Gimme Some Moher

One of my oldest friends, and fellow Mainer, Jana, is visiting me in Dublin this week. So, for a bit of excitement, this weekend we rented a backwards Toyota Yaris and drove cross country from Dublin to Galway.

Driving on the left, with the steering wheel on the right, stick shift on the left; with roads so small, narrow and windy they constitute only a slight upgrade from the sheep paths they clearly once were, for the uninitiated yanks, it was enough to induce an aneurysm. Luckily, we had an Aussie in tow, and since they do everything backwards anyway (driving, seasons, water drainage, etc.) she was able to navigate us out of the the city center without any incident, and by the time we hit the countryside we Americans were feeling bold enough to give it a crack. Despite a few roundabout incidents, and a near bowel loosening encounter with a tour-bus just outside of the Burren - we managed to make it through a driving heavy weekend pretty much unscathed (at least externally).

On Friday we made it to Galway and found our hostel just a tad before 10pm. The hostel, called Barnacles, was clean and packed and right in the center of town on Quay Street (pronounced 'Key Street' - Jana and I enjoyed playing the ugly Americans, and despite being corrected numerous times, obstinantly referred to it as Kway Street). We got a four bunk room at the hostel and, from the small world department, we actually ended up sharing it with an American PhD student from Standford.

After dropping off our things, we made out for a night on the town. Our first stop was at the chippy just a few doors down from the hostel for dinner. There, we put down a grease sodden meal of cod and fried potatoes, after which we figured we had the proper base to hit the pubs.

We started out at a club/pub, whose name I can't remember, full of university students and a DJ spinning reggae/funk/fusion, after which we headed to a more traditional Irish pub called Monroe's. There they had a 5 piece acoustic band that did some great covers...the actual songs are a little hazy, but I think they played 'She's a Brick House,' some Prince, 'Superstitious,' and some other dance classics - but it was all on acoustic guitar, so it made for an interesting sound that was surprisingly fitting for a traditional Irish pub.

All and all, Monroe's was great, with a low roof, and large bar area, it was simultaneously cozy and spacious. The crowd was good too, ranging from early 20s all the way up to a handful of gray-hairs who looked like they'd been coming to Monroe's for more than a few decades. After the band finished up at Monroe's we headed to Róisín Dubh (which is pronounced nothing like what it looks - I still have no idea how it's meant to be said). The Róisín D has a late license and stays open to the wee hours. This, for me, was one of it's only shinning graces. Their biggest detriment was a fairly atrocious DJ that was completely unresponsive to Jana's requests for Prince and/or Stevie Wonder.

The other shining grace about the Róisín Dubh was that, while milling around after it had shut down, Mikaela (the Aussie) and Jana, managed to get us invited to a local flat party. The Galwayans (Galwegians?) are generally a friendly bunch, and Jana and Mikaela happened to meet the current bassist from The Commitments , Stephen Foley, (who wasn't in the eponymously named movie, but was a cool guy nonetheless) and who was hosting a party back at his place (while Jana and Mikaela were meeting Stephen, I was talking to his fairly aggressive, deeply intoxicated friend about the always enjoyable, and never inflamatory topic of America's short comings in foreign policy - a topic of his choosing, not mine). At Stephen's, we met a friendly crew of Irish, and danced, drank and sang until the small hours of the morning started getting large again. By the time we walked back to the hostel, the swans were awake, plumbing the river for eats.

After getting an understandably late start on Saturday, we hit the road and drove down to the Cliffs of Moher, which did not disappoint, living up to and surpassing the beauty of numerous postcards and Irish tourism promotional pamphlets. It was a cloudy day for most of the ride, but the sun chose the opportune time to peak out just as we arrived. It made for some great photos.

On the ride back, we made our way through The Burren, which is an interesting moonscape - fields full of karst limestone. It was pretty cool in the setting Irish sun. (Embarrassingly, and not all that surprisingly, it made me wish for a green, novelty t-shirt that that said, "The Burren Rocks!" with a picture with three stones on it - yes, you all know I would wear it. I looked though, and according to Google, it does not exist. So, I'm thinking of getting a little capital together, and buying a roadside stand to sell t-shirts just out side the Cliffs of Moher - I'm fairly confident I could make a mint).

Saturday night we took it easy in Galway and went back to Monroe's, where there was another acoustic guitarists, playing slightly less dance oriented, but still pop, covers, as well as some original instrumentals. He was accompanied by a man on a washboard, and though I thought he was great, I don't think he was trained at Juilliard. The washboard might be second only to the tambourine in the 'lack of skill necessary to play the instrument satisfactorily' department.

Still, they were a good duo, and made for fantastic background music to some truly stellar people watching - characters from which included (but were not limited to): the Mario Brothers (a pair leathery, fisherman-looking types, possibly brothers, with waxed, handle-bar mustaches, and those nifty Irish hats - who sat on the same side of a bench in the back of the room, watching the crowd unblinkingly, never speaking a word to one another, but who when leaving were all smiles and seemed like they had had a good time), the Fluorescent Prego-Knacker (a real nightmare of a gal, blond, about 7 to 8 months pregnant, in a skin-tight, hot-pink dress that barely covered the unborn child, and, had it been a breech birth, we surely would have seen the child's toes. She was drinking some sort of blue alco-pop and fighting with her boyfriend all night), and the Bar Fly (a 50ish woman that would not desist in her attempts to hit on the evening's troubadour, despite his unrelenting unresponsiveness - she continually tried to sit on the stage by his feet, and eventually settle for some meager conversation with the washboard guy). A great cast, to say the least.

On Sunday, we drove up north to Connemara and visited Connemara National Park - it was scenic, sheep country, home of some of Ireland's prime bog land, and sod production. After the park, we took a circuitous route back to Dublin, winding through county Mayo, before eventually getting back on the M4 and making our way home. All in all, a fun filled trip.