Friggin' Freezing in Inishmore

Ahhhh! I've finally made it out of my New Years haze. What can I say. I'm older now, and my body is way less resilient - a five day ski weekend means two weeks of recovery. It definitely makes me yearn for the good ole days...my very first New Years abroad was spent in the glorious land of my relatives: Ireland. My friend Meriel and I had finagled an invitation to our friend Barry's parents' house in Galway. His family was extremely gracious and welcomed us with open arms - they had a gorgeous New Years Eve dinner in our honor, and then sent us on our way to enjoy the parties in downtown Galway. 

The start to a wondrous week, right? Uh, just one problem - us lasses were a mere 20 years old at the time, and had little knowledge of something called "restraint" when it came to the consumption of alcohol. You can fill in the blanks, but after 2 days, our hostess (Barry's mom) made the polite suggestion that an overnight visit to Inishmore (one of the Aran Islands off the west coast of Ireland) might be a good idea.

Now, dear reader, I'm not sure if you've been to Ireland in January, but it is what I would define as cold. Now drop cold ten degrees, add a persistent sea breeze, and rain into the mix, and you've got a general weather report for the Aran Islands. Bottom line: it is only a winter tourist destination for people who are literally forced to go there.

We crossed Galway Bay in the dark, so I'm not sure what the view was like - I do remember feeling like we were getting tossed around in a dingy, and Barry vomiting in a barrel due to seasickness. However, I will say that once we landed we were able to find warm and cheap accommodations at the youth hostel a short walk from the pier. Hanging out at the adjoining pub for hours of drinking, conversation, and "Who Wants to be a British Millionaire" actually ended up being one of the most memorable nights of the trip. The isolation (with the exception of the few other buildings in town) was an amazing feeling.

The following day we were lucky enough, with a slight break in the weather, to rent bikes and cycle to Dun Aonghasa - ruins of a fortress dating back over 2,000 years. Not to mention an amazing view of the Atlantic Ocean. 

(Barry and I at Dun Aonghasa - Meriel WIMPED OUT!)

We survived the boat ride back that evening, and were rewarded with another couple days of pubs & pints.

Yes, I may moan about the weather, but all in all the Aran Islands are totally worth a visit!

Sweet Molly Malone

All good things must come to an end...While this is far from my last tale of Irish lore, thus closes out the first annual "Molly Tells Irish Tales for a Week" Week (ha).

I would be remiss if I didn't tell at least one more wee yarn about my pseudo-hometown of Dublin. A fair city that is known for being the home to the Guinness factory. St. Patrick's Cathedral, Bono, Grafton Street, Ha'penny Bridge, James Joyce, PUBS, Enya, the Liffey River, and countless other amazing things. However, there is one person who is all too frequently overlooked, and her name is Miss Molly Malone...

In Dublin's fair city,
where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".
She was a fishmonger,
And sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
(chorus)
She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

Yes, I am told there is a good chance that she was a prostitute, but lady was just trying to make a living - she didn't deserve to die of a fever. Maybe she was selling those cockles and mussels so she could buy herself a nice treat like a kick butt pair of leather boots, those totes are a frivolous purchase, but she just kind of wants them, OKAY! So, you keep standing strong Miss Molly, with your low cut dress. Stand strong.

I'm In Love, and His Name is Bailey's

We're in a pub called The Quays (pronounced keys) in Galway, Ireland. My friend Meriel is lying on a wooden bench trying not to vom. The rest of us are staring cross-eyed at the "Irish coffees" that the bartender has just brought over to our table.

Let's first take stock of what exactly brought us to this point. One. It was Halloween last night. Two. We all decided to dress up as "sassy" devils.

(Okay, so not totally sassy, but my bum can't support a mini skirt)

Three. We randomly ran into some high school friends on the street whilst brunching, which led us to feel like we should "celebrate like what." Four. The sassiness of the outfit transferred into sassy dancing. Six.. All these elements combined led to the perfect storm of late night drinking, and playing the British version of Trivial Pursuit until 6am at our friend Adrianne's apartment (who the F is going to know the English Cricket champions of 1994??!!). Seven. Our train back to Dublin wasn't until 5pm, and it is now exactly 12pm Greenwich Mean Time. Eight. WE had to check out of our hostel, and The Quays was the closest haven (5 strides across the street), and not one of us had the will to walk any further.

Which brings us back to the 'Irish coffee' that currently sits on the table in front of me, and the two most important questions: will I like it? And, will it cause my head to implode? Never having had an Irish coffee, and being unsure of its medicinal contents, I make a couple of quick assessments:

- I like coffee

- I like the Irish

- I like the look of the 1 inch of creamy froth on the top of the drink

My brain's conclusion: "go ahead Molly, take a big ole chugger."

My body's reaction to this decision: " Oh good lord, this is pretty much all whiskey. You may need to stand up and run to the bathroom."

Fortunately, the agony was only temporary, and I was able to have a wee chat with the friendly bartender, and learn a lesson. A "traditional" Irish coffee consists of a jigger of Irish whiskey (as a special "surprise" he actually gave us two) and coffee. However, for a lass in my state and drinking experience, I would be much better off ordering what is called a "Bailey's Irish coffee." I'll tell you what. That fine bartender was right, Bailey's Irish coffees are DIVINE. They have become one of my favorite after dinner/hair of the dog drinks, ever. So, thank you random bartender at The Quays. Not only for introducing me to a new drink, but also for allowing 4 American girls to lounge around your pub for 4+ hours, with all of our luggage. Nothing beats Irish hospitality!

Galway Girl: Galway Revisited

To follow-up on Molly's post about Galway, I thought I'd leave you all with a song that has become very special to a particular group of friends of mine. Originally written and recorded by Steve Earle & Sharon Shannon in 2000, the song "Galway Girl" was made extremely popular in the Republic of Ireland in 2007 due to the success of the film "P.S. I Love You".

Go on, have a listen..



I'd also recommend listening to Mundy's version.

Personally, I'm always up for opening my ears to new Irish tunes.. so if you have one that really hits you, don't be shy.. send it along!

Galway: Shake Off That Hangover & Enjoy the Countryside

The "Celtic Twilight" radio hour came on Saturday evening while I was cruising around town in my Mom's whip. Just as I started rocking out to Celtic Thunder, I decided that I was going to go into full on nostalgia mode about my year in Ireland...

Galway was the very fist weekend trip trip I took. It was early October, I finally had gotten settled into an apartment, was getting comfortable with Dublin, and felt I should start seeing a little more of the countryside.

 

Getting from Dublin to Galway is actually a relatively painless 2hr 45min train ride (Dublin train station is easily accessible from downtown Dublin, and timetables are available on their website: www.irishrail.ie ). The cars are clean, and the cost isn't too high. We ended up getting

in around 7pm that evening, and headed directly to our youth hostel. The hostel we stayed at is a place called Barnacles: Quay Street House (pronounced "key"), and is quite possibly one of my ALL TIME favorite hostel experiences (so much so that I stayed there two additional times with different groups of friends). You may be asking what qualifies it for such a high Molly Rating, well let me tell you: the location is unbeatable, it is right downtown on one of the main tourist walk-ways in Galway, and close to a bunch of fun pubs and shopping. They offer a private quad with a private bathroom (including a shower) - yes, they are bunk beds. Finally, the price is totally reasonable, and it includes a continental breakfast (from 13 - 39 euros/night).

We quickly settled in, and rambled/sprinted over to the King's Head pub to meet up with my Irish friends, Barry (Galwegian native) and Adrian, for a couple (re: dozens) of drinks. The King's Head is a larger Irish pub, but has a great atmosphere and live music 7 nights a week. Even if you aren't much of a drinker, I would highly suggest going to pubs while you're touring Ireland. Pubs are a big part of Irish culture, but not just because of the alcohol - food and conversation are also a big part of the experience. The latter two may have taken a back seat to drinking on this particular night, but we were in college, so whateva. The four of us rolled back to the youth hostel semi-early with the intention of taking a bus tour of the countryside the following morning...

Two of my friends and travel companions [Ali and Norah], the chipper little go-getters that they are, woke up early the next morning and headed directly to the Galway tourism office (thanks again, Barnacle staffers). The woman at the tourism office was extremely helpful, and suggested that if Ali and Norah could get Julia and I out of our drunken slumber, that a bus tour of The Burren would be a great option. Fueled by a desire to not be a total waste-o-space, we were able to kick our butts in gear and make the bus with 2 or 3 minutes to spare. It really ended up being a great way to see the countryside (rental car is best, but this is a great alternative). We hit up all the "hot-spots":

Cliffs of Moher:

Doolin:

**The pub gets sooo much business from tourists, but the Fish & Chips are delicious.

Poulnabrone Dolmen (might mean rock table):

Aillwee Cave:

**Ha - not sure the point of taking a picture in a cave, but experiencing "total darkness" was nifty.

Dunguaire Castle:

**Tehe - Ali doing a jig of sorts...this was the end of our sugar high.

We ended up using Lally Coaches tour company which is reasonably priced, and accessible from downtown Galway. However, there are a bunch of different tours to choose from, just take a look at some that are offered from Hostel World (in US $). 

Moving to Dublin, the Wimp-o Way

Settlin' your wee (or large, whatever) bottom in, and adjusting for a year abroad - in my case it was Dublin, Ireland - can be done in a bunch of different ways, I chose wimp-o, I urge you to, you know, not do that. Let me paint a few strokes in the masterpiece (finger painting) that was Molly at age 20: a lass who hadn't experienced anything on her own, total lack of self confidence, and scared of her own shadow. Try to keep this mental image as I spin the following tale...

It's incredibly easy to get "super psyched" about the concept of moving abroad for a year, but the reality of living in a foreign city can be a bit more daunting. In the summer months leading up to my move to Dublin all I spent time doing was talking and thinking about how much fun I was going to have, with no real thought about who I was going to be having fun with. Plop me on a plane in early September (all by my lonesome) about to touch-down at Dublin International Airport. I'm still kind of groggy, but have a vague recollection of the sun piercing through thick, thick gray clouds (that I would grow to love) over Dublin.

Sooooo...uhhh...duhhh...now what. Right. First things first: luggage. Collected. Next, too scared to take public transportation, taxi it is. I do kind of regret this move, even though I could financially swing it, public transportation is really a great way to immerse yourself in a city. However, the double decker-ness of the Dublin city buses can be a bit daunting, and you really do need 10 to 15 minutes of face time with the map to decipher any clear routes. Of all the wimpy things I would do in the next couple of days, I would call taking a taxi borderline wimpy.

The cab driver was unbelievably friendly. At the time the Irish were in L-O-V-E with Americans. However, it was 2001, so they really hadn't had too much face time with 'W'. I will say that while I had mostly good luck with cab drivers, I had my share of shade balls, so whenever possible, try to have a good idea of where you are going when you are cabbing it in Dublin. My destination was Trinity College, which is an easy one, because it is in an area that I would consider the "heart" of Dublin. Physically, if not emotionally. I was going to be attending the college for the next year, and I was lucky enough to score a dorm room while I conducted my housing search.

I get myself checked in, and bumble over the cobblestones and through the courtyards to my home for the next two weeks. It really is a gorgeous campus, and should not be missed if you are a virgin to Dubs. Beautiful architecture, home of the medieval "Book of Kells" (okay mini-yawn), frequent rugby matches on the greens, and some great drafts at the Pav campus bar (great craic).

Thus leads me to wimp-o moment SUPREME. In my defense, I was jet-lagged. Being a rookie traveler, I told my self I would just take a quick nap, and then start my grand exploration of Dublin. Ha - with jet-lag naps turn into slumpers, BEWARE. In my particular case, it turned into an excuse to hide in my room and cower in fear.

Wimp-o moment numero dos: after waking from my "nap" (8 hours can be considered a nap, right), I couldn't even find the courage to go out to a corner store to get food -you know, the stuff that is essential for living. In desperation, I snuck (truly no explanation) down to the lobby of the dorm to get a chocolate bar and soda from the vending machine, using the last few actual Irish Pounds that I had left.

Wimp-o momento finale: I spent the rest of my first day and night in Dublin...Ireland...in MY prison sized dorm room in various states of sleep.

"A new hope..." Fortunately for my health and mental state (I looked it up, it is called agoraphobia), my Dad arrived two days later, and yanked me out out of my room. I bought a cell-phone ("pay as you go" cells are MAD cheap and easy to purchase in any European country), and started getting in touch with friends of friends who were more than happy to take me out for a couple of beers. Ahhh, and we get to the point - once I got out of that freakin' room, I was able to start embracing one of the best cities, like, ever. Just a few preventative measures you can take:

1. It's hard (I obvi know), but make sure you get out of your room, new apartment, or wherever as much as possible.

2. You need contacts if you have any chance of enjoying yourself. Put the nets out early and see if you have friends or friends of friends that are living in the city, or maybe just visiting for a couple of days.

3. If contacts aren't to be had, have some sort of plan to meet up with a local group or organization - derrr it's called the internet.

4. Go outside of yourself. If you wanted to do everything you did at home, then what exactly was the point of traveling in the first place? Stay home - I hear it's cheaper.