together coins from everyones pockets til we came up with the amount we owed. We were broke, happy, and heading home in the morning. Good trip.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Iron & Wine - feelin just fine...

Laura Jane asked us, "Hey guys, what are we doing?" I answered, "Well, we're in Ireland, but that's all I can really think of." Then everyone looked at each other and said, "Oh yeah, we're going to see Iron & Wine!" What an amazing day.


It all started in my dirty, Polish hostel where I was so afraid to leave my bed the night before that I ended up sleeping for 11 hours trying not to touch anything (especially the pillow which i could only mostly cover with a spare shirt). Upon springing from bed, I threw on some clothes, packed up and went to the front desk. I asked the surprisingly clean girl at the desk what I needed to do to vacate my bed (ie. turn in sheets for cleaning), she said, "Eh, just leave." So I left with a sick taste in my mouth, scared I had already contracted TB.

I checked my email and Paul and his friends had made the flight to Dublin, so I went to our meeting spot on the Northeast corner of the O'Connell bridge. I thought they'd be there around 9 or 9:30, but they ended up getting there around 11:30. I discovered that I am absolutely intolerant to waiting. Without a cell phone and the ability to know exactly where someone is and when they will arrive, I shut down. I was pacing up and down the bridge, jumping up on the wall to sit, then jumping down again. But they eventually showed up, and it was like no time had passed at all.

Fist thing we did was walk back to my hostel to grab my bag which I had stashed in a closet. The vomit I almost stepped in the day earlier was still just stagnating outside the door. We walked to a good hostel which I already knew was full and they redirected us to some good hostels. Brown's hostel was very nice and we ended up booking for the night, however, in our quest to find new accommodations, I walked into a hostel and was surprised to be greeted by Marta, the Pollock lady who had checked me into the hostel the day before. She recognized me, and I said, "This place isn't as bad as the other one is it?" And she said, "It's not much better, but that one down the street (the one I'd stayed in) has to be the worst hostel in Ireland." (Not an exact quote - explicatives removed). So, not only was that hostel nasty by my standards and the Moroccan guy who was in the bunk next to me, but it was also admittedly the worst hostel in all of Ireland.

So we checked into Brown's, and away we went. We walked down O'Connell street, across the bridge and past Temple Bar to Trinity College. We walked around the 16th century campus and pretty much talked about how much fun we were having walking the streets of Dublin. As we went from Trinity to St. Stephen's Green, we passed the buskers and flower stands and I felt the reality of the moment. What could have been a simple suggestion, a whim even, from 3 weeks earlier had become a reality - putting us on the other side of the world, seeing things we've never seen before and learning about a people that, before this day, we knew nothing about. That wasn't the only time I felt this way during the weekend, but it was the first.

St. Stephen's Green was indeed green. Nice statues of people I've never heard about, grass and trees. By the time we had walked around Dublin for a few hours, it was lunch time. We went into a pub down the street from the hostel. I had already bought a baguette, so I sat down for a few seconds before excusing myself. As I stepped out of the booth we were sitting in, my foot got caught under the leg of the table and I slowly and awkwardly tumbled to the ground, almost landing on a woman and her daughter - "Yeep!" I got up and said, "Oi, mate!" and then just whispered some embarrassed, half discernible Irish/American/confused phrase and walked out of the pub as the guys in the booth next to us were chuckling.

We took a nap and then left for the Ambassador theatre, where Iron and Wine were performing. I remember buying my ticket online a few weeks ago. I said to myself, "Well, I'm throwing this money away." I didn't have them send me the ticket in the mail because it would have been a lot more likely that I lose them between Utah and Dublin, then if I picked it up when I got there (and when i bought them, it was more like if I get there). But I got there, and that feeling came again - it was real. In fact, standing outside the theatre minutes before the show, Paul said, "Somebody pinch me, am I really here?" I pinched him - it was real.

We walked in and a band called Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit played. They definitely had a strong Irish folk sound and really rocked. Go to their MySpace page http://www.myspace.com/johnnyflynn. Again, we were really in Ireland. When Iron & Wine came out, I looked around and noticed that most the guys in the audience were middle aged with beards. Is this some demographic that I didn't know I was a part of? It was awesome because Sam Beam's beard beat them all. And his hair was long and bushy. He had a soft stage presence and his voice is so distinct and clear. The music was awesome. So worth coming to Ireland (ps. They will be performing in Magna, Utah in December).

After the show, we walked out on O'Connell street again and sat down on the base of a statue of Sombody Grey and just watched people go by and laughed a lot. People were dressed in their Halloween costumes and every time a girl would walk close to us, Paul would cry out in the dirtiest Liverpool accent he could conjure, "Helloe, Lovvely!" We would all be embarrassed, but laughing our heads off at the same time.

We ended up walking back to Brown's, only a couple blocks away, and fell easily asleep. A good day in Dublin.

Friday, October 26, 2007

This Irish Life

I'm totally in Dublin right now. It's already been a jolly old time. I arrived at about 8:15 this morning. I found out that it is a holiday weekend in Ireland, so the hostels are all booked up. That kind of freaked me out because I only had plan A and plan B. Plan A was to ask a stranger if I could stay with them. Plan B was to stay in a hostel. Seeing that plan B is the "realistic" plan A, I really have no plan now. Live and learn I guess.

I went to a couple hostels from the Lonely Planet book Paul gave me and sure enough they were all booked up this weekend. So I wandered down one of the main avenues looking for other places to stay and I found one advertising relatively good prices. They had an open bed in one of their 10-bed rooms tonight, so I paid the 15 euro and signed up. The place absolutely reeks, they don't wash the bedding (I'm sure of it), and there is one dim light lighting the whole room. As I walked out of the hostel, I almost stepped in a puddle of vomit. We should definitely try to figure something different out for tomorrow night.

Other than the hostel, though, Dublin is sweet. It's in the 50's, the sky is cloudy, and it's drizzled a little today, but the people are freakin sweet. I talked to a bunch of locals and they're all so jolly and happy to talk to you. I talked to a newspaper stand guy and a bunch of his friends on a street corner. I wanted to know if there was any rugby being played in Dublin this weekend cause I'd really like to watch a math. They told me that they don't like rugby because they always kick the ball off the pitch. It was fun to talk to them. I also met a Andy and John, a couple of gardeners who were working in an elderly woman's Dalia garden. They really liked my accent, and I really liked theirs.


The coolest experience I had today, bar none, was meeting a fellow by the name of Jerry Sloey He's a folk singer/12 string guitarist who was busking down on Grafton Street. I sat there and listened to his deep smoke-scared voice and melodic strumming as I ran my tape recorder. When he was done with his first number, which was quite a dramatic song I might add, he explained to me the meaning of it. It was about the Irish workers who went over to England to dig a tunnel under the Thames and died. He then played another couple songs that he sang from the bottom of his heart. This guy had his teeth half rotten, his long hair pulled back in a pony tail and kept a half-smile the whole time he performed. I'm going to make a podcast called "This Irish Life" based on this experience.

A touching side-note to this story is the homeless kid (probably 25) who came up to Jerry and requested an old Irish song. You could tell that he loved the music that Jerry played. Before Jerry began to play, the homeless kid said, "I'm sorry, I'm homeless and I don't have any money." Jerry said, "Me too, I can't help you, sorry mate." Then the kid, surprised, responded, "No, I just don't have any money to spare that I can put in your guitar case." Jerry then looked at the kid and said, "Don't worry lad, we don't take from our own." Then Jerry played on. I could tell that for the first part of the song, the homeless kid was disturbed that he was listening without contributing to the artist. He pulled a couple 20 cent coins out of his pocket, took one, and threw it in to Jerry's box. For the rest of the song he sang to the choruses. I even joined in for the last few lines (which by that time had been sung about 5 times). It was moving.

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