Well I havent put up a post in a while but I think I will start again regularly, seeing as I am traveling across Europe. I probably could just cut out the middle man and email my Mom, but I like being able to pretend other people care about what Im doing so ill continue on the blog format...
Being my first post in a while, I apologize for the length and I promise to be more brief in the future.
Brenden and I landed in Dublin last week by way of Newark. We were picked up early Monday morning by Brendens uncle Dennis. The day was beautiful, the sky was blue and the air smelled distinctly like cows.
We came in in the morning and Dennis made us a traditional Irish breakfast. This includes sausage, bacon, eggs, potato patties, black pudding (we'll get to this atrocity) and baked beans. A few things ive discovered about Ireland; They have the best sausage and bacon in the world. I have no idea what is different about it, there is likely some foul ingredient that I dont know about, but they are so much better than any sausage or bacon ive had in my life.
Black pudding on the other hand falls a bit short... This 'pudding' is a paddy of black coagulated pigs blood, with chunks of liver and chopped intensities suspended in the baked blood goop. I can only imagine this horrendous concoction was developed with the goal of either using up what ever was left of a butchered pig, or with the intention of grossing out future American travelers. At any rate it succeeds marvelously at the latter. I will concede that it doesn't taste too bad.
Our first day in Dublin was marked with exhaustion. We didnt sleep for the entirety of the 30 hour journey and this was beginning to catch up with us. We took the responsible approach to jet lag and essentially ignored it, went out to bars and hoped it would go away.
We unfortunately didnt get much time in Dublin and saw very little of the city. We went to Trinity college, and walked around trying to do what ever we could that was free, but we only got about 30 hours there.
We went out that night with a girl that we met on the air plane. She is an absolutely marvelous Irish lass named Emma. She is an angel. She tooks us out to ridiculously packed streets for a Tuesday night. Every single bar we went to had live music without exception. The area, called temple bar, was crowded with young people. It was a fantastic night.
When we finally got home we were losing consciousness with our tiredness. But despite our efforts to sleep we were kept up by one of our 300 pound roommates who snored louder than anyone id ever met. This went on all night, 'snorlax' as we dubbed him could not be disturbed. The issue was not the way in which he slept, no matter how he rolled over the snoring never ceased. We spent the first night rolling over in our sheets. Or more precisely, I spent the first night rolling over in my sheets. Brenden however rolled over in the silk body condom he sleeps in every night for fear of European laundry services. If you know Brenden this should come as no surprise.
The next day we dragged our tired bodies out to the bus station, where surprisingly we ran into three friends of ours, and took a bus down to Waterford to meet another of Brendens uncles. This family has three of the most adorable little daughters, and we had some quality family time with all of them. On the first evening we all, the three young girls myself and Brenden, crawled into a bed (This was not nearly as creepy as it sounds) while Brenden read to us from a book about ponies.
Precious, I know.
The next day we all went golfing. Brenden and I, as it turns out, play golf in an equally appalling manner. By the end of the 18th hole Brenden had come back from 2 strokes down and we were all tied up and had to be settled in a dramatic playoff hole. I conceded and had to buy him a drink. I dont know how, but im certain he cheated.
The next day we were sent off by Brenden's uncle in true Irish fashion (with a whiskey and coke) towards Cork.
In Cork we ran into three girls from Oregon, one of whom recognized me from ski racing. It is indeed a small world. Brendens cousin met us there and took us out to a crazy Irish dance club. While in cork we went to Blarney castle to kiss the Blarney stone. On the way to the stone we met the craziest old man weve ever met. Upon finding out we were from America he asked us if we knew where Dion Warwick lived as if he wanted to send her a postcard or something. He continued to ask us if we knew a long list of American celebrities, we finally tried to explain the America is a large country. At another point through the trip he interrupted Brenden and I yelling,
Crazy man: "BAKED BEANS!"
Us: "Uh...what about them?"
CM "How much do they cost?"
Us: "Uh haha...Im not sure"
CM: "Well I love em'. You knowr I was bern and rais' n' Blarney. Neva left!"
Us: "You dont say..."
If you arent familiar with this Blarney stone it is a stone that one must hang themselves, upside down, over a 9 story drop in order to kiss. The rumor is that it gives one eloquence. If youve ever heard a person from Blarney speak you would know right away this rumor is bullshit.
After risking our lives to kiss a hunk of rock, we wandered around and tried to get off the beaten path. It was scorching hot, I have little doubt it was the warmest day of the year in Ireland. We were thirsty and hot and so we wandered into this random pub and immediately could feel all the eyes pressed on us. We were both wearing loud bright tee shirts, shorts and absurd sunglasses. Everyones expression read the same thing,
"Who the fock are dees lads"
We ordered 7ups to (further alienating ourselves). The men there were very friendly, mostly curious and shocked by our presence. We sat and talked to a few very difficult to understand, but very interesting and well informed old men about American and world politics.
We also discovered that we were in a bad part of town.
"Na how da fock did two yankee doodles such as yourselves wind up ina place such az dis?"
He informed us that under no circumstances were we to come near there after 8.
"Not to wurry now lads, yous be be safe as houses. But da recessions has not been kind here, and I wuddnt dare walk round dees parts at night wid my two largest lads here, and I aint so small me self eitha now"
And he wasnt small. I believed him, and his warning was dully noted.
That afternoon we headed off to Macroom where Brendens grandma still lives on the farm where his father, uncles and aunts all grew up. The weather was still gorgeous though again we were assured this was an absolute rarity. The area is exactly what you might imagine Ireland to look like. Rolling hills extending as far as the eye can see in every direction. There are two colors, the stripe of blue stretched across the ocean wave like hills of green. Such an overwhelming green. A stone tower, the likeness of a rook chess piece, stands stoically as it inevitably looses the battle against mother nature. The houses are spread miles apart, and the roads seem too narrow to allow single direction traffic. Gorgeous rolling hills. Green, the greenest green extending out forever.
Brendens family farm is an old handsome set of stone buildings. It is by no means luxurious but seems to secrete a sense of lasting quality. Long after the timber houses of home have been reclaimed by the earth I have no doubt this house will still stand proudly against the almost year long assault of rain.
Brendens grandma is a remarkable woman. She is tough as nails. You get the impression that you could put a yoke on her shoulders and she could drag a plow all herself. At the same time she is the warmest, gentlest, and kindest woman I think ive ever met. We did not starve, we eat like kings. Despite our protest she refused to let us even lift a finger.
Carrot and parsnip soup, homemade brown bread. Followed by Potatoes, ham (This ham was doubtlessly a pig less than a week ago and was truly the best ham i've ever had) followed by chicken, mashed potatoes, minced potatoes, baked potatoes, deep fried potatoes. We had pees, carrots and beans and home made gravy drenching all of it.
We ate until we thought we would burst, and then accepted the next portion forcing it down. Delicious, fresh and filling.
By morning we got a taste of Ireland. Rain was slapping the windows of the house with a force that surprised me. Brenden however assured me this was nothing but a taste of the ferocity the weather can have in these parts. We made our way to mass as the weather cleared a bit.
Mass was only a half hour (its no wonder the people here are able to maintain such faith). It seems to serve an important social purpose in an area where the houses are so spread apart. It appears every person in the town is a cousin or second cousin of Brenden, including the priest. As we were introduced to a slew of wonderfully friendly people I discovered this area breeds tough souls. We met an 85 year old woman who hitch hiked a ride up to the local pub for a pint and a dose of the heavy Macroom gossip every day.
On our final day in Ireland we sat and watched the hurling national championship. Professional sports in Ireland are far different from those in the US. For one, you have to play for the county team where you were born and raised. This instills serious county pride in the people, and cut throat support for their teams.
If you've never seen hurling you need to check it out. It is such an exciting game. Players run down the field at full speed, balancing a ball on the end of a field hockey stick, pop it up and hit it like a baseball 100 yards through narrow goal posts. All at full speed with incredible accuracy.
We eventually left the peaceful and beautiful farm for Dublin where we flew out this morning to Berlin. After arguing tirelessly with the people behind the counter who wanted to charge us 250 euro for each of our bags, Brenden (who did most of the arguing) and I miraculously escaped any bag fees.
As we walked out on the tarmac we were assaulted by rain. The rain doesn't seem to fall from above as much as it seems to levitate in the air and get thrown with accuracy directly into your face by directionless wind. As we fought through the wind, our hair thrown back, we couldn't help but yell at each-other over the weather
"I dont know why our ancestors ever wanted to leave this place!"
