TEN STORIES FROM IRELAND (and London and Paris)***
***that I'm willing to tell.
Irish Disclaimer
The people in these stories are 100% real, and any insult or defamation of
character is purely intentional and meant to harm. Realize that these are
highlights from my trip, and that overall, everyone in the country was so
friendly, nice, and hospitable.
Chef Dick (humor, local flavor)
I stayed in the "Fatima House", a bed and breakfast in
Carrick-on-Suir, a town of 5000 people in South Central Ireland. When I
made my reservation over the phone, the following conversation ensued:
BJR: I'd like to book a single room for one night.
Dick: (solid Irish accent): "Alright. Where are you from?
BJR: Texas.
Dick: You don't sound like yer from Texas.
BJR: Well, I grew up in Alaska.
Dick: Ah-laska! I can't wait to meet ya.
When I arrived a week later, in bike shorts and a cycling jersey, one of the
first things out of Dick's mouth was "Your man Agassi is playing on the
Teley!!" I told Dick I needed a shower first, then I'd come down and
watch some Wimbledon. Dick became more comfortable with me as he noticed
my sense of humor, and so he became more bold in his humor. As I was
heading out to a restaurant of his recommendation, he started in
Dick: Will you be staying out late in the pubs tonight?
Bryan: Actually, I usually just have a single pint of Guinness, then a
glass of water, then all the old men at the pub laugh at me, and I come home
and go to bed to get up early and ride the next morning.
Dick: Do you know why they laugh at you?
Bryan: Um, why?
Dick: It's because you're @#%& pathetic. (laughs out loud)
Bryan: Gee, thanks Dick.
Dick: No, no - I'd prefer you come home sober compared to all these
others who'll roll in pissed (drunk, in Irish) at 3 AM and wake me up.
Oh, while you're out tonight, will you do me a favor?
Bryan: Of course, Dick. Anything.
Dick: Get a haircut.
Bryan: What? You don't like my hair?
Dick: I hope you didn't pay for that.
Bryan: Actually, I did.
Dick: Next time come grab me and I'll stick your head in a bucket of
bleach for free. Have a great night.
Bryan: See you in the morning.
The next morning Chef Dick served up a killer Irish breakfast. As I'm
packing my bike up outside, he comes out to take a look at all the packs and
how I'm putting everything together. He nods his head and proclaims,
"Bryan, you're a good lad. You're well organized, you have a sense
of humor, you're easy going, a pleasure to be around, and I like ya even if
you're not straight. I think you probably know what I mean by
that. Though you might not. Anyway, have a good ride."
I guess an American with two earrings, bleach blond hair, and wearing lots of
cycling spandex might fit an Irish stereotype...
Paddy in Doolin (humor, local flavor)
At O'Connor's pub in Doolin, I walked in early to get a seat close to where
the music (Irish) would be played, along with a Swiss guy named Peter and an
English chap named James. At 8:30 or so, a local Irish chap named Paddy
came over and asked me who I was and where I was from. Being tired of
telling everyone that I was from Texas and getting the same questions about
lack of accent and about how "W" was doing, I told him I was from
Alaska. This impressed Paddy, who looked like he was on drink number 10
or 11. Paddy checked back in and said hello to his friend Bryan from
Alaska about every 30 minutes (each time having a new drink in his hand).
Around 10:30, Paddy came over to announce, "Bryan, I'm going to sing a
song for you. It's called 'My Green Valley.' I took one look at Paddy and
knew that Paddy singing was not going to be a pretty sight, especially given
his intake... He stopped the musicians at the next song and said,
"I'm going to see a song called 'My Green Valley' for my friend Bryan from
Alaska, and he motioned my way, so with all 50 people in the pub looking on, I
raised my glass to salute Paddy.
Paddy, took a deep breath, and then the most amazing thing happened - the voice
that came out was incredible. Deep, echoing, a cappella, and full of soul
and feeling - Paddy was practically the Irish Bruce Springsteen. After
the crowd called for another song, Paddy sang "My Old Sligo Home," a
homesick song about a northern county in Ireland and all those who have left it
for Boston or New York. Absolutely incredible. I know he didn't
need it, but I felt obliged to buy Paddy's next round.
The Wind to Dingle (cycling)
My worst day of riding was straight into a head wind coming from the West
along the Dingle peninsula. Yes, that's the real name of the
peninsula. A bag fell off my bike (later recovered) and I didn't even
notice at the time. At one point I was having to peddle downhill because
the wind was so strong the bike wouldn't move forward in the wind even on a
steep grade.
The Conair Pass (cycling)
The day after Dingle started in the rain with a 500 meter climb to the top
of the Conair pass. The road only fit a single car width, and a couple of
times I had a car in front coming towards me and one trailing me as well.
I rode up the South side, where visibility was often just 10 meters due to
heavy rain and fog. At the top, the North side had scattered high clouds
and visibility was incredible. The ride down was all about not riding off
a cliff and falling to my death.
WestPort and Croagh Patrick (cycling)
My longest day of riding was 67 miles - normally a 100 mile ride is
possible in a day, but realize that I'm carrying 50 pounds of clothes, food,
and equipment. After a hard ride with plenty of wind through some of the
most beautiful countryside (mountains and lakes all around) in Ireland, I made
it into Westport.
The sun was shining brilliantly. I had planned on hiking Croagh Patrick
the next day, but given the weather, I had to do it immediately. So I
rode back 6 miles to the mountain, climbed the treacherous 750 meters over
shale and rocks to the top, and then scurried back down to return to Westport.
By the end of the ride home my legs were shot, but I managed to ride a couple
miles that night to an incredible seafood restaurant (the Cottage Quay) owned
by Conor McGann's aunt.
Chicken Maryland (humor, food)
In the town of Mallow, I was so tired of fried food, I was excited to see a
dish called "Chicken Maryland" on the menu. It had a nice ring
to it. It couldn't be fried. But of course I didn't ask, so when my
plate came, what was on it? A huge deeply fried breast of chicken, a
fried pineapple, a fried banana, and a plate of chips (french fries).
The lass from Minneapolis, Ireland (humor)
In Doolin, I was sure that I had met the Irish love that I had been looking
for. She was working in O'Connor's pub, and had an incredible
smile. Peter (my newly made Swiss friend) and I kept talking to her each
time she came back to our table. When I announced to Peter that she was
the prettiest Irish woman in the bar, he laughed and said, "She's not
Irish." I told him he was wrong, and when she returned, we found
out, of course, that she was from Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Cork - Blarney Injury (tourism at its worst)
I was dragged out to Blarney from Cork by two American women, who demanded
that if I came all the way to Ireland, I had to kiss the Blarney stone. I
really hate touristy things like the Blarney stone, and the lines that you had
to wait it to get up to the stone didn't help, and I was getting really upset
that I was going through with this when it's exactly the kind of thing that I don't
like and some sort of bad karma was going to come of all this - when I slipped
and crushed my knee into one of the stone walls of the castle, sending blood
everywhere.
With 100 people in line to all kiss the same stone, I don't think my blood all
over the place made anyone more relaxed about the spread of communicable
diseases. But in the end I kissed the stone, though I avoided having the security
guard help me when I bent over backwards.
Is there a Shagging Policy in this Hostel? (humor)
My second morning in a youth hostel Belfast, a guy was waiting downstairs
in the lounge looking pretty rough, while his friend kept chuckling and said,
"I can't believe that happened to you." I had to ask, and it
turns out that at 3 AM, in the eight person dorm room that this guy is staying
in, a couple climbs into the bunk above his bed, clothes start flying, and the
worst is happening up there. The next morning he walks up to the hostel
desk and says, "Um, is there a policy about shagging in the rooms in this
hostel?"
Killarney Jig (local flavor)
In Killarney, I met two Belgians, a couple Australians, a couple Germans,
and a guy from Oregon - all of us headed out for a pub where the Belgians had
been the night before. We entered the pub and paid an additional
two pounds cover to get back into a smaller room, where locals were doing
authentic Irish dancing - imagine square dancing and Riverdance in a
blender. Lots of spinning at super high speeds, lots of stomping, and
people spinning each other all over the place. One guy dressed in all
black looks like the actor Vinnie Jones from "Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking
Barrels", "Snatch", and "Gone in 60 seconds". I
didn't mess with him.
Cassius Clay was a fine boxer (local flavor)
Older Irish men can talk the paint off of a wall. Older Irish men
from the West coast can talk the whiskers off of a hippo. They also speak
a mix of nonsense if they are closer to Gaelic communities, and I understood
all the Germans I met better than the older Irish men from the West coast.
In Westport, I met an older man of about 70, who upon finding out that I was
American, began to talk about what a great fighter Cassius Clay was. I
mentioned Clay's name change to Ali, but that didn't slow him down. We
covered his opinion of how handsome Bill Clinton is (the Irish love Clinton), the
problems with gypsies, the Troubles in Northern Ireland, the American athletic
system, George W. Bush, Eskimos, Westport, Croagh Patrick, Seafood, and about
100 other things in the matter of 15 minutes. I was mentally exhausted.
At this point, they had closed the doors and the curtains to the pub I was in,
because itinerants (gypsies) had come into town and they didn't want them
coming in. I guess you can't reserve the right to refuse service to
anyone...
Tour De Bendejos (humor, and not really about Ireland)
I hopped a train from London to Paris to catch the final stage of the Tour
De France, as Lance Armstrong (from Austin, Texas, y'all) won his third
consecutive Tour by over six minutes. At one point, a group of Basque
people had large flags blocking the view of the podium. The French guys
next to us began yelling at them in French, then realized that the Basques
wouldn't understand. After putting their heads together, one French guy
popped up with an epiphany and started yelling "Bendejos!" at the
flag bearing crowd. We truly live in a global village.
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The Worst Things About Ireland
Lung cancer and second hand lung cancer
Rural roads
Young Scottish tourists
The Americans, Australians, Germans, and Swiss
Light Rain
Heavy Rain
The history of Belfast
The Best Things About Ireland
Everyone likes a clueless American who needs help
Two Words: Irish Bacon
Cathy's sister Elie
A pint of Guinness
"Trad" (traditional Irish) Music
Conor's brother Darraugh and his wife Cathy
Anthony's Uncle Jim and Aunt Val
Belfast today
Coastal seafood
The view from Croagh Patrick