It's here. The Final Word

As I traveled throughout Ireland it seemed as if each segment of my journey was competing with the last to be more fantastic, more memorable. The scenes all attempted to surpass each other by being larger, greener, rockier, more severe, more unique. Though the Irish use the term “grand” to casually say “that’s great,” “grand” is probably the most appropriate descriptor for the places I’ve been over the past six weeks. Because I am still here in Ireland and not completely done with my trip, I can’t imagine that I will be able to properly reflect on everything that’s happened to me; however, I believe my thoughts while I am still here are not consequently invalid. I cannot predict how leaving this context for another environment might consolidate my perceptions or alter my life. A more refined reflection might be more elegant, but I think that there is some value in the raw feelings that I have at this moment. This might get wordy, so I’m going to attempt to organize my summary of experiences into a few categories replete with thesis statements and works cited (thanks Expos 20). I’m kidding…sort of. I think most of my blog thus far has covered my little stories that have made things exciting. I could go on with those vignettes forever, but I don’t think that should be the focus of this ultimate self-expression. If you want juicy stuff I recommend skipping to Chapter 4.

Table of Contents:
1) The Places (in Ireland)
2) The People (of Ireland)
3) The Profession (of research-writing)
4) The Person (me)

1) Oh, the Places You’ll Go! (The Places)
You’ve heard me rave with considerable consistency about the beauty of Ireland. A person would be hard-pressed to find an ugly place on the island. I don’t think that needs reiteration. Instead, I’m going to attempt to rank my favorite places with brief explanations why. Oh, and these are not limited to places I’ve reviewed for Let’s Go, but are obviously limited to places that I have been at some point.

5. Killarney. Though touristy, it is fun because it is so active. The town is a great size—more than a single main street, but easily walkable. Killarney National Park along the Ring of Kerry is a great place. Sure, it has the roadside stops with tons of camera-toting retirees, but the scenery is worth it. The Black Valley and Gap of Dunloe down in the middle of the ring is often neglected, but is impressive being surrounded by the largest mountains in Ireland.


4. Beara. Often passed by for the attractions of the Ring of Kerry, the Beara is stunning. It also has a really really fun road to drive down. Healy Pass is a super windy road that goes down the side of a mountain. I felt like a Formula One driver. Also, the Dzogchen Buddhist Retreat Centre is set along the peaceful cliffside coast. It is a most excellent place to slow down and get in touch with yourself.


3. Dingle. The town is bit too touristy, meaning it is packed to the brim with people from all over. As the sister city of Santa Barbara, California, it definitely lives up to the cute yuppiness with nice cafes, restaurants, and pubs. The best part is the rest of the peninsula. The Blasket Islands, no longer inhabited, are gorgeous and Slea Head Drive has incredible views and interesting archaeological attractions. Northern Dingle is very quiet and has a genuine local appeal. Also, Inch Strand is the best beach I’ve seen in Ireland; it’s huge, not crowded, and has perfect sand and an impressive view of the Ring of Kerry.


2. Achill Island. Too far northwest for most tourists, Achill Island is having trouble getting enough business these days. That doesn’t make it any less fantastic. The scenery is jaw-dropping. The accommodations are top-notch. If you like big mountains that dive into the Atlantic Ocean, this is the place. Keem Strand at the tip of the island is like a hidden tropical alcove. Also, the island has a bridge that will get you there instead of the long ferry that costs a bunch to get to the Aran Islands. I’ll take the big beaches and mountains of Achill over the Arans any day.


1. Connemara. It wins this competition for its romantic appeal and sheer beauty. Most tourists stop at Galway City and don’t explore Galway County, which contains a very untouristed, unpopulated plot of pure nature. The Twelve Bens and Maumturk Mountains dominate the skyline. Bogs cover the fields with their unique flora and fauna. The Western Way is a majestic walking trail that wanders throughout. The national park is well-designed. Towns are authentic Irish experiences. Gaeltacht regions retain the Irish language heritage. Connemara is such a dream that there is a popular French song all about it. Sorry, I don’t know the words. All in all, Connemara is the most poetic of places I’ve been.

2) Hello, I love you. Won’t you tell me your name? (The People)
Saying that Ireland has changed is a huge understatement. I’ve mentioned most of this stuff in previous entries, but it is striking enough to reiterate one last time. First of all, the native Irish are changing immeasurably. Rural areas are being connected to more commercial, cosmopolitan regions through larger roads, Internet access, and increased tourism. The international media access to larger towns and cities is encouraging the Irish youth to put on the skin of American and European cultures while attempting to hang onto traditional Irish values. Put all that in a blender and you get drunken boys taking drugs from cocaine to steroids and drunken girls puking in the bathroom and getting boob jobs at age 16. With the glories of modern society come some serious problems. It will be interesting to see how Irish culture reacts to this assault on its values. That being said, most places I saw were impressively rooted in the Irish ways that make them such an attractive people. They are wonderfully kind and welcoming people with a true understanding of community and hospitality (even though they can get quite vicious while speeding down the narrow windy roads).
Ireland used to be known as a place that people left. Now it is a place that people come. It’s that simple. From famine, internal strife, and a weak economy has emerged the Celtic Tiger (that’s not my term—it’s the national phrase for the fierce economy and strong will of the people). Eastern Europeans and Africans flock to Ireland for jobs, especially in labor. The Polish plumber is the stereotypical image of the human immigration. However, the huge amount of construction jobs that Ireland has created is going to slow down at some point. Where will all these people go if the jobs start to disappear? The Irish people don’t seem to mind the influx at all as long as there are plenty of jobs to be had. The multiculturalism seems to be relatively well-accepted in major cities. However, smaller towns have yet to interact with black people or compete for Mr. Fix-It jobs with the hard-working eastern Europeans. Who knows what will happen, but for now it is very apparent that Irish demographics are in flux. With only 4-5 million Irish citizens, the 300,000 immigrants constitute an enormous proportion of society now. As Americans, it doesn’t seem like a big a deal because we’re used to it, but this is quite the shake-up.
Despite the modern social issues confronting Ireland, my primary impression fixates upon the incredible culture and community here. Being able to truly dig into this unique society has been the experience of a lifetime. I believe that only by traveling alone could I have achieved the level of participation and understanding of this place that I was lucky enough to gather.

3) Where the Streets Have No Name (The Profession)
Although it seems like Bono was singing about a specific mythical place in the song, all of Ireland is “Where the Streets Have No Name.” Seriously, navigation cannot be taken for granted around here. There are no addresses or street signs. I learned quickly that good planning and a hefty dose of luck usually gets you to the right spot after a while. Ireland is small so you can’t get lost for very long.
The job was definitely tedious. I never expected writing the copybatches to be fun and exciting, but it still managed to put a damper on my enjoyment of the place on a few occasions. Then again, that work is the entire reason why I was here in the first place, so I can’t complain. In fact, researching was downright awesome. It basically forced me to have fun. I guess the job consisted of was what I would do while there even if it was just vacation. In fact, that’s probably why I didn’t take any rest days. I just worked 35 days straight because most of the work was enjoyable. It also frequently shoved me out of my comfort zone. No hiding in a bubble during this mission. I had to put on a few different hats to get the job done sometimes, and for that I appreciate how this experience made me a little socially hardier than before. A lot of people don’t realize how easily they become intimidated when thrown into situations alone. Going it alone takes some balls, but after traveling like this, I would much prefer walking into a good pub alone than in an insular group of obvious foreigners. Once I finished with work, it took me a few days to calm down my frenetic researching frame of mind. No longer must I check opening hours, admission fees, or entrée price ranges. Have some fun, you nerd.
The only things I will shamelessly complain about are the wages. For my route, I rarely stayed in the same area two nights in a row. I was constantly on the move. Being perpetually homeless like that is not simply mentally trying, but financially demanding, especially in a ridiculously expensive country like Ireland. “Hello, Let’s Go? Yes, this is the World speaking. All my people know that Ireland is one of my most expensive places to survive, let alone vacation. It has been a long time since it was the poverty-stricken town drunk of Europe. Throw your poor RWs a bone.”
As I’m sure you noticed, I took advantage of my wonderful surroundings and proved to be a little camera-happy. I like pretty things. My pictures help me to share those places with you all as well as help me remember my greatest moments here. I’m the 21st century version of the guy who pulls out five million pictures of his kids from his wallet. Well, I don’t have kids (that I know of), so my babies that I’ve forced upon willing observers have been my majestic Kodak moments of mountains and lakes. Also, my photos make great desktop backgrounds.

4) I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For (The Person)
This is the part that I’m not sure I can fully appreciate yet. I think that it will be reflection in future situations that will trigger the deepest personal analysis. I know that I joked about finding myself out here alone, but we all know how impossible that task truly is for most people. I took a course called Self and Identity and just like at the end of that seminar, I found here that I go home with more questions than answers. To myself and throughout the blog I’ve caught myself romanticizing the traditional Irish life, the small town community, the simple things. I idealized the mental offerings of Buddhism and its focus upon compassion and happiness. I’m not saying that I want to be these people I’ve admired; I most certainly will not trade in my lot in life to be an Irish farmer, but I think there are important lessons here that I hope I can incorporate into my own life while still being a mainstream American.
There are so many different directions pulling my life at this moment that I am utterly befuddled by the prospect of making a decision. I hoped that this time here in Ireland would offer me some clarity of vision and rare insight into my life’s calling. As most of you know, I’m a stark realist. I don’t believe one bit in the “meaning of life” or “fate” or “purpose.” Those are all tools used to make us feel important, to lift our existence up above the level of dogs. However, freeing yourself from any prescribed meanings of purpose gives us the ability to assign our own purpose to ourselves—quite a liberating situation if one can conquer the difficult question of what purpose they want to pursue in life. The only ultimate judge is oneself. So, with that mentality, I ask myself, “what the hell should I do with myself to maximize my satisfaction?” As Johnny Cash sang just years before his death, “One thing’s for certain/When it comes my time,/I’ll leave this ole world/With a satisfied mind.”
The way I see it, there are three important players in my life: me, other people, and society. I split other people and society apart because society is kind of a faceless entity with norms, pressures, competitions, etc. Other people, on the other hand, are the individuals that make up society but do not necessarily embody society’s values. For instance, working for a nonprofit school would be working for other people and even improving society but not necessarily personally succeeding by society’s standards. Running a corporation, owning a big home, and being well-known are all society-driven successes but may fail to satisfy the other two categories. Of course, the personal category is often neglected for pursuits in the other two fields. Though I make society sound like the Devil, I, too, want some degree of social success. Saying otherwise would be lying to myself—I have always been very perceptive of my social appearance. Here’s the main idea: I want to do something that helps others, is appreciated by society, and stirs some passion within me. It’s a tall order—idealistic to say the least. Despite what some of you think, I’m a sensitive person. Despite what others of you think, I’m a cold-hearted bastard. Such are the variety of faces each of us may have.
On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve had plenty of emotional time while driving alone or hiking around the scenic countryside. Actually, it’s not a lighter note at all. The range of emotions available for experience when you’re by yourself is surprising. At some point you get comfortable with yourself and let go of the restrictions that you’re used to imposing upon yourself. I like how I’m putting this in second-person to avoid talking directly about myself. Well, you can do the translation yourself. I’ve laughed, cried, yelled, whispered, made faces, not made faces, talked to myself in an Irish accent, talked to myself in an Aussie accent, and all kinds of other inane things that I rarely have the chance to do simply for the sake of doing them. I think that’s an incredible feeling—not having to check your emotions at the door. I know that I’ll have to return to the world of civilized society, but I hope that I can take a little of this personal freedom with me wherever I may go in the future. Let loose a little, be a kid. Speaking in rigid, technical terms: being an adult 100% of the time literally kills people. Hey mom, that’s something I learned in class at Harvard!
Going home to my sister’s wedding got me thinking a little bit. I’m not about to start telling you about the specifics of who I want to marry, so don’t get excited. The situation just made me realize that she found Patrick when she was a junior in college. I’m well past that mark and I’m not in a serious relationship. As much as I’ve romanticized being alone, I’ve also felt a strong desire to be able to share life with someone. Some people try to tell themselves that they’re loners, but humans are social creatures with a need for tight connections to others. We find each other. While on the road alone, I met countless other souls doing the same as I. We all enjoyed each other’s company and spent time talking about anything on our minds despite the fact that we’d be parting ways the next day. Yes, it’s important to have private time, but our minds are designed for social interaction. As much as I like being a hermit or a lone hill-walker, I cherish relating the experiences of life to my friends as much as I cherish the experiences themselves. Long story short, even though people know me as one who likes to hop from relationship to relationship (following the advice of my dad), I really only do that in hopes of finding someone that can appreciate life as I do in a state of perfect mutual enhancement. Perfect is probably a horrible word to use because it seems to be that unreachable horizon, but if you don’t think of perfect as a single pinnacle but as a state reachable through many possible avenues, then perfect is quite realistic.

On that note, I’d like to end this by saying that this trip was perfect. Sure, there were lows, but as with all things in life those made the highs feel so much higher. I finish this journey completely ready to go home in an excellent mood. I have not yet tired of Ireland—I don’t know if I ever could. I am simply pleased with what I’ve seen and done; I’ve left nothing wanting. I’m ready to return to earth with these memories in my pocket and hopefully utilize some of the lessons that I’ve learned. Thanks for reading this far and bearing with the glimpses into my mind. If any of you made it this far, I’m thoroughly impressed. I hope I’ve entertained.

The final count:
44 days
50½ pints of Guinness.
Countless memories.

Booyeah.

Vacationing with Annie is sweeeeeet. We made omelets and meditated in the incredibly beautiful cliffside Buddhist retreat centre. I feel at peace with the world. Now for the hectic and much more populated east coast. Get ready for the "Final Word on Ireland," my imminent endpiece on my experiences.

Day: 39
Guinness: 48.5

Notepads and Sheilas

Totally unrelated to anything, but horribly creepy



I don't think I've mentioned my notepad before. It's my Let's Go issued mini pad that I've kept in my back right pocket the entire trip and used for taking notes of all kinds. It's an organized mess. Starting from front to back, I took notes regarding work. From back to front, I took notes on personal things unrelated to work. The back page was divided in half by a vertical line. The left side was labeled "days" and the right side was labeled "Guinness." With hash marks I've kept track of my numbers. I had this notepad this morning as I marked the new day and counted the Guinnesses I'd consumed the night before. The notepad is not in my back pocket currently. I do not know where it is. I fear the worst.

That travesty aside, I met some absolutely delightful Aussie ladies in my hostel yesterday--Michaela, Belinda, and Lauren. They first thought I was a huge nerd because I sat on my laptop for a long time while we were sitting in the common room together. Then, after chatting for a bit, they realized that they had indeed made a proper assessment of my nerdiness, but also conceded that my job was pretty sweet. They proceded to abuse my knowledge of the cool places to see in the area in order to plan their trip. But seriously, they were some of the most enjoyable people I've spent time with so far. It was Friday night, so we decided to hit the pub scene. We ended up going to some weird bar where all the young Irish lads and lasses went to see and be seen. Michaela and I had fun finding the ugliest dresses. Frankly, Irish folks don't have a sense of style. They also can't dance. They sure can drink, but we knew that already. Anyway, it was a late night of us buying drinks for each other and trying to avoid the sketchy dudes attempting to prey on girls. I also had a shot called the "Quickfuck." How horrendously distasteful and inappropriate and...delicious! Good times.

In other news:
I'm in a town called Sixmilebridge. Booyeah. I met a super nice American couple who are roughly in their late 60s. They're from Michigan, right around where my mom's family is from, so we started chatting about all sorts of things. They have 7 kids. they couldn't get a daughter, so they eventually just adopted one.

Budweiser, though still the same Anheiser-Busch American beer, is technically an Irish beer, not an import, because it is brewed at St. James Gate, Dublin brewery. Sneaky.

It switched from rain to sun more times than I could count today.

I went to a castle, but didn't go in because the tourist density was above my threshold for enjoyment.


I want my notepad. It had e-mail addresses of cool people I've met. From what I can remember:

Day: 36
Guinness: 48.5
Budweiser: 2 (thanks Belinda)

A long blog that is worth it to read. I swear.

1) I’m done with work. I’m sure there will be some loose ends to tie up, but I’m done researching and writing copybatches. As I went wherever I wanted today, I found myself consulting the Let’s Go book for basic things and then mentally taking note and correcting the info for things I encountered. Hopefully that neuroticism will fade so I can properly enjoy myself the next several days.

2) Sean O’Brien. I shared a bunk with him the other night in Ballinskelligs. He was incredible. Ellsworth, if you’re out there, Sean O’Brien is your Irish counterpart. He’s this really friendly retired guy who loves to talk about anything and everything. He basically travels around Ireland living in hostels. In his spare time, he plays some traditional music. He’s not too bad at the harmonica, tin whistle, and concertina. He bought me a drink at the local pub and played with this other lady who was so tone deaf and rhythmically retarded that I thought she had some disorder. After I realized that she was only musically retarded, she told me the name of this girl and I thought the name was the most beautiful name I’d ever heard. Then I forgot it. Yeah, I’m horrible. Sean’s main hobby is photography and making documentaries. He actually won an American national competition for one he put together. He also has these hilarious business cards that he made. He gave me one to hold onto. He hates dirty public toilets, so if one is bad, he goes to the manager and says that he found this card sitting in their restroom. The card is red with a rose and doesn’t have his name on it. On it is printed as such:
A.R.S.E.
Assn. for Restoration of Sanitary Excellence
Toilet Spy
Irish Representative (No. 9)
Dublin 22
Condition of your toilet/s:
Not great ( ) Poor ( ) Very Poor ( )
Will call again.

It’s all bunk, but some people take it seriously and clean the toilet. It scared the bejeezus out of one of his friends who runs a pub.

3) People are drawn to natural beauty. Seeing how tourists flock to famous natural sites to snap some photos (if you haven’t noticed, I hate their behavior, but hang with me; I think I’m going to make a point), I have faith in humanity’s appreciation for aesthetics. Though humans constantly produce things of utter hideousness out of desire to be original or out of sheer incompetence, the majority of people from various cultures and races can look at certain things and almost unanimously agree that it is either beautiful or ugly. This is not to say there aren’t cultural elements to aesthetic opinions; there is just some universal element that becomes apparent in certain places I’ve been or when people have seen the pictures I’ve taken.
There’s also something about natural versus synthetic beauty. Great natural scenes always in my mind surpass anything I’ve seen a human create. I tried to put my finger on what made nature so much more attractive—the scale (minute or massive), the colors, the age. These things are all true, but I think the key factor is much less concrete. It is the simple fact that natural is the antithesis of synthetic that makes things truly awesome to humans. Because we cannot make it by definition, it is unattainable and therefore enthralling, intriguing, incredible.





Of course, some damn contrarian will say that humans are themselves natural living creatures, that we are not distinct from what I am calling nature. Humans create each other through natural means (until we have genetic engineering Gattaca style). I didn’t say humans themselves weren’t beautiful. Anyway, I think someone out there has a good definition of synthetic that will make the distinction.

4) One of my best driving songs is called “Flirtin’ With Disaster” by Molly Hatchet. It’s a classic rock song of the exciting hell-raising lifestyle on the edge, but it has great meaning for anyone venturing out into the world. After an inspiring guitar intro, it opens with the verse:
“I’ve been travelin’ down the road
and I’m flirtin’ with disaster.”

I think that sums up an aspect of this trip that I haven’t fully appreciated. As I’ve traveled down the road, I have indeed flirted with disaster. Any number of unfortunate things could have happened to my car (knock on wood, I’m not done with that sucker yet). I could have been robbed. I could have lost things (wait…I did lose things, but they could have been more important than a shirt and a towel). I could have gotten sick. I could have died. I could have gotten into a bar fight. I could have been gunned down by the random army guards wandering the street of Killarney today to prevent July 12th riots. You get the idea. Well, despite minor things here and there, I have gone 5 weeks flirting with disaster and deftly/luckily (but mainly luckily) avoiding it.

the noble sheep sends disaster running in fear.

5) I am in the Peacock Farm Hostel. There is a real peacock walking around in all it’s feathered glory.

Day: 35
Guinness: 45.5 (I had a glass, which equals a half-pint)

Happiness is…

A warm fire. In a beautiful mansion to be exact. I spent an entire evening sitting in a gorgeous common room of an old mansion just outside Dingle’s town center. That old yellow paint that was popular about a hundred years ago is on the walls, intricate molding on the ceiling. I sat there doing work all by myself in this lovely place with the warm fire crackling nearby. Then I went to sleep in a room with a ton of people in bunk beds, but we don’t need to focus on that part.

A warm beach. Two warm beaches to be exact. On my drive from the Dingle Peninsula to the Iveragh Peninsula, I took an unplanned stop at Inch Strand. Let’s be hokey: I got a foot out of that Inch. The beach was amazing—the best one I’ve seen all trip. Long and sandy with the mountains of the Ring of Kerry painting the horizon. The fact that is was sunny and actually not cold made me smile to myself. Rolling my pant legs up, taking off my shoes, and putting on my t-shirt, I spent a little time walking up and down the beach. Right as I left, a tour bus pulled up and tons of old people got out with their cameras ready for actions. Perfect timing. The next beach was nice as well. It’s right down the road from where I’m staying in Ballinskelligs. Warm water and the ruins of a castle. Glorious. Ballinskelligs has very few foreign tourists and a lot of Irish vacationers in holiday homes. I think this is where they all go when tourists invade their respective towns.


I’ve gone through my two CDs that I burned about 20 times each, but they’re great songs so I keep cycling through them despite the skipping. Besides, I get about 1.5 radio stations out here. On the road, while trying to sing along to She Sell Sanctuary by The Cult, I thought about some of the times I had during the last couple weeks of school. Instead of crying, I started laughing out loud because let’s be honest, most of it was just as fun and funny as it was sad.

Photos of the Ring of Kerry.
Why it is great:

Why it is horrible:


Day: 33
Guinness: 43

Kids are Cute

Yesterday I was wandering around Dingle and had a couple funny encounters with children. First, in a residential neighborhood, there was this little Irish boy decked out in Gaelic football jersey in a trimmed field all by himself. He was running up and down the field yelling commentary on the imaginary game he was playing. It was amazing. His commentary was just like the Irish commentators on TV.

Then I went to this really cool local pub that used to be a shoemaker's place. There are boxes of old shoes on the shelves still. Anyway, there was a British family there--father, mother, and 2-3 year old daughter. The man was a huge guy and hilarious. We chatted for a bit. He's a huge Manchester United fan. I pretended not to like Liverpool so that I'd stay on his good side. These drunk brothers were hilarious and had a bodhran (BOW-rain), a traditional Irish drum, out and singing songs and beating on it rather unskillfully. The girl loved the drum, so the brothers were great and let her beat on it. Every time she hit it, she would let out this huge giggle. Then her daddy sang a song and she covered her eyes in embarassment.

Almost done. Just a couple more days of hard hard labor left.

I met this really great Israeli guy at the hostel last night. We found out that we're the same age, so we went to the pubs together and talked a lot. Where I've done nothing to advance a career so far in life, he's already been a psychoanalyst for the army and been a commercial headhunter for corporations. Now he's traveling and starting afresh. We also found out that we'd run into the same Aussie cyclist. It was funny cause we were both talking about him indirectly then we realized we were talking abotu the same guy.

I'm planning on going to this Buddhist place on the Beara peninsula after I'm done.

Day: 31
Guinness: 43

Pictures of a Beautiful Day

Yesterday was incredible. One of the best days of the journey. First, the weather was perfect for the first time since the day I arrived. Everything was sunny and people were out and happy. I saw the blue sky and was able to wear just a t-shirt. That makes a big difference after 4 weeks of continuous gloom.
On top of that, I saw some beautiful things. The Dingle peninsula is amazing. Slea Head Drive goes around the coast and has a bunch of ancient structures and some very severe landscape into the ocean. Here's a picture along the way:



This one spot I remember I went to with the family three years ago. We just stared at this beach for a little bit and went on our way:


I decided to go walking on this path along the cliffs to Slea Head, which gave a beautiful view of the Blasket islands, like so:


It was scary as hell because the path was a narrow little walkway about 2 feet wide. Sometimes the path made me clamber over some rocks. The whole way, a misstep could mean…DEATH! But seriously, it could have. Funny how the millions of spiders in the hostel I’m staying in right now make me more anxious than walking along a precarious edge. Furthermore, I’m sure there were lots of spiders on the cliff that didn’t bother me.


Also, I went to this really cool private museum of this American guy who was a famous street musician in Europe. He made a bunch of money and bought a ton of ancient artifacts from old European dudes and has it all in his house. He was a really cool guy and we chatted for a while, especially about how much of a dick Rick Steves is. Rick Steves has a travel guide for Ireland. Rick Steves’ Ireland. Anyway, Rick writes means thing about the museum that are unfounded and then evidently used the guy’s music in his videos without consent. Legal battle? I think so. You heard it here first. Oh, he also has the world’s largest intact wooly mammoth skull. It is special.

Dingle town the next couple days, then the Skellig Peninsula for a couple days. Then I’m done with work. Wow. Then it’s time to play for a week.

Day: 30
Guinness: 40

The beginning of the end...

These are all from Cloghane/Brandon area in Northern Dingle.
Who knew dingle could be so beautiful?

Get ready for some more eye candy. The Dingle Peninsula is stunningly gorgeous. Here’s a taster. When I first drove in, it was raining so hard, I couldn’t see anything, but later in the day I drove back out and caught myself taking my eyes off the rode staring at the mountains. Then it rained again and I once again was able to safely focus on the road ahead.


I brought with me a few blank CDs in case the disks I needed to burn to for work somehow failed me or got lost. Well, I didn’t need them so I chunked them in the back seat and let them get all scratched up. Later, I realized that I could make playlists on my own music for some good listening in the car—the meager radio offerings get a little old after a few weeks. Of course, I looked at the disk and assumed from the gouges all over them that I wouldn’t be able to play anything on them. I hung my head and resumed listening to newstalk radio. Then I decided I’d go ahead and give the CDs a try. They burned songs just fine, and only a couple tracks skip too much on playback to enjoy. So now I have a couple soundtracks of great driving music. One disc is high energy get pumped up music. The other is a little more emotional. I know smoran loves to play these games where you come up with top 10 or top 5 lists for just about anything. Well here are some of my personal tear-jerker songs on my playlist:

All I Want is You –U2
Ooh La La –The Faces
Pictures of You –The Cure
Maggie May –Rod Stewart

Of course there are others, but these made the cut for my daily listening.

Day: 29
Guinness: 40

It's not the size of your steeple...

Haven't had internet for a bit, so here are a couple from a few days ago...

First, I’m an idiot. It was going to happen eventually. I’m not a very forgetful person on a regular basis, but when I do forget things, they’re usually pretty bad. I just that realized after I’d moved on from my last hostel, I left a couple things behind. One was my towel that I’d left hanging to dry. I yelled at myself for a little bit then figured I’d be fine for a couple days until I get to Dingle where they’ll probably have a store to buy a new one. Then I decided to put on my nicer shirt that I’d brought to upgrade to something a little fresher than the same long-sleeved pullover I’ve been wearing the past several days. Well, guess what. I left that too. It was a new trendy t-shirt that my parents bought me. I’m a little pissed about leaving that.

Moving on from that stupidity…I decided to get some junk food for dinner and maybe save a little money in the process. I went to a “New York” style pizza place. It was funny. Painted on the walls were stars and stripes with posters of Derek Jeter and New York license plates hanging everywhere. I got the “Liberty Pizza.” Let’s see if I can remember; it had pepperoni, ham, cheese, green and red peppers, mushrooms, maybe some bacon, pineapple, and sweet corn. Sweet sweet liberty. Saving money on dinner means me spending under 10 euro (about 14 dollars). I didn’t realize until after I ate there that it’s the 4th of July and that I’d found my way to the only American-themed place in the city. I just wandered around for a while and found myself walking into this place. The subconscious at work…or play, however you like to see it.

Right now, I’m in a great hostel I found in the middle of town, listening to this kid’s birthday party at a youth center next door. They have this dreadful cover band screeching loudly and atonally into the mic. Right now he’s trying (I emphasize “trying”) to sing American Idiot by Green Day…also fitting for the 4th of July? There are some old, smelly German or Austrian men in my room tonight. And a smelly Canadian. I showered while they were in the room just to try to give them an idea of what they should be doing. Didn’t work. Now the guy is trying to sing Smells Like Teen Spirit.

I had a fantastic pub experience last night. Remember that Aussie guy who was walking to all these pubs? Well, he recommended this one to me, so I figured I’d try it out. It was a really cute, well-decorated pub that didn’t quite have the sloppy traditional Irish style of random things everywhere. I hate to be sexist, but I think it’s because the owners of the pub are two sisters. The female touch is rare in Irish pubs. When I walked in, I got a few odd looks, but I sat down at the bar and ordered a Guinness. I started chatting a little to the two ladies behind the bar and realized quickly that every one of the ten or so people in the place knew each other well. 100% regulars. The two ladies turned out to be the sisters who own the pub. It’s been in their family for 110 years. So we had a good chat—they remembered the Aussie guy and his stuffed donkey he was carrying. I ordered another Guinness and hung around. They keep the young riffraff out of the place, so it’s good I look like an old man otherwise I may have never made it this far. Then this 60-year-old man who is friends with the sisters sits down next to me and joins the conversation. He’s a nice guy and recommends some places to me in the Dingle area where I’m going. He buys me two more Guinness while we’re talking. I tell him about my job and what I’m doing, etc. Then he gives me his cell phone number because he’s a fisherman and said he’d take me out for free around the coast where I’m ending my route. We’ll see if I get around to that. This other man comes up and shows us a picture he’s printed off the Internet. A few days ago, Irish police recovered the largest cocaine shipment in the country’s history. They found it off the shore when rescuing the couriers, whose boat has tipped over in the middle of the night, putting two in the hospital for hypothermia and one missing at sea. Anyway, the picture is of this young guy at a beach with a really long rolled up piece of paper—one end at his nose, the other near the ground. There’s a long line of white foamy surf down the stretch of the beach.

The Shining

First order of business. Happy 4th of July. No fireworks here. Be patriotic for me.

Yesterday, I had a weird day. I’ll tell you why. I got to the biggest city I’ll be working in, Tralee. It’s not big at all by American standards, but it’s busy and confusing and disorganized. Map in hand, I still kept taking the wrong turns. This is walking, mind you, where making wrong turns is quite correctable unlike screwing up in a car. I managed to do laps around the city for a few hours. I walked a lot. Luckily, it only rained a little bit on and off. Earlier that morning in a tiny town, I was walking through a nature trail that clearly nobody ever walks and it started raining hard. There was enough canopy cover to keep me from shaking my fists at the heavens. Anyway, Tralee is confusing. Oh, and like I said before, I stick out like a sore thumb as definitely not Irish—more so every day as my beard and hair grow. You’ll see how this fits in, don’t worry. As I walked down one of the main streets for the 500th time, a car pulls over next to me with the window rolled down and an elderly lady pokes her head out the window and asked how to get on the road to Listowel. Now, I’d driven through it on the way there, so I vaguely knew the direction, so I gave her decent enough directions but qualified it by saying that I wasn’t the best person to ask. The best part is that I did all this in an Irish accent. She bought it. Not that any Irish person would believe me for a second, but the old Americans haven’t a clue about the intricacies of accent and dialect in Ireland so I got away with it.

I will say that it’s a little harder to pick out who is a resident of a city now that Ireland has become a haven for immigrants. In fact, in the past 4 years or so, 300,000 immigrants have come to Ireland for the incredible number of jobs available in this booming economy. In a nation of only about 4.5 million people, that’s a huge difference. This also makes Ireland the most expensive country in Europe. Let’s Go hasn’t factored that in yet and pays me as if Ireland is still in the dark ages.

I’m in this hostel/B&B that is absolutely dismal. It’s actually quite frightening. The room is nice, but the place is this neglected building behind a bar. It used to be quite bright and perky, but now no one really runs it other than the bar manager, who doesn’t give a shit. I think I’m one of maybe three people staying here. I ate a crappy breakfast in this large cafeteria-esque dining room with tons on tables and chairs. I was alone. Only one little light was shining on me in the quiet rainy morning. As I walked down the long empty corridors to my room, I couldn’t help but think about The Shining. I don’t think I need to explain any further.

Not the place, but an equally creepy abandoned boarding school for girls.


“Come play with us.”

Day: 26
Guinness: 35

Keep on keepin on.

It’s been a couple days since I got on the Internet. Even in the most rural parts of Ireland, it’s a commodity that we take for granted. I remember a couple weeks ago sitting in the most remote place in Ireland cruising on high-speed Internet. Finally, I came across an area of Ireland in which broadband or wireless Internet access is not abundant. It’s definitely here—we’re not talking about the Stone Age here—but there aren’t Internet cafes and it’s not in every home. They’re bringing it here soon. Although it seems like cheating to consistently use the Internet when I’m traveling alone trying to be a little rustic, I will shamelessly admit that it has been important for my well being thus far. I’ve still got a couple weeks to have a nervous breakdown, but I’m holding up fairly well from what I gather…though we all know that what someone infers about himself is not always the most accurate representation of his condition.

The day after seeing the Cliffs of Moher, I took a drive south to another spot, Loop Head, on the coast that also has some beautiful cliffs. The weather was absolutely nasty. The wind was blowing harder than it has the entire trip. Luckily, it didn’t rain too hard. Anyway, nobody pays attention to Loop Head because of the Cliffs of Moher. However, relative comparison aside, this little spot was pretty awesome. Plus, nobody was there. I was the only person and that was good enough to make me not really care about the shitty weather. In fact, the strong winds made some impressive waves that crashed against the cliffs. It’s hard to get tired of watching that…unless you’re in danger of being blown off the edge. Because no one goes to this place, there are no guard rails or paths to say, “Hey! You might die if you go over there.” And if I did survive the fall, there would be nobody around to save me. Well I didn’t die in case you were holding your breath in anticipation of the outcome of this adventure. I kept my distance from the edge because the gusts of wind were rather powerful. Long story short, that was a good dose of one-on-one time with nature to make me happy for another few days. Good thing, too, because I’m gonna be in a not-so-pretty city for a couple days.

Smaller, but still sweet.

It's a long way down to some rocks and crashing waves.


This Aussie guy plopped down in the hostel. He's walking from south to north and stopping at every pub he walks by for a glass of Guinness. That's the purpose of his trip. A pub walk. And he smelled cause he'd been walking a lot. That was fine until we went to sleep. Think of the loudest snorer you've ever heard then add a couple decibels to that. Then there was a psycho drunk guy on the street screaming and trying to fight people. And a house alwarm went off. And a dog decided to bark like crazy. I didn't sleep very well. I'm not enjoying my trip any less, but the work is getting very tedious.

Day: 25
Guinness: 33

Cliffs of Moher

From a couple days ago...
I finally made it to the Cliffs of Moher. It’s so famous that people appear from all over the world just to see them and then leave the rest of Ireland unvisited. Despite all the people swarming the place, it’s worth it to go see them. They’re incredible. However, things are very different from when I saw them the first time 3 years ago.

Just a few years ago, it was wide open with very little human intrusion upon the area. Unfortunately, a couple things happened to change that: 1) the Irish tourism industry realized they could make bank if they had a few ways to charge people to see the cliffs, so now there are parking fees and a visitors center and more shops, etc; 2) because stupid people get too close to the edge and fall off, they’ve built large paved walkways with stone walls to keep people from straying toward the edge. People just can’t get to the places they used to. So a lot of people just break the rules and risk incurring the wrath of the Garda or losing their lives.


Lastly, the first time I went to see the cliffs the weather was surprisingly beautiful. When I went this time, it was surprisingly beautiful…until I got to the cliffs. As I made the drive up, I saw these dark clouds roll in on top of me. It didn’t rain; the clouds just sat there on top of the cliffs. The fog was so dense at points that you wouldn’t even know the cliffs were there. It was kind of cool, because you could actually see the heavy winds blowing the clouds around right in front of you. It lifted every now and then, but there was no more sun. Eh, people saw the Cliffs of Moher and got a taste of Irish weather all at once.

You wouldn't know it, but these are the Cliffs.


It got better.

In twenty day, I’ll be on the plane back to Boston. In about 14 days I’ll be done with all my work. That means I get some playtime with no restrictions. Booyeah.

As I was walking through a little town, I saw this middle-aged guy with two kids wearing a shirt that said “2007 Beer Pong Champion.” Still livin’ the dream.

A Lighter, Brighter JP

The Burren: Land of Stone


I like leaving my car with a view.


The B&B I stayed at last night had a scale in the bathroom. I was very curious to see what I've done to myself in the past couple months between Commencement activities and this whole Ireland thing. I got on. Then got off and spent the next minute doing the difficult mental math required to convery kilos to pounds. Listen, multiplying something by 2.2 is hard if you haven't done much math without a calculator in the past 4 years. Turns out, I've lost a good bit of weight. That doesn't mean I'm wasting away. I'm pretty sure it can be attributed to muscle atrophy. While my buns might be as tight as ever from the hiking I've been doing, the rest has start to get a little soft. And let's say I wanted to gain weight. I flat out don't make enough money to cover a diet like that. Looking on the bright side...I've got nothing. I'm gonna go eat fried food and have a Guinness.

Today, I went to some caves. It was a tourist trap. Another stone thing made by aliens was over-touristed. I kind of laughed when I saw tons of tourists from all over Europe converging on this tiny stone structure in the middle of nowhere to then later disperse and reconvene at the next famous stone that leans a certain way and looks a little like Queen Elizabeth if you squint.


Tonight is a championship hurling match for a tournament that's been going on. If you're not keen on what hurling is...do some research. The primary sports of Ireland are: hurling, Gaelic football, soccer, rugby, golf. I think all of these sports are far older than baseball, basketball, or American football. 3 of the 5 are also rougher than the popular American sports. Excellent. I think I'd like to try my hand at hurling some time.

I don't have too much to say here, but I did want to point out something about the food. I feel like I'm repeating myself, but whatever. You can stop reading any time you want. I can't stop writing. It's like a cancer (the most overused inappropriate analogy these days--which makes it less biting and thus more appropriate?). Anyway, Irish cuisine cannot even attempt to match anything coming from the States or France or Italy. However, it bests British food. That's not a big feat. The problem is that the standard fare is bland here. They don't use any spices. That can be a good thing, though. The ingredients are all very fresh and always 100% Irish. Good fresh fish and meat and veggies and bread.

I need to do work. I'm sitting in Lisdoonvarna, which is famous for its annual matchmaking fair. Too bad it's not going on right now. I could use me a big 40 year-old Irish lady.

The beard gives me a few years, no?


Day: 22
Guinness: 31

The Evil Irish Weather...and Luxury

I jinxed myself when I rejoiced at the sunny skies and warmer weather. Today I got drenched, soaked to the bone. Cold, hard rain all day exposed the fact that I have clothes prepared only for mild or brief rainy periods. As I shivered in my wet clothing with no shelter I stared desirously at the sailors with their suits of warm, waterproof apparel and the tourists with cars picking them up to go to their hotel rooms. Actually, just as dangerous as the cold rain was the ferry ride in stormy weather. As I waited to board my ferry, others disembarked looking a little uneasy. One girl was crying and holding a bag of vomit. This did not bode well. I’d rather be cold and wet than nauseated. I survived, looking death by hypothermia and severe sea-sickness in the eye and saying, at first timidly then more confidently, “NO! I will not go quietly into that cold night.”

Right now I am doing a little more than merely surviving. Agreeing with myself that dire conditions called for extreme reward, I now find myself luxuriating in the most exquisite B&B I’ve ever graced with my presence. You will laugh at these pictures. I’m staying in this massive room that appears to be for a honeymooning couple. I don’t care; it is awesome no matter how frilly it may be. It’s called the Green Room. It has a green theme. I sipped tea while watching a TV documentary on the Caribbean ecosystem. Never mind that it cost me an entire day’s salary—today, it’s worth it. I just need to do laundry tomorrow. Desperately.


While I was still on the Aran Islands, I took a few photos, as you know I am wont to do. I added the appropriate ones to the last blog, but I am especially fond of this one:


Roosters! I could have waited around and taken a million shots to get the perfect postcard-quality image, but I’m rather pleased with the memory of a bunch of roosters running around cock-a-doodle-dooing in front of a vacant pub.

For those with a childish sense of humor—as I was stuck in Galway traffic today, I saw a sign that had been doctored. It originally said “End of Hard Shoulder.” Shoulder had been crossed out and replaced with “Dick.” Yes, traffic jams have been known to sap the mojo right out of you.

Day:21
Guinness: 29

Like a (Happy) Rolling Stone

A castle on a hill!


Cape Cod? Nope. Inisheer.

First of all, I’d like the clear up that most of my last blog was written in jest. I wrote that instead of actually getting angry or depressed or bitter. Got it? Good. That doesn’t mean I won’t make fun of editors, those sassy-ass, smooth-livin, self-righteous sons-of-bitches.

Yesterday wasn’t exactly difficult, but it did test my ability to walk long distances on very little food. I managed to survive and had such a fantastic time I didn’t really notice my growling belly that much. I was on the smallest of the Aran Islands. It can be walked up and down in a few hours. That’s what I did after walking around one of the other islands for a while. I got there and took off. I saw a nice castle that Cromwell destroyed like he did so many beautiful things in Ireland. Then I went walking to this lighthouse. It looked like New England all of a sudden…except that I couldn’t stop staring at the beauty of the Cliffs of Moher across the water. I didn’t know I’d have such an incredible view of this famous landmark. The best part was that while all the tiny ant-like tourists were crawling all over the cliffs, I was completely, utterly alone with a view of the entire length of the cliffs. It was one of those fantastic moments where you feel like you’re in on a secret that no one else knows. I walked along the rocky water’s edge and enjoyed the sunny weather—yes, strong winds decided to blow the nasty rain and clouds away for the day. Everything came together. I also think it’s the most alone I’ve probably ever been other than driving down certain stretches of road. There were only about 300 people on the island and they were all on the other side.


And of course we all do weird stuff when we know nobody else is watching. I decided to sing a view songs to myself and even did a little happy dance. No shame. On the way back I was exhausted. There’s this sweet wrecked ship on the rocks. I didn’t go down and get a closeup, but I did gaze at the ghostly scene from afar.


At the hostel I stayed at the other night, I hung out with some cool guys from Canada. We got to talking and I found out that they were using the Ireland Let’s Go book. Some girls from New Jersey piped in and said that they were using it, too. Needless to say, they revered me as a god when I told them I was writing for that very book. Good times. We had a nice breakfast together figuring out the toaster and talking about rich people at Harvard.

I also decided to listen to my ipod while walking. I haven’t used it at all really. Well, I decided to listen to some Bob Dylan and then got a little touched when Like a Rolling Stone played because the lyrics kind of hit a few notes for me out here alone after graduating:
How does it feel? How does it feel?
To be on your own, with no direction home.
Like a complete unknown.
Like a rolling stone.

Day: 20
Guinness: 29

The Bitter Blog

Yeah, it's time. I have decided to be disgruntled tonight. First of all, I'm in a cool hostel with some fun people, but ohhhh wait, I have to do work. Wah wah, I know. I'm in Ireland, enjoy it, right? Well you better be damn sure I'm enjoying it. It's the little things, though. Like just when I find a sweet place to stay or somewhere I want to hike, the ole chain yanks me back to the laptop. I love writing. That's why I've written so many entries for this blog. I probably write these faster than most people read them. The work for the book is boring as hell, though. Anyway, that's not the big issue. Here's the deal. I needed to send in my 3rd cobybatch tonight (I'm halfway done!). Well, this hostel is awesome enough to have wireless internet. I'm going along just fine, but in windows, Internet explorer just decided to not let me send any attachments through gmail. Wtf. So instead of getting on top of my work or having a pint at the pub next door or watching a movie with people downstairs, I play with the stupid technical difficulties. Screw you, Microsoft.

Then, my bathroom smells like piss. No matter, I forgot to bring my towel to the Aran Islands. I won't be showering today anyway. I'll have to stay in a B&B tomorrow where they give you towels...and breakfast.

There's a giant spider chillin in the top corner of my room right now. He hasn't moved in a while, but I know he's plotting my destruction as we speak. As soon as I fall asleep, he's going to come down from his safe hiding place and dance all over my face. Then lay eggs in my mouth. I know guys don't lay eggs, but I'm too lazy to go back and change the "he"s to "she"s, so just pretend. I thinking I'll just confront the thing and do battle with it face to face so it can't sneak attack me later. I'm not afraid of spiders...just the evils they plot against lonely travelers with imaginations.

Then there are all the damn editors in Cambridge. They've got perfect weather. I've got gloom and rain every day. They just chill out in their air-conditioned office and screw around all day. RWs are out here busting our asses. Editors make a shitload of money. We're lucky if we break even. They have crazy parties at night. They even have "staff meetings" to discuss said parties when they should all be working like I am out here. At night I write...sometimes I drink Guinness and then write. Stick it to the man. The bottom line--RWs need to unionize and demand higher wages and that the editors do some damn work. I am a fine Harvard-trained employee that needs gentle massaging. You can't replace me with minimum-wage laborers.

I tried to save money today. I bought a frozen pizza for dinner. It was delicious but small. I was immediately hungry afterward. I proceeded to eat a whole package of cookies. They were delicious as well, but my stomach hates me. Back in Cambridge, the editors are eating fine dinners of steak and lobster every night and sipping port and smoking cigars. I go to sleep hungry and poor and have to get up early to get to work again. The editors can go to the office whenever they feel like it, and they are most certainly not required to spend more than 40 hrs a week in there.

Also, I never had any time to relax after I graduated. I got my diploma, packed my bags, said by to the loves of my life, and hopped across the pond to start work.
I had to freakin pay to climb a hill and look at the rocks. That is not fair.
One more...I lost my receipt from the petro station. That means I don't get reimbursed the 34 euro I paid so that I can drive around here and do my job.
My bathroom still smells like piss. There are strange banging coming from in there, too.
Apu thinks he might leave me.

Damn straight I'm bitter. Actually, I think I do a horrible bitter spiel. I'll stick to talking about things like my nice bike ride around Inishmore Island and the weird/awesome bird that made crazy noises and stared at me until I realized that I was dangerously close to her very tiny hatchlings. The Aran Islands are a great place for bird watchers.

Here's a pretty picture. Where there are famous sites, there are lots of tourists. People have fallen off these cliffs. I edged up pretty close but didn't really risk it.
Oh wait, photos won't upload. Maybe later. Here we are.


Day: 18
Guinness: 28 (maybe I'm angry because I'm in withdrawal)

Taking a day off?

For a little bit I was in a town called Cong. I don't particularly like the place. The old John Wayne film, The Quiet Man, was filmed there and they still are going crazy about it. I got out, but not without thinking of the Kong and its famous Scorpion Bowls. Reminds me of a joke this drunk guy told me the other night (if you like Jesus a lot, don't continue reading):
So God was trying to find a nice place to stay in the solar system and consulted some of his angels. One angle says, "how about Venus?" God says, "It's too damn hot!" Another angel puts forth, "What about Jupiter?" "Too stormy!" Finally, one angel says, "Earth would be nice!" God then replies, "Hell no! I got some girl pregnant there 2000 years ago and they're still talking about it!" I don't even think that's funny the second time around. Oh well.

Cong and the Kong...both famous for reasons rather unappealing to me. You may feel differently.

You may have heard of Ashford Castle before. It's a really really fancy castle where all the famous people stay when they come to Ireland. For the cost of my entire summer budget I could get maybe 3 or 4 nights in that place. Believe you me, I thought about it. Then I realized that that would be a lot of Guinness and Irish breakfasts I would be missing out on. However, I walked around the grounds for a while and seriously considered treating myself to a lesson in falconry. Yes, falconry. For a heft sum you can actually hold the hunting birds and learn how to launch them after prey. For a little more money you can go on an a fake hunting trip. I thought that was a little dumb because I would want my falcon to actually bring me back a bloody rabbit, not some stuffed animal.


I'm taking a little time off in Galway right now before I go to the Aran Islands. I've been lulled into the rural Irish way of life. I got into Galway and all of a sudden I was in a city! Tons of people, cars, noise. Sure, people don't say hi to do and it costs of shitload just to park my car, but it's nice change I suppose. There are actually some attractive people here. I honestly was losing faith in the Irish people. It's ok, you're not all mingers. The drinking water here is evidently not safe. I'm not up on the news because my radio reception sucks in my car, but at my hostel I'm staying at tonight they told me not to drink the water. That's enough for me. Bottled water it is. And Guinness. It's good for your health you know.

Once again, I run into the Belgian guy, except this time he's in stone that was sculpted 5 centuries ago. A paradox.

Day: 17
Guinness: 28

Too much Guinness is a good thing.

First of all, I took a couple hours to hike for a bit. I revisited a couple places I’d been when I was here a few years ago. One was a castle turned super expensive hotel. I found this in the parking lot:


And this in the woods around the castle:


Next, I went to a trail to see St. Patrick oratory, one of a couple places St. Patrick allegedly banished the snakes from Ireland. This is where I previously found the army of giant mutant slugs. They were nowhere to be found this time around. How peculiar. How could a mass of unique slugs so large and disgusting disappear? I figured they were on the move and probably watching me, so I got my wits about me and continued moving. The path I was on connects to Ireland’s longest and most spectacular hiking route. I saw it trail off into the distant mountains and yearned for the time, equipment and proper hiking companion to set off on this lonely path through the glorious west. Alas, I walked along it for a while and then turned back. If you ever want to take on the hiking trails of Ireland in the future, let me know. If you look at the picture, you can see the thin dirt trail on the left-middle going off into the distance. That's the Western Way.


So last night…
I set a personal record for the most Guinness consumed in a night. You can look at my tallies and guesstimate the math. It’s all because of Sarah. Sorry, not you, Smoran, though you were most definitely part a lot of my drinking over the past year. This Sarah (I’m probably spelling it wrong—who ever knows if the H is there or not?) is a fantastic girl from Switzerland who was staying in my hostel for the night (yeah, lots of Swiss people traveling around here). The hostel allows you to pay a deposit to get a late key if you’re staying out past midnight. I didn’t get one, but then I ran into Sarah at a bar. It soon passed midnight, which meant I had to stay with her because she was my only way back to my bed for the night. Long story short, she’s really fun and drinks a lot. We found one bar where all the old local people were getting trashed. Wasted old men! It was hilarious. This one old guy who was really funny kept making fun of me because I was wearing flip-flops and he expects Texans to wear the whole cowboy getup of boots, hat, belt buckle, etc. Also, I decided to give Molly, my LG editor, a phone call. Sarah talked to her for a bit in her funny broken English. This is going to embarrass her, but I’m telling the story anyway. Earlier in the day, Sarah wanted a light for her cigarette (yeah, that shit will kill you, but Europeans haven’t caught on to the anti-smoking thing yet), so she asked this guy for “fire.” He was confused, but eventually got her some logs to make a fire with.

Also, perhaps I’ll bring it up later, but there are considerably more immigrants in Ireland than there were last time I was here. This whole thriving economy and the EU has attracted a lot of Easter Europeans and even a bunch of French people. The Irish aren’t used to multiculturalism like we are.

There are sheep outside my window.

Oh, and I can’t speak or read Gaelic any better than I could 2 weeks ago. I hope I didn’t miss anything important:


I also realized I'm spending a bit more than I'm making. Everything is so expensive! Whatever, it'll count as a graduation present to myself.

Day: 16
Guinness: 28 (it's detox time)

Horses!

Beautiful Clifden.

Remember the Belgian dude from the hostel in the last entry? Well I ran into him in Clifden. He was chillin at a café before heading deeper into Connemara. What a true dude. I made about 50 circles around the small town before I felt like I was done with my work. Then I went out to find some of the cool spots around the area. I managed to run into the same Irish guy walking around about 3 or 4 times. He was really nice and we chatted about my trip and he asked me the best points to get nice views in the area. I found a couple. One got me this picture of Clifden with some of the Twelve Bens/Pins in the background. At that spot, I met some friendly wild horses. I was wary at first because they were paired off with mother and child. I moved slowly and walked by the first pair. Then the second pair, a white horse and a little scraggly boy, came trotting up to me. I let them check me out, and then I started petting them on their noses. The big white lady minded her own business and started eating a bunch, but the little one followed me around and rubbed up against me, making sure I gave him some attention. It was really sweet. Birds sang, flowers bloomed, the sun shone, rainbows stretched across the sky, and all was well in Ireland.


It’s my sister’s birthday today. It’s 25, isn’t it? You’re getting old. Because she loves horses so much, I find my experiences today more than fitting.

Day: 14 (2 weeks!)
Guinness: 20 (it’s a grueling pace, but I’m still standing)