I Let You Down

OK, I'm sure you're not exactly let down, but perhaps you're at your desk thinking 'Hey! Mandy! You've been back for a week now, where's the rest of the blog?!' Keep your pants on. I left off in Belfast, right? Unfortunately, that's also where my camera is at the moment. So, while I'm sure you all only come here for my poetic recollections of the trip, I thought you might like some visuals as well. As soon as the camera (and therefor, all my later pictures) are back in the States, my firey fingers will blog once again. And do stay tuned - there are thrilling action scenes involving me using my feminine wiles on the side of the M1 to come. Nail biter, I know!

Diggin' An Early Grave

Hello my lovelies.  I've missed you...

Some like a nice filet, a glass of fine champagne, or a taste of caviar.  Me?  Definitely a Club Lemon and Crunchie kind of girl.  Seriously, I would live on these if it were humanly possibly (and not completely foul).  Yippeee for Irish 'food'!!

No Cover Up

Day 7: Sligo to Belfast

Rain, rain, rain.  No complaints, since it's been A.MAZ.ING weather this whole trip and this was really our first rainy day, though it did put a bit of a damper on plans.  The original thought was to hit the North coast en route to Belfast: Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, Bushmills distillery, and Giant's Causeway. New plan?  Bail on ALL of it (darn, I guess I'll just have to go back...) and drive straight to Belfast.

Now of course, if it were up to me, I would have parked in Belfast on day one and never left.  I'd still be there, meandering throughout the city Boglean style, hopping from park to park, bench to bench, happy (and grimy) as a clam.  Alas, it was not my time to do so.  Yet.

Wide-eyed and awed, I was given a driving tour of everything I'd been dreaming about for so long - City Hall, Queen's University (which, I was told quite bluntly, would never hire me.  How's that for Northern Irish pessimism?  Way to crush my dreams in a single solitary sentence, K...), Linen Hall Library, Crown Liquor Saloon, Waterfront Hall, St. George's Market, Europa Hotel, Rugby Road (hi Ryan!).  While I didn't actually get to be the tourist I had hoped, I would experience a side of Belfast more realistic and beautiful than I could ever have hoped for.

Stop 1 - Katy Daly's to see Pickle...errr...Stephen.  After downing a cider at record speed and receiving my AWESOME birthday prints, we bailed in search of a quieter venue.  Round the corner to the bar at the Ten Square Hotel.  Pickle- I wish it had been better circumstances, I could have chatted with you forever!

Stop 2 - quick stop back to the friends' place (our hosts for the night).  Everyone sorted?  Right then, into the taxi.  

Stop 3 - Blick Studios.  Sweet little artsy space on Malone Road where friend Donal Scullion was performing.  This is it.  Defining moment of the trip, of my life.  If there was any hesitance or doubt about living here, it's vanished after this.  This is one of those memories that is seared into my brain.  I remember the very details from what was worn, to the bottles and cans on the table before me, to the architecture of the studio.  Memory burn.  Thank God every day for it.  And thank you, DS (errr, not Duke Special this time), for supplying such a heartbreaking and striking soundtrack.

Stop 4 - Couch. Pillow. Sleeeeeeeeep.

Thank you Belfast.  I love you.  See you soon.

Freewheel

Day 6 (cont'd): Sligo

Despite my unbelievable stiffness and exhaustion, we forged on towards Sligo. It was meant to be a pass-through destination, but we ended up staying and having one of the most wonderful nights of the trip! This stop only served to reinforce my belief that the best vacations aren't fully planned.

I had wanted to see the W.B. Yeats grave and memorial and give respect to the author who had shaped so much of my life and inspired my only tattoo. The graveyard and small church are just off of the roadside in the tiny town of Drumcliffe. We arrived at dusk - how fitting. Under the cawing of crows we meandered through the graves...Cunningham, Carter, Shaw, Cooney, Yeats.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

'He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven'

-W.B. Yeats

As night descended upon us the basics of food and shelter needed to be found. Just down the road from the grave was the surprisingly modern and fancy Davis' Restaurant @ The Yeats Tavern. As we dined on penne pasta and relaxed from the day, we made the fortuitous choice to ask our waitress for a recommendation on a hostel or hotel, and she offered to call a friend of hers at The Glasshouse Hotel in downtown Sligo. What a place! Just from what we could see from the road, we knew that we were in for quite the treat. A hot shower (not shared with a dozen other people), a huge cozy bed (with linens we didn't have to wonder about), a balcony, a television... ahhh, the luxuries we so often take for granted!

Tomorrow's destination - North!

The Glasshouse Hotel - Sligo

Grave of W.B. Yeats

St. Columba's

St. Columba's graveyard

Feet In The Sky

Day 6: Galway to Sligo

Huge day!  The scenery on the drive alone was magnificent.  Out of Galway...through Connemara, where one slip off the road in either direction would have found us stranded in a bog...into Westport.  This was it.  One of the sole reasons for this trip.  Croagh Patrick.  I had researched, I had come, and now I must conquer.

Water - check.  Flapjack (gotta keep the energy up, right?) - check.  Layers - check.  Shoes off - check.  Wait, what?  Croagh Patrick - St. Patrick's Mountain - has been a site of pilgrimage for thousands of years, and for the hardcore pilgrims is made barefoot.  Croagh Patrick, known as Cruachán Aigle before Patrick's time, is most well known for the saint's own pilgrimage in 441 AD.  It is told that St. Patrick climbed the mountain, fasting for forty days.  At the top of the 764 m (2510 ft) mountain, he is said to have thrown a silver bell down the side, thus banishing all of the snakes from Ireland.  All I have to say is thank goodness there are no snakes here, as this would have been a hotbed for them and I, like a few crazies before me, was barefoot.

I began slowly, sticking to the grass and mud just off the rocky path.  About 20 minutes in, Kiran and I ventured off the path and towards a wee meadow.  It was here that he and I split and went on our separate climbs, and also where I found a better souvenir than could ever be bought in a gift shop (see below).  Onwards...  

At first, the climb was moderate, only made difficult by the tiny rocks that make up the path.  Pressing on, I was cheered on by passers-by from around the world for my barefooted attempt.  Upon reaching a stone structure I thought that I must be near the top.  Oh my, was I mistaken.  Pressing on... 

I thought the mountain would never end.  At each pass, a few more feet would rear themselves into my vision.  After 3/4 of the way, my determination was beginning to fail me.  Here I was, at a crossroads.  I could turn back now and make my way down, having already accomplished an admirable feat, or I continue on, not knowing what lay ahead.  Continue on...

Nearer still to the top the climb becomes a far cry from a walk, and the luxuries of grassy patches, sheep, marked paths and comfort are but distant memories.  The 'path' has now become nothing but a slim line of dirt littered with rocks, stones, pebbles, broken glass and scree (if I never see another rock again, it will be too soon).  I am forced to use my hands at this point and pull myself up with all fours.  Still, I carry on...

Just when I think that this mountain will never end, I see it.  A bench.  Well, it wasn't actually a bench, but that's what I thought it was at first.  I exclaimed to myself 'Yay!  I've never been so happy to see a bench!'.  Later I realized what a peculiar thing this was to say, and wondered if I would ever exclaim these words again.  Regardless, it was the first sign that I had made it, I had reached the top in just 2h 46m.  Barefoot.  Relax...

                                                         

Modest chapel.  Breathtaking views.  School group of French boys.  Many congratulations from those who passed me on the way up.  On the steps of the chapel I sat myself for a snack and attempted to wedge my tender feet into my trusty Chuck Taylors.  Time for the descent.  So. Much. Harder.

About an hour and a half later I reached the bottom, only to find that the visitor's center had closed (no 'I Climbed Croagh Patrick' t-shirt for Mandy).  No bother, though, the moment I didn't know I had been dreading had finally arrived.  I sat down.  This was to prove an extremely painful decision!    Sweaty.  Grimy.  Shaking, I eventually had to get up, and I. Thought. I. Would. Die.  Back in the car, I fell asleep immediately.  Onwards again - destination Sligo.

Completely authentic sheep skull.  Picked up from the meadow off the beaten path.  I couldn't ask for a better souvenir!

 

Chapel at the summit.

  

On our way!

Looks like a delight for the bare feet - no?  Can anyone say pedicure?

Hurts so good...

As Good As It Gets

Day 5: Dingle to Galway

Reluctant though we were to leave the Dingle Peninsula, we hopped into our trusty Golf and motored on down the road - Conor Pass again.  It was a long day of driving, made all the moreso by the cold I've developed.  No bother.  

Passing through Tralee, Listowel, over the Shannon by car ferry, Ennis (hi Siobhan!!) and into Galway.  We were able to meet up with Miss Ails (of DS message board forum fame) for a bit of a beach walk and a nice dinner - Happy Birthday to meeee!  Feeling as I am, we checked into a private room at the Kinlay House hostel in Galway City Centre for a bit of cheap luxury.

  

Love is Connection

Day 4: Cork to Dingle

Just how many times in the span of 24 hours can I possibly plead 'Please God, don't ever let this moment end!'?

Day four brought us from the comfort of Miss Katie's house in Cork City, County Cork, through Tralee, and on into Dingle via Conor Pass - my new favorite place on earth. I could have stayed on those mountains forever, connecting body, mind, and soul to the land that I love. Like a kid in a candy store I bolted from the car and up a rocky face hopping from stone to stone, invincible. Stopping awestruck at the top, I came upon a hidden pool, unseen by those on the road below. Certainly 40* isn't too cold for a swim? Well, perhaps just a quick wade will suffice. Pressing on...

On, on, on into the town of Dingle. Apparently Fungi lives (and has a boyfriend!). We didn't see the infamous dolphin, but continued on, through the town, and down the Slea Head Drive around the coast of the peninsula. Swim number two of the day. I can now say that I've been on (in?) both sides of the Atlantic Ocean.

Back to town to find a place to lay our heads for the night. We settled on the Rainbow Hostel just outside of the main town, and what a place! The evening was spent (after a run into town for alcohol and provisions) on the front porch drinking with hostel-mates from around the world - several N. Irish, a few French-Canadians, myself and one other American, as well as a few others. Another in a long day of 'don't ever let this end' moments.

Nothing You Could Do Can Bring Me Down

Day 3: Cork City, County Cork

Easy day, easy day.  I woke with a sore throat, possibly because I haven't really been warm since I stepped onto the plane.  The damp doesn't bother me, but breathing the cold air might kill me.  It was a blessing that the day was grim and grey, as it almost forced us to be slow and lazy, which was welcome.  We began the day with a wonderful home cooked breakfast of toast and beans and eggs and black and white puddings.  I'm getting terribly spoiled here by always having tea and breakfast appear before me.  After cleaning up the three of us headed into the city centre of Cork to wander a bit in the rain.  Blech.  With not much open on a Sunday we soon made our way back and spent the remainder of the afternoon in the house.  K & K are making a podcast for a project, so I've had the chance to charge my iPod, check email, and write a bit.  

I'm feeling incredibly dull and dim-witted, but perhaps I haven't shaken the jetlag and it's just my tiredness making me sensitive and cranky.  Not the best time for writing I suppose.  Perhaps after dinner I'll try again. 

Last Night I Nearly Died

Day 2: New Ross to Cork

Where to begin?! After being spoiled by the warmth and serenity of the farm cottage we were hesitant to leave. Ever. Finally though, after a breakfast of cheese and tomatoes on toast, we gathered our possessions, settled our bill (poor Brian, the proprietor had to turn on his credit card machine for the first time since September. Crazy Americans charging everything...) and made off. There was a whole day of adventure ahead that couldn't be missed!

We seem to be managing the roads, the diesel, and the manual transmission fairly well. I say we, but really, I'm doing none of the driving. We managed to get away from the cottage and into the town of New Ross successfully. Even in these small towns there's so much to see. Everything is new and different to me. We poked through a small deli/corner shop, and I did my best to resist the temptation to wipe them out of Club Lemon and Crunchies.

In good Irish style, we meandered our way west. Ultimate destination - Cork City, County Cork. We made a detour to explore Tintern Abbey, which, while lovely, I must admit I enjoyed playing with the sheep in a nearby pasture even more than the abbey itself. Back in the car and onward we go. We rolled into Cork just as it was getting dark, which of course made finding parking a breeze. Ummm... With just moments to spare before the doors opened we made it to Cypress Avenue for the gig.

From moment one the evening was amazing. From that first sip of cider (and second, and third, and fifty-seventh) to the opening act, Dan Donnelly, to the great venue itself. There I am, enjoying my cider just in front of the stage when there's a tap on my shoulder. 'Come to the bar. Trust me.' I'm thinking, OK, he needs cash or something, so I'm there, and I look over, and who happens to be standing next to me but the lovely Duke Special himself. Well, I suppose being as he was offstage at the time it was just Pete Wilson, but nonetheless a celebrity in my mind. I stood there dumbstruck and hyperventilating until I was finally introduced. Like a fool I told him that after being shafted twice for NYC gigs, I had come all the way from America to meet him. Really? Really really? I think he couldn't get away fast enough :)

The show continued and was A.MAZ.ING. Afterwards Miss Katie, whom I met on the Duke Special message board forum and who was so kindly putting us up for the night, got us into a conversation with Pete. By this point I was pretty well pissed, so you can imagine my elation. We ended the evening with an unsuccessful late-night booze run to Tesco. All in all - fantastic night. Drive home (just across the way). Crash into bed (errr...couch). And, oh yeah, change the clocks overnight. We're at half three at this point. I think I've beat the jetlag.

Some Things Make Your Soul Feel Clean

Day 1: Dublin to New Ross

First plane ride by myself was a success!  Well, aside from the fact that I wasn't able to sleep, which means I've now been awake for nearly 30 hours straight (apologies for the straightforward, somewhat unexciting post that follows...hopefully you can understand).  I sat next to a real gem on the plane - one of those wise Irish natives who's full of stories and advice.  He bought me alcohol like I was a teenager and he was a dealer.  He even drew maps of where to go and gave names and numbers of new friends to contact.  At 7:25am Dublin time Aer Lingus flight #EI 118 landed successfully, and after nearly a decade, I had returned.

After passing through customs and collecting my bag (not lost, thank the Lord!), I parked myself with a copy of Ripley Bogle in front of Hughes & Hughes bookshop to wait for Kiran.  Our first stop - COFFEE!  We're going to get along juuust fine.  Next, we were directed to the shuttle to pick up our rental car, and lo and behold, what do you think the first thing is that I hear as the driver starts the van?  Duke Special's 'Sweet Sweet Kisses'!  Is that meant to be, or what? :)  We picked up our sweet little diesel VW Golf and headed out of town by way of a pub.  First Guinness - 3/27 @ 11am.   

With a few stops along the way we made our way down to New Ross, about 2 hours south of Dublin where I had booked us a cottage for the first night.  The drive to the cottage alone was like something out of a picture book - one lane roads, sheep, farmhouses dotting the green fields.  When we finally reached our destination we were greeted by the proprietor and shown our home for the night, the MacMurrough Farm Cottage.  

And here we are.  Kiran's gone back into town to collect some sandwich fixings and fruit and I'm sat here on the bed listening to the rooster pecking at our front step.  I don't ever want this to end.  

ETA @ 7:50pm: I'm in the cottage in front of a roaring peat fire.  Kiran is sitting behind me playing the piano.  Please don't ever let this moment end!!

I Never Thought This Day Would Come...

How typical of me to start off with a Duke Special lyric (stay tuned - I end this post with one too)! However, it's apt and probably only one of many you'll read here. I encourage you to bear with me if you can, and be aware that you will learn more about me, my hopes, my dreams, and my loves than you ever wanted to. Keep daily watch on this space to get your maximum fill of sheep, Guinness, my mediocre writing, craggy cliffs, Duke Special, and photographs-a.k.a. Mandy's adventure in Ireland. Let's begin :)

As many of you know, this trip has been a long time coming. It's not been just the six months of waiting since I booked the plane tickets, but the eight and a half years since I last left Ireland, crying, sailing away on the Stena line out of Belfast. So many of you have counted down these days with me, cheered for me, and supported me in this journey. Certainly not least of all my family, who was there from the very first moment I set foot on Irish soil back in the fall of 2000, through all of my crazy ideas and dreams, and who I know will continue to be there in the future. 

Many thanks also to Ryan, Kate, Darren, Aidy, Professor Owens, Dr. Mahony, Soybean, Derek, Pickle, and my DS boardies & girlfriends. Also, my eternal thanks is owed to Kiran for humoring me, guiding me, and for being the one with whom I will embark on this adventure. I love you all!

That being said, I've a plane to catch, so I will leave you with another lyric...

I left you for too long

But I’m coming back again

Won’t drift away

Or lose you in the dark

Believe me love,

I won’t leave you behind

Duke Special - If I Don't Feel It Anymore