After 15 years of employment, the library continues to provide me with little jewels of humor and insight…Part One was getting pretty lengthy, and so, onto Part Two!
A young boy came up to one of my co-workers and requested “The Life of Pi,” pronouncing Pi as “Pee.” When she tried to correct him, he insisted that he wanted “The Life of Pee.” Perhaps it’s a potty training book…?
As he tried to leave, a boy managed to tangle himself in the wires of one of our preschool game computers. A little girl was standing nearby, and as he fought to free himself, he began to plead to her: “Help me, my friend! Help me!”
A three-year old was really excited for Halloween, as she explained to one of my co-workers: “I just love your Halloween decorations. I love Halloween. I’m going to be a mermaid…like Ariel…you know that big mean Ursula? I don’t like her…”
Two little boys discussing marriage in the preschool play area. Boy One is insisting that he had gotten married (much to Boy Two’s disbelief).
Boy Two: “Was it yucky when you kissed?”
Boy One: “Well, SHE said it was yucky.”
Little do these kids know that this similar conversation is played out by men in bars all over the world.
When asked not to sit on our Duplos play table, a boy replied “I was sleep-sitting.” (Incidentally, sleep-sitting was how I got through some of my college classes…)
In overhearing a conversation between two children at our department’s Duplo table, one of the children blurted out “He’s dead! He’s dead, honey! He’s dead!” I’m not sure what precipitated this outburst. I just hope it wasn’t some sort of confession.
A little girl talking to one of my co-workers: “Librarian? I am very good. I am like a butterfly. I like to twirl. Watch! Librarian? I think the library is lovely. I really like what you do here.” Who could ask for a higher compliment?
A fifth-grade boy asking for a particular DVD (see if you can guess which movie): “This really old movie. It starts with the letter ‘P.’ It has dinosaurs. And the guy on the cover is wearing a pizza. And it’s old. I watched it on Netflix & my aunt said it was old. Oh, they drive cars with their feet.”
Overheard in the Youth Services Department: Girl (to another girl): “I recognize that you’re a girl because of your shoes. I’m a girl too!”
Little Girl:(running up, concerned) Are you okay?
Me: Yeah, just a sneeze.
Little Girl: Okay…bless you!
Child whispering to one of our game computers: “Bye-bye, computer. I’ll see you again, my friend.”
You know you’re getting old when…An exchange between a coworker and a child at the Youth Services Desk:
Child:(looking into a bowl of giveaway patches) What are these?
Day Fifteen (9/28/18): Home, or, Steve Can’t Hold His Liquor
I awoke this morning to a spectacular sunrise and accompanying ocean view from my bedroom windows. While Tim decided to go out for an early morning run (clearly the adventure run of a few days ago did not dampen his desire for self-torture), I sat in bed, worked on my writing, and watching the sun rise gloriously above eastern Ireland.
It was with great reluctance that Tim and I packed our bags for the final leg of our journey. After a quick breakfast, we headed to the Dublin airport. We were running a bit late when we arrived, so naturally, we kept running into delays. For the first time on the entire trip, I was stopped by security. I knew this moment would be coming eventually. After passing through so many airports in the past two weeks without a hitch, it was bound to happen. However, I had always figured that it would be my passport that caused my undoing (see https://dexysmidnightramblings.com/2018/09/20/roundabout-circling-the-emerald-isle-day-one/ for more details on that). No, it was a bottle of Bunratty Meade that I had purchased as a souvenir for a friend, then stupidly packed away in the wrong bag, and forgot about, until…
A couple of security personnel joked with me, as they began to rifle through my bag. “You aren’t tryin’ to sneak some whiskey on board, now are ya?” said one in a wide Irish brogue, but with a suspicious look in his eye. I stammered that no, I won’t do a thing like that, all the while frantically thinking “Where on earth did I pack that bottle?” Meanwhile, a crowd was starting to form as my extended bag search started attracting attention.
“Uh oh, what’s this?” He said as he dramatically pulled the carefully wrapped meade from the bottom of my carry-on bag. I heard snickers and murmuring around me. I could imagine them thinking, “Oh aye, so the Yank’s trying to pull one over on us now? Sneakin’ somethin’ past customs, is he?” I stammered out an explanation of what had happened. I wasn’t trying to sneak anything out. I made an honest mistake. I don’t think anyone believed me though. Security then gave me two options. Go back to baggage check in to sort it out, or leave the mead behind. Just then, the final boarding call for my flight was announced. The decision was made for me: I was going to have to give up the bottle. I purchased it early on during the trip and had kept it safely with me, only lose it at the very end. I guess you could say that after living the Irish/Scottish life for two weeks, I still couldn’t hold my liquor.
We managed to get aboard our WOW Air flight in the nick of time, and an hour later, we were back at the Keflavik Airport in Iceland. We had a seven-hour layover, so we tried to make the most of it. We hopped onto a bus, and traveled north to Reykjavik. Although the weather had not improved much since our last visit to the island, we determined to explore the city. We first stopped off at Hallgrimskirkja, a large, imposing, ornate church which towered over the Reykjavik skyline. It was an active place of worship, run by the Church of Iceland (Evangelical Lutheran). It was an awe-inspiring building, both inside and out. Despite the cold and drizzle, we continued to explore what turned out to be a very nice city nestled along the rocky western shoreline of Iceland. We popped in at a few shops, and as a final souvenir purchase, I bought a copy of Harry Potter in Icelandic, (a must-have for all true Potter fans).
Learning our lesson from that morning, we arrived at the airport in plenty of time, and had no security hassles to boot. Still, Tim and I were in a somber mood as we boarded. Essentially, our trip was at an end. After a long, uncomfortable flight, we would be home. As for me, I would be hitting the ground running. I had plans in place for the following few months, which started the very morning after coming home (Jet lag? Psh! Who has time for that?).
We arrived at O’Hare around 11 pm, and began the most difficult part of our journey: actually trying to get out of the airport. I quickly came to appreciate the quiet efficiency of European airports as we bounced from line to line. We planned to order an Uber car, but then, most likely from sheer exhaustion, Tim and I could not locate the pick-up zone. We wandered around, asked for directions, studied the maps. Finally, we hopped a shuttle bus that took us to another terminal at the other end of the airport, where we found the illusive pick-up zone, and secured a ride. By 2 am, we were back home (or, at least, I was. Tim still had to head back to St. Louis the next day), ending what I considered to be one of the best vacations I had ever spent!
Day Fourteen (9/27/18): Howth Your Shepherd’s Pie?
After a delightful continental breakfast served in our B&B’s dining room, Tim and I took our leave and set out to explore Edinburgh in the daylight. The weather proved to be overcast and windy for much of the day. In addition, our time was limited because of our approaching flight back to Dublin that afternoon. Still, we had plenty of opportunities to gawk at some old buildings and to enjoy the performances of several street musicians, including a kilted bagpiper. Our wanderings took us to Calton Hill, a prominent outlook with a panoramic view of the city. Sadly, the time quickly flew past, and we regretfully had to say our goodbyes to Edinburgh and make our way to the airport. Although, not in our original trip plans, Edinburgh proved to be one of the highlights of our vacation! We barely scratched the surface of what the city had to offer, and we hoped for a return visit someday.
Upon our arrival at the airport (which I was pleased to note no longer smelled like a barnyard), we hopped aboard a small Aer Lingus plane, and within an hour, we were back in Dublin, our home away from home it seemed. After collecting our excess luggage (and paying a steep price for leaving it at the airport), we picked up our third rental car, and drove north to Howth, a tiny village located on a small peninsula that jutted out into Dublin Bay.
Our final Airbnb host home was a private beach house that sat along the southern shoreline and had a stunning view of the bay. Our host welcomed us warmly, made us tea, and we sat together at her dining room table, looking at the bay through large windows, and having an enjoyable conversation. After all the walking and hiking we did throughout our trip (and in Tim’s case, biking and kayaking as well), our final stop in Ireland proved to be very restful. We learned that our host, her husband and daughter had recently moved to Howth from the south of England (which she strongly encouraged us to visit on our next European jaunt).
Upon our host’s recommendation, we had dinner at the Dog House Blues Tea Room on Howth’s main drag. It was a very unique place in terms of décor. The interior looked almost like a grotto with low, rounded archways, unfinished stone walls, and a rounded ceiling of brick. The waitress said that the building used to be a tram station, but wasn’t sure what it was before that. It was definitely an old structure repurposed for casual dining. As to the décor, the low-lighting and rather eclectic decorations left me feeling somewhat disturbed. Many of the paintings that hung upon the red walls of the dining room depicted naked people in varying degrees of anguish. I suppose this was supposed to be trendy (something I can never claim to be). And so, I mainly just kept my head down and ate my shepherd’s pie, which was good. And despite the angst-ridden artwork, the atmosphere was very genial. When asked how my shepherd’s pie was, I told the waitress that it was the best that I had ever eaten. What I didn’t tell her was that it was the only shepherd’s pie I had ever eaten (so technically I was telling the truth, right?). But she seemed really pleased by the compliment and promised to inform the cook, so I decided to forgo further explanation.
Day Thirteen (9/26/18): Nessie Searching, the Fate of Castle Urquhart, and Traveling “Diagon Alley” Through Edinburgh
We left Inverness and headed southward toward the legendary Loch Ness. The morning weather proved to be dreary and wet, with a low-hanging mist hovering over the choppy water, giving the surrounding area a sense of ancient mystery. Although Tim and I did a thorough search from where we had stationed ourselves along the west side of the Loch, we, alas, did not encounter Nessie (not that it means she doesn’t exist, mind you, only that she is introverted and enjoys her privacy).
I can respect that.
In looking over maps of the area, I had wondered why the shape of Loch Ness was so long and thin, almost like a stretch of river that had been capped off at both ends. It turned out that beneath the Loch, and running through the Scottish Highlands, was a pretty sizable faultline. I later learned that earthquakes were common in those parts, although most tremors were too light to be felt.
We continued our drive around the Loch and stopped off at Urquhart Castle, a medieval ruin situated on a rocky outcrop overlooking the water. Like many of the old structures we had encountered on our trip, the Castle had an interesting and bloody history to it, ending its role as a garrison in 1692 when the final occupants blew up the gatehouse to prevent their enemies from using the Castle. Despite its dilapidated state, Urquhart Castle was still an awe-inspiring site. Tim and I (along with legions of other tourists) explored the Castle from the ramparts to the cellars. A steady drizzle fell upon us throughout our visit, making the stones and ground rather slippery to tread on.
However, the real hazard came from the scores of visitors around us blithely welding their selfie sticks, trying to get just the right picture. I had never heard of anyone actually getting an eye poked out from a selfie stick, but I was determined not to be the first victim.
For lunch, we stopped off at a café in Spean Bridge, where I had the Scottish version of the English breakfast. The main difference in this was the introduction of haggis to the meal. I was well-aware of what went into haggis, and I was a bit wary of trying it. However, I was in Scotland, and well, when in Rome…Additionally, what would my friends back home think of me if I left the country without trying it? So, I tried it, and to be honest, it wasn’t bad at all. I notified some of my friends online about my bold undertaking, and the response was universal: yuck!
Our AirBNB house du jour, located in Edinburgh, was actually a B&B. We were welcomed by our hosts into a luxurious three-floor building. We didn’t stay indoors for long, as we wanted to explore the city. For several hours, we walked around, looking at churches, ancient cemeteries, monuments, and the Edinburgh Castle, which was perched high up on a bluff. We also toured Victoria Street, which looked very familiar to me, though I wasn’t sure why at first. Then Tim pointed out a shop that sold nothing but Harry Potter souvenirs. Of course, I couldn’t pass the store up! Soon after entering, I learned that Victoria Street was the model for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter movies. Among other purchases, I bought my second copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, this time written in Scot. The idea of purchasing the same book in different language was not a new idea. A friend of mine had made it a mission to collect a first edition copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s/Sorcerer’s Stone in every available language, which he succeeded in doing! https://www.harrypottercollector.com/ I wasn’t that ambitious, but after my second purchase, I was starting to enjoy the hunt!
For dinner, Tim and I went to Quattro Zero, an Italian restaurant in heart of Scotland, run by a Hispanic family. This was the perfect reflection of the Edinburgh experience; diverse, lively, surprising. We walked around the city some more after we ate, soaking up the energetic night life. There were a lot of people out and about, popping in and out of stores and pubs, and generally strolling along the sidewalks. In short, it didn’t take long for Edinburgh to become one of my favorite places on the trip!
As had become the custom with us, we got a late start to the day. We had a long lunch at the Hinterland restaurant in Perth’s city center while Tim and I began to tally up our trip expenditures, and just how much we had left in our budget. All the remaining major items, such as flights and housing were paid for. However, our spending money was starting to get pretty low. We would have to be more discerning with our expenditures during the last few days of the trip.
We spent the remainder of our afternoon driving north into the Scottish Highlands. Our ultimate destination was the city of Inverness. After some initial confusion, we finally located our host house in the heart of the city. After getting squared away, we did a walking tour of Inverness. This was no easy feat due to the continual gusts of wind that almost seemed to blow at us from every direction. Despite this, we tramped uphill to Inverness Castle, which, compared to some of the surrounding structures in town, looked positively new. Actually, for European standards (the existing castle was only about 180-190 years old), it practically was. Like a lot of the buildings we had encountered on the trip thus far, the castle in its many incarnations, had a long and bloody history of invasion and destruction. Unfortunately, the castle had closed for the evening, but the scenic overlook beyond the hill we were on was something to behold.. The beautiful River Ness flowed through the city below us, in much the same way that the Fox River curved through my hometown. The trees around us were just beginning to hint at the colors of the coming autumn. Ancient church spires and towers rose grandly from among the more modern buildings.
We next headed back into the city center, looking for a place to eat. However, Tim and I caught the faint mystic sounds of bagpipe music which drew us away from the High Street and down a side road, looking for its source. It turned out that the music was coming from the blaring stereo of a small souvenir shop, and like a couple of Pied Piper rats, we followed the music right into the store. The elderly, bearded Scot at the counter was a stoic fellow, quietly observing the utter chaos of too many tourists in his cramped shop. Nearly drowning out the music was the continuous chatter of some Germans who noisily tried on hats and scarves, checked their reflections in a nearby mirror, and had a grand old time. At one point during the mayhem, I caught the eye of the Scot. I gave him a slightly exasperated look. Without a change of expression, the man gave me a small wink as if to say “I do this every day.”
Day Eleven (9/24/18): Cheers, Ireland! Hi-ya, Scotland!
Now that the weekend had ended, it was time to decide what we would do with the remaining days of our vacation. In our pre-trip planning, Tim and I deliberately left our final few days open. However, before we could address our itinerary, there was the matter of purchasing a new tire for the rental car. The spare was serving us well, but we clearly couldn’t return the car in that condition. I would need to purchase a replacement. We located a place in town who not only changed the tire in about ten minutes, but didn’t try to browbeat us into purchasing an entire set. For all that, the cost was reasonable (I was afraid I would have to hand over my remaining vacation money).
With that task completed, we next turned to planning the rest of our vacation. We decided that we would fly to Scotland for a few days, visiting Edinburgh, Inverness, and Loch Ness along the way. Over breakfast, we purchased plane tickets, arranged for Airbnb housing, and reserved a rental car. We had hours before we had to be at the Dublin airport, so we took the time to make the return trip to the Titanic Belfast Museum. The museum itself was incredible! The exhibits were state-of-the-art and interactive. A portion of the vast museum was seen on a traveling cart that lowered and turned us through a recreation of the inner workings of the Titanic. It really gave you a good indication of just how vast the ship was! There was also an alcove where guests were surrounded on three sides by large screens. The digitally rendered film gave us the impression that we were on an elevator which started at the very bottom of the ship. After a slow 360-degree spin to see what each room looked like, we would be “lifted” to the ship’s next level, and so on until we reached the top. There were so many things to see and exhibits to linger at, that after two hours, we still hadn’t reached the end. However, our time was up, so with regret, we had to hurry past the remaining exhibits, hoping that some day soon, we could pay the museum another visit.
While on the road to Dublin, I had time to consider the beauty of the Irish accent, and how it was ever-so slightly modifying our own. The strange thing I noticed was that Tim and I were responding differently to our linguistic immersion. Tim was incorporating slang terms and idioms better than I was. Without thinking about it, he would sprinkle his speech with such things as “Cheers!,” “Good on ya, mate,!” and “That’s grand!” among other things. For me, I was more self-conscious about using the lingo. However, a noticeable Irish accent had definitely started creeping into my voice. To say that I was developing a proper Irish accent would be a bit deceiving though. The Irish accent is as varied as you might find with English or American. In short, my muddled form of an accent would never fool a true Irish person. Still, I was having fun with it!
Upon our arrival at the Dublin airport, we stowed some of our luggage at the excess baggage claim, and hopped a flight on Ryanair, bound for Edinburgh. It was a short flight (about an hour), and considerably more comfortable than WOW Air. One of the first things we noticed at the Edinburgh airport as we traveled along the terminal to our rental car was the smell. There definitely seemed to be a strong odor of…livestock around us. I knew that herders tended to let their flocks of sheep wander around in Ireland, but here? At an airport? After a bit of internet research, Tim and I discovered that the odor came from emissions produced by local breweries (https://www.edinburghnews.scotsman.com/news/edinburgh-world-s-smelliest-city-says-thrillist-1-3146868). Fortunately, once we left the vicinity of the airport, the smell went away as well.
After a late dinner, we made our way to our reserved hotel room in Perth. We had considered reserving an Airbnb home for that evening, but thought that it was too last minute.
In the end, no one came to throw us out of our room, and Tim and I passed a comfortable night.
We stopped for breakfast at a little Irish restau…okay fine, it was McDonald’s again. Down the street from said restaurant was a church that Tim had previously scouted out online called The Village. And as it was Sunday morning, we walked there to attend the service. The Village was a contemporary church that I found similar to my church back home. The speaker (I don’t recall if he was the pastor) was a good-natured, bearded Scot, who, in greeting me after service, highly recommended a local pub that my brother and I just had to visit to make our experience in Belfast complete. Tim and I were then invited by some of the church members to join them for lunch at one of their homes. We accepted the invite and had a wonderful time getting to know our Irish brothers and sisters in Christ. Learning that I was from the Chicago area, several of the group displayed an impressive knowledge of the Cubs. Some were also making plans to visit Chicago next year for St. Patrick’s Day. Apparently, Chicago does a better job of celebrating the holiday than the whole of Ireland. Yay us!
After saying farewell to our new friends, Tim and I next paid a visit to the Titanic Belfast Museum, an impressive, gleaming structure situated along the River Lagan. Unfortunately, the museum had closed just before our arrival. However, there was plenty to see outside, such as the docking area (slipway) where the Titanic was constructed. We made plans to return tomorrow for a tour of the museum.
Around dusk, we drove to a section of Belfast’s Peace Wall, a heavily-graffitied length of concrete originally erected in 1969 to separate the city’s Catholic population from its Protestants. Although, people could travel freely between the two sections in daylight without much endangerment to themselves, the tensions between the two factions still remained just under the surface of civility. You could feel it.
We concluded our day’s exploration with dinner at Maggie Mays Belfast Café, an establishment highly recommended to us, along with their Ulster Fry, Northern Ireland’s answer to the English breakfast. Oh, I was going to have a hard time being satisfied with breakfasts once I returned home. I was being spoiled rotten on this trip!
Mark Twain once wrote that “Providence protects children and idiots. This is really true. I know because I have tested it.” Not merely content to heed these words, on this particular day, I put them to the test, and I came to the same conclusion: God loves stupid people (perhaps that’s why He made so many of us, but I’m getting ahead of myself).
Prior to starting our trip, Tim had registered for an adventure race, hosted by a group called Gaelforce North. Participants had to endure 62 km of running, biking, and kayaking around the mountainous Glenvagh National Park. Now, I’m not opposed to athletics, as such (though my ample physical profile may call me a liar). However, I do believe that like in all things, exercise is best in moderation. The more moderation, the better.
In short, I thought my brother was crazy.
The adventure race would begin that morning, meaning that I had to drop Tim off at the starting line. This also meant that I would finally have to get behind the wheel, then proceed to the finish line at Inishcoole Beach, near the town of Bunbeg. With careful coaching from the passenger seat, my brother helped me to navigate the narrow roads to the national park. Once I dropped him off and saw him start his race, I was on my own. For me, driving on the left side of the road quickly became a harrowing experience. With hedges and rock walls pressing in to the left of me, and the oncoming morning traffic to my right, I was in a perpetual state of terror of hitting something or someone. However, the strange thing about my fear was that, after a while, I began to get used to it, and my rigid concentration to my surroundings began to wane with the miles. This
would abruptly come to an end as I rounded a narrow bend in the road and nearly ran head-on to an oncoming car. It turned out that, in my inattentiveness, I had drifted over to the right side of the road. To the other driver’s “What are you doing?” gesture, I grinned cheekily and yelled out the window, “It’s okay, I’m an American.”
I can’t imagine why they hate us.
After that, I became hyper-vigilant and tried to stay as far to the left side as possible. This also proved to be a mistake as I had a hard time judging just how close I was getting to the rocks and hedges along the side of the road. The first clue that I had overcompensated came with the large bump I felt somewhere along the left side of my car (I never did see what I had hit). My second clue came with the quickly deflating left front tire. So there I was on the side of a road on an overcast Irish morning with the annoying task of changing a tire (or tyre as it was spelled in those parts) instead of finding breakfast and desperately needed coffee.
Not to brag, but I’ve changed a few flats in my time, and I figured that this would be an easy 1-2-3 job. I assembled everything I needed and began to put together the jack. Well, I tried to put together the jack. Actually, thanks to my native stupidity spilling out all over the place, I couldn’t figure out just how to put the jack together. It required the attachment of a handle (which it came with), but I was at a loss as to how to correctly put it together. As I was fighting a losing battle with the stupid contraption, a car pulled up onto the shoulder behind me, and out popped two women, offering help. They were from Australia and they said that they recently had the same problem. In an obscenely short amount of time, they had the jack figured out, and we were able to get the spare tire on with little fuss. I thanked my two Aussie helpers, and with my wounded pride (I swear, I’ve changed tires before!), I made my careful, anxious way to the beach.
Meanwhile, while I was getting schooled in basic auto repair, Tim was getting more than he bargained for in his race. In total, the event lasted five and a half grueling hours. He later told me that he had wanted to quit the race about 100 times and there were points were his leg muscles refused to work. However, through the use of a few salt tablets and the encouragement of his fellow participants, who frequently cheered him on with “Good on ya, mate!,” he managed to cross the finish line, and with a smile on his face. It was an impressive accomplishment, and probably something that Tim would not repeat for a long time to come.
Despite the delays, I arrived at Inishcoole Beach well before the first runners crossed the finish line. With the morning tide out, the swath of beach was massive, and I had to walk some way before reaching the shoreline. Taking my shoes off, I stepped into the frigid Atlantic waters for the first time, crossing out one more item from my bucket list.
An interesting site nearby was the decaying wreck of a ship, seemingly stranded in the middle of the beach, far from the water. However, as the hours passed, the tide turned and I watched the beach slowly being overtaken by the surf. For a Midwestern boy who had always lived near bodies of water that didn’t experience tidal shifts, I found this natural wonder fascinating. Rocky outcroppings that I had climbed and sat on hours before soon became small islands. The skeletal ship also began to look more at home as the water rose beneath it.
Once Tim had staggered across the finish line, the plan was for me to drive to Belfast while my brother recuperated. However, I was so unnerved from the morning’s misadventures that after a few minutes of tense driving (and much flinching), Tim graciously offered to switch places with me. We stopped for dinner in Londonderry before moving on to Belfast where our next host home was located. As we drove, we had discovered that we had crossed into Northern Ireland almost by accident. Without Google Maps, we may never have known. Tim and I both found it strange that we never come across anything to indicate that we were in another country. No checkpoints, no “Welcome to Northern Ireland” signs. Just a quiet transition into the United Kingdom…and the fact that the numbers on the speed limit signs now referred to miles per hour, not kilometers. Surprise!
Although our reservations had been confirmed well before we left the U.S., I found it odd that our Belfast host had yet to get in touch with us. After all, we had been contacted by all the other hosts via the Airbnb website. I didn’t start getting nervous about this fact until we were about an hour away the city. I began to send a stream of messages to our silent host, keeping them appraised of where we were, and when to expect us.
We pulled up at the given address around 10 p.m. and still we hadn’t heard from the host. What was worse, all the lights of the house were off, and repeated knocking at the front door produced no results. We checked and rechecked our information, and began calling the number listed on the host’s Airbnb profile—nothing. As Tim and I were trying to figure out what to do next, a taxi rolled up, and a young couple got out with their luggage. It turned out that they had also booked one of the rooms from our host, and like us, couldn’t get a hold of him…or her. Honestly, we weren’t even sure of our host’s gender at this point.
As it turned out, both sides of the street we were on were lined with bed and breakfasts. After knocking on doors and asking around, Tim and I were directed to a building a few doors down where there was a vacant room. However, the host for this particular building was nowhere to be found either (we wondered if this B&B was also operated by our AWOL host). As it was then approaching midnight, we didn’t care whose room we were in. Hoping that we hadn’t inadvertently stolen someone else’s room, we bedded down, yet prepared for flight if need be.
You know it’s going to be an amazing day when you throw back the curtains in the morning and find yourself staring at a rainbow outside your bedroom window. This would prove to be the first of many rainbows that my brother and I came across during our day’s journey.
We started our first morning in Letterkenny with a hearty English breakfast at a nearby café; a heaping plate of sausages, bacon, baked beans, eggs on toast, and both black and white pudding. This was my introduction to this high-protein fare, and would forever set the standard for good breakfasts in my mind.
Our first non-culinary stop of the day was, believe it or not, another library. However, Tim and I had a specific goal in mind—genealogy research. Through previous searching, Tim discovered that some of our ancestors had lived in County Donegal, somewhere in the northern reaches of Ireland. He even managed to find the very plots of land that our ancestors rented. For a time, we camped out at the Central Library, and with the help of a couple of librarians, Tim and I tracked down some new information, particularly on that of our great-great grandfather Edward McLaughlin and his wife Sarah Diver. In addition, Tim uncovered information about the church that the two were married in.
And so, we recommenced our travels and drove north to the little town of Buncrana, where we paid a visit to St. Mary’s Catholic Church, which was still in operation. We had hoped to find someone there to guide us around the building and the vast graveyard surrounding it. However, we were alone, so we took our own tour. As you would expect, the church was beautiful with a mix of the traditional and contemporary in its style. So, I thought, this was the place where Great-Great Grandpa and Grandma McLaughlin tied the knot. There was a sense of belonging that crept over my brother and I as we stood, gazing down the church’s center aisle. Though in a different country and time, there was an almost mystical tie to this place.
We felt at home.
Our exploration of the graveyard proved to be less fruitful. Despite a helpful sign indicating who was buried where, we couldn’t track down any family members then known to us. As McLaughlin was a popular name in that region, every other plot in the cemetery resided an ex-person by that name. It would require further research, and most likely a future visit, or two.
Tim and I continued our northward journey until we reached a quiet tree-lined road in the midst of sweeping, hilly pastureland. On maps, the road was simply known as Hillside. We pulled off, and decided to walk down the remainder of the lane. Using maps found by Tim, we were able to pinpoint the plots of land where our ancestors had lived. Once again, there was that overwhelming sense of belonging and homecoming that came over us. No words of mine or pictures taken could truly do justice to the awe-inspiring landscape that surrounded us.
To the north loomed the reddish-brown mountains that separated us from the nearby ocean. The land to the south was a patchwork of green, hilly pastures, bordered with darker green hedgerows, trees, and dotted with grazing white sheep. Around the road that we walked, several small streams burbled their hypnotic song and several ruins of ancient stone cottages stood sentinel, a testament to a bygone era. Meanwhile, rain showers would periodically pass over head, dumping their load on us before moving off, to be replaced by blue skies and a number of large rainbows. There was such a dreamlike quality to our surroundings and I couldn’t imagine a place more beautiful. This was a place I could live in. Tim mused that life must have been pretty bad that would prompt our ancestors to uproot from this idyllic land to come to the New World.
We concluded our day’s touring, with a visit to Dunree Head, a beautiful outcrop of land jutting into the ocean. However, with what Tim and I had experienced that day, the view proved to be rather anticlimactic.
We got an early start to our day. We packed up and were on the road to Galway by 9 a.m. Once we got into the city, we stopped for breakfast at a little Irish place called…McDonald’s. Yes, that McDonald’s (they have ‘em in Ireland too). The big difference I discovered between their restaurants and ours was that instead of going up to the counter and ordering, customers had the ability to place their order at a kiosk, which I thought was a pretty slick system.
But I digress…
With coffee in hand, we braved the damp weather and explored the streets of Galway. As has always been my custom, I paid a visit to the local bookstore, and couldn’t leave it empty-handed. In my defense, I only purchased two books, which shows a great deal of restraint on my part! Overall, I found Galway to be very similar to Limerick with its combination of traditional architecture and modern merchandising. Live musicians played on the brick-paved streets in the midst of the bustling morning crowds.
Before heading out of town towards our next adventure, Tim stopped for gas…and a haircut. For the past week, Tim had been deliberating on whether to pay a visit to a barber. I suppose that was why I found myself noting an overwhelming number of shops in operation throughout Ireland, particularly Turkish barbers. I didn’t know with any certainty a difference between an everyday, run-of-the-mill Irish barber and one of the Turkish variety. Perhaps the Turks have cornered the market in barbering, and that their hair-cutting methods are superior in quality (these are the things that keep me up at night). Tim opted for a barber that was next to the gas station (very handy, I must say). It was not labeled as a Turkish barber shop, but Tim received a good haircut just the same.
Our next stop was the beautiful little village of Cong, the backdrop for much of the John Wayne film (pronounced “fillem” by our tour guide) The Quiet Man. It had been a while since I’ve seen the movie…I’m sorry, fillem…but it was one of my Dad’s favorites. My parents used to have good-natured arguments over The Quiet Man during every St. Patrick’s Day holiday. It used to drive my Mom crazy that John Wayne’s character would never explain to Maureen O’Hara’s character his reluctance to fight. But then, if he had, there wouldn’t have been anything to make a movie on, so…
We saw various houses and buildings that were included in the…fillem, including Pat Cohan’s Bar, which was where Tim and I had our lunch. Our guide also pointed out an old stone road sign in the center of town that had been there for generations. It was marked with an old Irish inscription. The guide interpreted it as “John Wayne drank here.”
I have my doubts.
We also took time to examine the ruins of Cong Abbey, destroyed hundreds of years ago by people who were not forward-thinking architectural preservationists. Despite its dilapidated state, it was quite a beautiful place to visit.We concluded our day’s journey by trying to find our host home in Letterkenny and getting lost in the process. Fortunately, the host was nice enough to come find us at a local gas station, and we followed him back to his home. Our rented space was pretty much a two-bedroom apartment, with all the amenities, including a washer and dryer which was dearly needed at this point in our trip.
We made our departure from the Dunaway farm around lunchtime, and headed northwest until we reached Limerick where we had lunch. Despite being surrounded by ancient buildings, Limerick proved to be a very trendy, hipster-friendly city. At times, I felt a little out of place there, having no tattoos, piercings, strange hair, or a lumberjack
beard. It was sort of like being home. After lunch, Tim and I walked around town, observing the natives and their habitat.
We next paid a visit to the Cliffs of Moher, along the Wild Atlantic Way of western Ireland. The scenery there was, both literally and figuratively, breath-taking! The last remnants of Helene were blowing through, producing strong winds from the ocean. Still, the climb to the edge of the cliff and the lookout tower there was not as daunting as that of Sheep’s Head, where you had to work hard for your scenic outlook. Though much of the day was overcast, the sun at last broke through the clouds, enhancing the already colorful panorama before us. It made you want to stay there, staring out at the ocean for hours on end, listening to the surf crashing on the rocks below.
Reluctantly, we had to pull ourselves away and continue our drive toward our next host house, located in Tuam, situated outside of Galway. As the sun was setting, we paid an unplanned visit to the ruins of Kilmacduagh Abbey, a 12th century monastery that had fallen victim to attack (possibly by the Vikings?) hundreds of years before. The coming dusk, the full moon shining down, and the lonely, wind-swept landscape provided the perfect backdrop as Tim and I peeked around the shattered buildings and toured the cemetery. The history nerd in me absolutely reveled in it all!
When it had gotten too dark for photos, we concluded our journey to Tuam, and not a moment too soon as the rains began to fall just as we finished bringing our bags into the house. Our host Geraldine showed us to our private room with its own full bathroom. The only fault that I could find with the accommodations was that the ceilings were low and sloped, giving me numerous opportunities to inadvertently crack my head while moving about the room. Ironically, Tim, who was several inches taller than I was, didn’t share this problem.
After a late start and a long breakfast with Dorothy, Tim and I set out to explore County Cork. Our first stop was at the bayside town of Bantry. The weather was beautiful as we strolled around the bay and the city centre. Blue skies and pleasant temperatures graced our every footfall. Despite that, we ducked into the public library to have a look around…merely to satisfy my professional curiosity, of course, and also to bring the vast knowledge of American libraries to Ireland. However, to my utter amazement, I discovered that they already had books there. And computers. And the Dewey Decimal System. Also, a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid in Irish.
After a late lunch in town, we proceeded southward to the rocky outcrop of the Sheep’s Head peninsula. To reach the lighthouse at the end of said peninsula, we had to make a steep hike on a rocky path in a stiff wind, and I only managed to fall down once. The western view of the Atlantic was amazing once we arrived and caught our breath. We took a thousand and one pictures and tried not to get blown out to sea.
We stopped for a classic Irish dinner of pizza in nearby Skibbereen before heading back to the farm.
A word now about the rural roads of southern Ireland. They are absolutely crazy to drive on! At this point, I’m speaking mainly as a passenger and not as a driver. I have yet to summon the courage to take the wheel, which is fine with Tim as he seems to enjoy the challenge of driving on the left side of the road. Still, I would have to give it a try eventually. I couldn’t leave Europe without at least trying. I was there to have new life experiences, no matter how life-threatening they may possibly be.
Getting back to the roads; they are winding and narrow with barely enough room for one car to pass another. Hedges and stone walls hem in cars on both sides of the road, giving drivers little margin for error, particularly when there is oncoming traffic. Add the dark and the rain, and you had quite the adventure! Tim, the daredevil took it all in stride.
Day Four (9/17/18): You Can Take the Yank Out of America…
So…we don’t tip?
I got to put my American naivety on display in the morning, following a good Irish breakfast at the hotel café. I realized that I hadn’t put a tip in our hotel room for housekeeping. I pulled out €20 and headed back up the stairs where housekeeping had finished up with our room. I went up to the maid to offer her the money, but she stared at it uncomprehendingly. Equally bemused, I explained that tipping maids was a typical American custom. She shrugged off the money with a small smile. “It’s my job,” she replied in a heavy eastern European accent.
Much of our day was devoted to exploring Dublin’s city center. We hopped on the red-line tram into the city, hoping that we would see our new friend there. No such luck.
Upon arrival, we made our way to the Trinity University campus where we paid a visit (and €7 each) to its celebrated library. The first floor of the library contained a gift shop, along with an extensive exhibit about the Book of Kells, a ninth-century “pocket” Bible. Sadly, we could not see the actual book due to some issues with the display. The second floor was the Long Room, a beautiful, vault-ceilinged, bust-bedecked expanse, decorated in dark wood. Floor to ceiling shelves filled with old texts lined the room on either side. While there, we had an opportunity to meet two American couples, one from New York, the other from Minnesota who immediately recognized the Cubs hat that I wore like a beacon of Midwest Americana. As for the native Irelanders, I don’t think they had much trouble either in pegging us for Americans. Upon leaving a restaurant after lunch, I nearly bumped into a gentleman. He apologized, and I must have said something like “Yep” or “Yup” because his face lit up and said “You’re a Yank!”
All it took was one word.
Traveling back on the tram later that day, Tim and I struck up a pleasant conversation with an Irishman. We compared notes on various aspects of our respective countries; politics, holidays, food—the important stuff. I think that one of the most enjoyable things on this trip has been the chance to talk with all sort of people.
I think that my Irish accent has been improving since my arrival in Dublin, although I use it mainly in jest. Tim and I have picked up on some of the lingo, though I’ve been a little too self-conscious to put it to use (“Hey look, that dumb Yank is trying to sound like one of us. How…precious.”). One of the terms that we heard around Dublin a lot is “Cheers!” (for thanks). I wonder if when I return home, I’ll have a whole new vocabulary. Stayed tuned, mates.
Overall, our visit to Dublin has been a great experience. The people we encountered were very lively, diverse in culture, and possessed an open-faced friendliness that you don’t often see in big cities.
That evening, we said “cheers” to Dublin, and headed southeast to County Cork. Our host house was located on a farm near Dunmanway. It was quite a drive. The remnants of Tropical Storm Helene rained down upon us as we navigated narrow, windy, darkened rural roads. In the end, we found our home without too much trouble. Our host Dorothy, greeted us at the door and showed us into her home, a beautiful place constructed by two of her sons. Once we unloaded our luggage, we entered into her living room/kitchen where we were greeted by her little dog Riyah and Chris Tomlin music playing from the stereo. Tim and I immediately knew that we were staying with a fellow believer. Over homemade scones, she told us her story about how she came to know Christ, the struggles she had to endure, and her passion for missions. Her story was both heart-breaking and inspiring.
God had clearly made His presence known in County Cork.
With the weather being what it was in Iceland, we were more than happy to get up at 4 am to catch our flight to Dublin. We flew with WOW Air again, and although it was just as uncomfortable as the first trip, we only had to endure it for two hours.
The weather in Dublin (or “Dooblin” as it was pronounced by locals)was vastly improved from the cold and rain we had left at Keflavik. However, we weren’t sure how long the nice weather would last, as Ireland was in the path of Tropical Storm Helene. Another challenge presented itself when we picked up our rental car. From here on out, we would have to drive on the left side of the road. Tim eagerly took up the duties as driver, and made it all look easy. I was more hesitant to try, especially in a city. I knew at some point I would have to get behind the wheel…but not just yet.
Instead of a host home, we opted for a stay at the Plaza Hotel, located just outside the city center. After a leisurely lunch, we returned to our room where I was mercifully able to take a shower and change into clean clothes for the first time in several days. Getting back to lunch, our lengthy repast at the hotel was the first time I truly noticed how long meals are expected to last. It was a novel experience for me, considering meal breaks at work last only a half an hour. As a result, I typically tend to inhale my food without the bother of actually enjoying it.
In beginning our exploration of Dublin, we stopped off at a local mall to purchase some needed supplies, like another plug adapter. As it turned out, I purchased outlet adapters that work just about anywhere in Europe…except for Ireland. So, I needed to get an adapter for my adapter. It was all rather strange. And speaking of strange…we shopped at a drug store where the self-checkout prompter was voiced by…Elvis; or rather, a very poor impression of Elvis. To be honest, it left me all shook up (insert eye-roll here).
For the nature portion of our visit, we went to the Kilmashogue Forest Recreation Area just outside city where we had a beautiful sunset view of the rolling hills.
In the evening, we wanted to sample the Dublin nightlife. We hopped aboard the Luas red line tram and shuttled into the city center. My first impression of downtown Dublin was that it was really quiet, especially for a major city. Even though it was off-season, I thought there’d be more activity. Actually, what we found was that because it was Sunday, a lot of places shut down early, or didn’t open at all. We managed to find a place with a sort of walk up drive-thru where we ordered New York style pizza slices.
After that, we had a drink at the Brazen Head Pub. Established in 1198, it claimed to be the oldest pub in Ireland. It was a vibrant place with live music and several small tap rooms where one could get a pint. I settled for a Guinness. It seemed the right thing to drink.
Afterwards, we wandered the streets for a while before getting on the tram back to our hotel. While there, we had a rather interesting encounter with an elderly Irish gentleman, who either drunk or senile. He would sit quietly for a little while, then start loudly blurting out statements to the passengers around him. Tim and I sat a couple of seats cattycorner from him, trying to understand what he was saying. Between his Irish brogue and his slurring, it was hard to make out. Eventually, all the passengers around us departed, leaving us in the line of fire. He brightened up considerably when he found out we were Americans. It was still hard to understand everything he was saying, but he clearly didn’t like our politicians, frequently calling them “clowns” (pronounced cloons). Well, we couldn’t exactly disagree with that, so we nodded and smiled. This kept up until a tram security guard came up to the old man and told him that if he didn’t quiet down and stop harassing us, he’d toss the man from the tram.
“I’m just talking to the Americans,” he slurred in defense. He really wasn’t bothering us and we didn’t mind having him rail against the “clowns.” We even might have made his night, as no one else was talking to him.
Day Two (9/15/18): Iceland, or, Never Bring an Umbrella to a Wind Fight
It was 11 am local time when we landed in Keflavik, Iceland. We disembarked into overcast, 40-degree (Fahrenheit) weather, although I didn’t notice it initially because I was overjoyed by the return of blood flow to my legs. Once inside the terminal, I was struck by just how quiet and orderly the Keflavik airport was. No shouting, no running around, everyone obediently lining up. I had a similar experience while I was with a group of Americans at the airport in Amsterdam. You always knew where the Americans were in the airport—they’d be the ones making the loudest noise! However, Tim and I wanted to show good decorum and to be good representatives of our country. So, we quietly and orderly shoved people out of our way, sometimes remembering to hiss “Excuse me” in English, because, hey, everyone knows English, right? I just can’t imagine why the world hates us…
I quickly learned the monetary difference between the U.S. dollar and the Icelandic krona when I paid my first visit to an ATM. When prompted, I hit what I though was the button for 20 kronas. It wasn’t 20 kronas…it was 20,000! I stared aghast at the wad of bills I received from the machine! I was afraid that I had changed over every last cent I possessed into foreign currency. However, after some quick Googling, we discovered that this amount was the equivalent of about $182.
Our next task was to pick up our rental car. With the rental stores located some distance from the terminal, we had to wait in line for a shuttle bus. Normally, this wouldn’t have been so bad, except that all the customers were forced to wait outside with very little structural protection from the stiff wind blowing off of the ocean.
The line was also very long… aaaand there was only one bus running. We grimly watched as the shuttle pulled up, filled with people, and drove away with the remainder of us hopping in place, trying to keep warm. On the shuttle bus’s second go-round, we were finally able to wedge ourselves and our carry-on luggage into the vehicle. An hour later, we had gotten our car and were soon cruising the streets of Keflavik. I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that they drove on the right side of the road in Iceland. I only had to adjust to the large numbers of roundabouts within town.
It was about lunchtime, and Tim and I were eager to sample the Icelandic cuisine. So, we stopped off at the Olsen Olsen Restaurant where I got…a chili cheese dog with bacon and a side of onion rings. All right, so I’m not one to plunge head-first into a new culture. There is some easing to be done. Overall, it was a very good lunch. It should have been considering I shelled out 3,000 kronas for it!
After our meal, we made a visit to nearby Stekkjarkot, a restored 19th century house. We didn’t stay long because a steady rain had begun to fall. Having recently bought a travel umbrella, I thought this would be the opportune time to use it. Then a huge gust of wind from the sea nearly had me doing a Mary Poppins impression over the city. Accepting defeat, I put away the umbrella and got rained on.
South of Keflavik lay the tiny community of Harfir where our first Airbnb host house was located. We were immediately greeted by Anna, who quickly set us up in one of her spare rooms. We had a nice conversation and Anna gave us some sight-seeing recommendations. She was also very amused at my umbrella fiasco. “We don’t use umbrellas here,” she laughed. Lesson learned.
Tim was eager to start exploring but I talked him into taking a nap first. Despite not having my CPAP, I had a very refreshing sleep. Several hours later and feeling more rejuvenated, we continued traveling south until we arrived at the Bridge Across the Continents. As it turned out, Iceland was formed between the North American and the Eurasian tectonic plates. The country was literally being ripped in two. So, we visited the rip and the wooden bridge that crossed it. Again, we had to make our stay short because the weather had gotten even worse since our arrival to Iceland. The land around the growing chasm (and as far as the eye could see) was black with volcanic rock. One could imagine being on the surface of the moon. The scenery was magnificent desolation. The cold, hard-driving rain beating upon Tim and me was adding to our own desolation, so we decided to continue our journey around the southern coastline. We stopped for dinner in Grindavik at a cozy place called the Bryggjan Café. While the rain continued to fall, Tim and I enjoyed several bowls of lobster soup along with warm brown bread and butter. It was a meal that hit the spot considering the weather!
Friday, September 14, 2018: Marching Bands, Flying Guinea Pigs, and WOW Moments
There’s nothing like having a parade to send you off on your journey in style. Okay, so maybe the parade wasn’t exactly on my account. Truthfully, it was the local high school’s homecoming parade. However, they were marching right by my house…so I claimed them as the official prelude to my upcoming vacation.
For much of this year, my brother Tim and I had discussed the possibility of a trip to Ireland in order to, among other things, get back to our ancestral roots. The only potential roadblock to our proposed trip was the timing. While Tim was hard at work for a St. Louis contractor, I spent my summer finishing up my grad school program at Dominican University and preparing for the craziness that is the library summer reading program. (Incidentally, if you believe that public libraries are becoming obsolete, please pay a visit to your local library during the summer months, especially in the children’s department! But I digress…)
By mid-August, I had graduated from school, the SRP had come to an end, and the vacation planning began in earnest. Naively believing that a month was more than enough time to plan a two-week trip, it all came down to the final few hours before departure before everything was settled. The packing was simple enough, the plane tickets were ordered, and the Airbnb housing was set. However, a number of things to take care of before I could flee the country. Tim and I weren’t due to fly out until 11:40 pm, so I had much of the day to chop away at my to-do list. I got up bright and early to run errands in the morning. At lunchtime, my dad came by to pick up my two guinea pigs, Click and Scarlet. It was a nice afternoon, so before we packed away my little furballs for their separate trip, my dad and I decided to stroll downtown Geneva and have lunch at the Geneva Diner.
As we were walking back to my apartment, we noted the large number of high school students roaming around town. It was only around 1 pm, and we couldn’t figure out why the kids would be out of school so early. It was when we saw people setting up chairs and sitting along both sides of State Street (the main drag in Geneva) that the penny finally dropped. It was the start of homecoming weekend. By the time I had my own homecoming (of sorts), the marching band was in position in front of my apartment along with representatives of other clubs and activities. I wanted to thank them for such a thoughtful send-off to me, but that’s when the guinea pig drama began.
I live on the top floor of an old house that can only be accessed via a steep, narrow flight of stairs. It was not ideal for hauling down a full guinea pig cage as we soon learned. At the very top of the stairs, just as we began to tip forward, the bottom fell out of the cage. As the stairs got a thorough coating of cedar wood chips, Scarlet went flying down to the bottom. We thought that she would be severely hurt by the tumble, but she turned out to be fine, I think mainly because she has the resiliency of furry Jell-O (try picking up a guinea pig against their will and you’ll understand). Click managed to stay in the cage bottom, but seeing her opportunity in the midst of the confusion, she hopped out and made a break for the inside of my apartment. We eventually managed to round up the girls and safely stored them in my dad’s car as the parade marched on.
My next big project of the day (and completely unrelated to the vacation) was to film myself doing a monologue. Unfortunately, auditions for my theater group’s next play were going to be held while I was away. My only option was to email a recording of my audition for the director. I thought this would be an easy matter. I propped up my phone to record and even placed cue cards to ensure that I could make it through the monologue without messing up too badly. That didn’t work out very well, as I took take, after take, after take. Despite my best efforts, the final product was nothing spectacular, but I was running out of time, so I sent it off to the director and hoped that she would rely more on my past performances than my present efforts.
And I digress again.
Meanwhile, in another part of the Midwest, Tim was having trouble getting out of St. Louis because of his workload, then his fight with the traffic all the way up central Illinois and into the Chicago suburbs. It was after 8 pm when he finally arrived in Geneva. Our Uber driver arrived almost at the same time. The driver’s name was Laurie, and she provided us with a stream of pleasant conversation all the way to O’Hare.
We arrived at the airport and checked in with plenty of time to spare; actually, more than anticipated because our flight was delayed. However, this was not our first setback of the trip. The first came at luggage check-in when we discovered that while we would be having an extended layover in Iceland, our checked-in luggage would not. This meant several days without clean clothes, toiletries, medicine, and worst of all (for me), my CPAP machine. We were going to be roughing it.
I saw a familiar face at the drop-off point. My coworker Amy and her husband were sending their daughter off to Iceland on the same flight Tim and I were on. We said our hellos and goodbyes, then got in line for the security check. I was somewhat worried about this. At the time that I had taken my passport photo, I was curly-haired, heavily bearded, without glasses, or a smile. I pretty much looked like a terrorist. My worries turned out to be unfounded as I passed through security without a hitch.
We were scheduled to fly on WOW Air, an Iceland-based airline. I was told a number of times by friends that flying WOW economy would not be a comfortable trip. It wasn’t too long into the flight when I came to full agreement with them. My back and legs hurt almost from the start, making it hard to rest, or to move for that matter. Five hours later, and I was ready to get out to stretch my legs, regardless of whether the plane was still in the air or not!