We left Castlebar relatively early (10:00 ish) in order to get on down to Galway. Ireland is a small country, so we were in Galway before noon. Galway is a university town. That means fun. And here is downtown!
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In general, college kids are poor and that means that if you can turn a euro or two, you do it. In Galway's case, that means street music. On the street pictured above, bunches of shaggy kids who look like they are still trying to sleep off last night's drunken revelry supply you with some of the most lovely Irish music you will hear. Stand by, listen, give them one of those cool looking 2 euro coins and you are on your way a better man. Here's what we saw:
One cool thing about traveling in Ireland is that if you are ever concerned about finding the city center, just look for the tallest church spire and drive toward it. It's as simple as that. We found the cathedral in Galway in this fashion. My bride almost got run over by both car and pedestrian while trying to take a picture of the cathedral. Here's the cathedral:
While we were inspecting the interior, I heard bells. I look towards the altar and on come a priest, a couple of laypeople, altar servers etc. I casually and smugly advised that they must be there to pray the Angelus. That only takes about 15 minutes. Wrong catholic smug dork! My love and I are already getting a work out with all the catholic gymnastics of standing and kneeling by the time I realize that we just got caught up in mass. Mass = 45 minutes to 1 hour. A knowing look to Fighting Fitzgerald, a casual nod, and a quiet escape and we were out of there. I'm praying, singing, standing, kneeling and then I guess I'm just too busy to stick around to the end. I admit that I won the Catholic douchebag of the day award. I couldn't exactly find out which pub in Galway bestowed this award, so I don't really have a picture of it to show you. I'm sure its nice (but not as nice as Matt Molloy's Grammies). It is probably on its way in the mail.
We left the cathedral and found ourselves in the St. Nicholas Collegiate Church. Here's a picture.
The other thing you should know about my spider-sense is that it has another component to it which is not directly related to travel. I walk into this church from a side-entrance and immediately my spidey-sense starts tingling. This other component of spidey-sense tells me when things aren't exactly as they should be ... something is perhaps . ..amiss.
Here spidey-sense is telling me that maybe I'm not in a Catholic church after all. It had a lot of the Catholic trappings which I expect. It is named after some saint, there is an altar, a couple of statues, stained glass, and people buried here or there in the church (I know, weird huh!). I did notice, however, that the word "collegiate" was a bit unusual. I also noticed some battle flags and a monument to those killed in WWI. Battle flags ... hmmm ...
What church might have such a close link between its government and its religion? Of course, the Church of England! Apparently, what we have here is an Anglican church. Immediately I began to look for invading Englishmen who might want to separate my body from my head. Oh yeah, spidey-sense was dead on.
After nine months of being under a siege marked by death, famine and starvation, Galway surrendered to Cromwell's forces on April 12, 1652. Despite the terms of the truce, many of the able-bodied were packaged off as slaves to Barbados. Apparently, the English were equal opportunity slavers. Cromwell's boys tore down six of the seven churches within the city and kept one for themselves. They gave it a practical use by stabling horses there.
What better way to say "f**k you" to the conquered than to have your war horses crap all over their sacred spaces. And now let me tell you what I really think about your religion! Oh well, the spoils of war and all that. The English did a lovely job of returning it to its former dignity, however.
After a lovely little lunch at The Skeff (see picture below), we went to the Cliffs of Moher.
If you ever find yourself at the Cliffs of Moher, don't jump! The Cliffs of Moher are 700 feet straight down to a lovely bed of jagged rocks. Witness this lovely picture:
Apparently, cliff jumping for all the wrong reasons is rather popular at the Cliffs of Moher. It is a bit of a bummer to read signs put up by the Samaritans that request that you kindly give a call and talk to someone before you do something stupid like jump off the Cliffs!
We caught the Cliffs of Moher on a lovely day. Yes, we were surrounded by more Nico Bellic look alikes, but all very lovely. Having experienced some of the most stunning views over the Dingle Bay, we loaded up and made it to Ennis.
Ennis is a nice little town that once was a bit of an island made by rivers. The name means island. Apparently, that helped to hold off the English (for a while). We rolled in to Ennis in the late afternoon. I had no idea where to go to find our hotel, but I used the aforementioned "drive towards the tall church" method, and it worked out fine. Here's a perfect example of how we worked this at Ennis.
Drive to the pointy place at the end. Where you find the Church, you find downtown. Our hotel is off an alley halfway down this street. Pretty easy, right?
I titled this post as "Day 1 of Getting Our Drink On". Yes, of course, there has been Guinness drinking prior to this time. But because our hotel was right in the middle of this mess shown in the picture, I was able to consume beverages without fear of having a "hit and run" on a leprechaun after a pub visit. So, my love and I engaged in a bit of a pub crawl. The first place we hit was Knox's. It seemed o.k. at first. Then I noticed that my pretty wife was one of two girls in this pub full of guys watching soccer (and I know its "football" everywhere but in the U.S.). That other girl was not a looker - black stocking with a run dragging its way up her ample thigh. That kind of thing. In any event, we had found the Irish version of "Charlie's Lounge". An Irish meat market if you will. Well after my wife jiggled every male eyeball in that pub when she squeezed her way through all these guys to find the restroom, we got out of there.
Inner Dialogue In My Head At the Irish Meat Market:
1. Hmmm. Lot's of guys here. If one of these guys hits on my wife, how far is too far? Small talk is ok (I'm reasonable after all).
What next?
2. When I show up to rescue her, if the offending meat head treats me like I'm getting in on his action, I'm probably going to get upset.
And now a consideration of consequences ...
3. And how long do they keep Americans in jail in this country? Would I have to come back for trial months down the road (too expensive) or can I just pay a fine and go? Maybe they allow you to pay a small fine for a couple of punches thrown and a choke or two? That must be it.
In perfect peace because I've drawn boundaries ...
4. OK, I'm feeling better, so keep an eye out for the wife as she comes back from the restroom.
Needless to say, I couldn't relax at Knox's. Watching sports with dudes is typically my thing, but I needed a safer haven.
Off to "Brogans". And we ended our evening there listening to music played by some people who filter in with their instruments over the course of an hour or so. Eventually, we had the best seat in the music room. I start with Irish whiskey and then "glub, glub" (sound of me drinking Guinness). Wait for it ... there's that warm glow of the Irish pub experience. And this isn't a concert experience. It's much more casual. The players play, relax, chat, drink, then the person with the violin will just start playing a couple of bars of music. The other players set their drinks down, and off they go for 15 minutes or so. After they've worn out, its back to repeat the process until they've had enough.
They outlasted us, and that ended a really wonderful day!
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