10 Days, 3 Parents, and 1 Heck of a Time

(This is still a work in Progress... I'll keep adding, but need more time to write the last couple days...)

Oct 16 - Day 1, Waiting, Arriving, and Ireland Driving

Woke up today, showered, shaved my neard, and cleaned the cottage out with Kevin to get ready for the parentals and Emmy. Kevin’s parents and aunt and uncle took the same flight over and also rented a car. His family charged in the door with their overflowing luggage, jet lagged faces, and excited energy. While they all caught up I waited. Kevin’s dad told me he thought my family was driving right behind him. I shot him a confused look, because he’s never seen my family… and muttered, “Really?” He informed me, “Well yeah, they were the other ones driving too slow, hugging the shoulders, and kissing the curbs…But all the sudden we looked back and they turned off and were gone.”

After waiting a half an hour more I started to get a little concerned. I channeled my anxiety into some business dealings and negotiated a cheaper price for their hotel rooms. Normally it’s €70 a room per night, but J.P. gave me a deal and got me two rooms overlooking the Galway Bay with breakfast for €100.

I started to get paranoid when two hours later they were nowhere to be found. I called Dad’s cell phone via Skype and listened to Mom explain with some frustration in her voice they were lost. I tried to guide them to my cottage with Google maps in front of me, but no such luck. Ma told me to call back when I knew something, because the phone call cost too much. I called back and fumbled around with my words trying to tell them to drive towards the water and to the west. About 5 minutes later they rolled up in their rental car jammed with baggage and some tension. They emptied the car and released the built up tension. After a quick tour of my cottage they rested for an hour.

After rubbing the sleep from their eyes we hopped in the car and rolled down to Spiddal for a tour. We stopped at the pharmacy for distilled water for Dad’s Darth Vader snore machine. The jug of water in the states at Walmart sets my dad back $0.60. The pharmacist handed me the jug, I tossed over €6, and Mom almost tossed her cookies after computing the price in USD. (6x 1.3405=$8.04, Ouch!) Always Low Prices. Always. Walmart and I have a love-hate relationship.
A local restaurant tempted us and we sat down for an early supper. Dad ordered Irish stew w/ lamb, I ate roast lamb and potatoes, and Ma and Emmy chose the Cod fish and chips. Ma expressed her disgust for lamb, but tried mine and scavenged our plates for more. I think the Irish changed her mind on lamb. We ordered Smithwicks and a Bulmers for everyone to taste test. Ma sipped the Smithwicks, set the glass down, and expressed her satisfaction for it. Dad and I shook our heads in amazement and looked dumbfounded. Ma laughed and said she hates beer. We smirked and from that point on I knew this was gonna be an adventure. The Irish like to joke around like that, so maybe we’ll all fit right in.

After this we drove back, put liners in our coats, slipped our cameras in our pockets and hobbled on the rocky shorelines posing for pictures while the sun set over the waters.

Oct 17 Day 2, Dangerous Travels

Woke up today and took a hot shower at my mom and dad’s hotel room in the building adjacent to my cottage. The heated water gave me a little kick and ensured me today was gonna be filled with excitement.

We packed our junk and hit the roads for an adventure I’ll never forget. After 20mins of driving on a whim dad took a left after reading a sign for airplane rides to the Aran Islands. We’d wanted to go anyways, so checking the prices couldn’t hurt.

At €37 a pop we sped down the runway with our hearts racing and the propellers buzzing in our ears. The quick 8 mile fly went rather smooth and in no time at all we landed on the quaint island and loaded into a van for a tour of the island. The first stop lasted 2 hours. Ma, dad, and Emmy and I tripped our way up a rocky hill to the fort on the top of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.

Ma, dad, and Emmy seemed thoroughly impressed by the scenery. This came as a sigh of relief for me, because I talked up the Aran Islands for too long for it to flop.

After climbing to the fort, we rummaged through the small wool sweater shops and made small talk with the locals. After a little shopping we inhaled some soup and sandwich at the restaurant across the way. The food filled us up and jumped in the van for the remainder of the tour. A graveyard and a couple churches highlighted the last part.

We all scoured the shops for some more wool clothes and scurried in the van to get back to the small airport only to wait for the next flight. Once I boarded and looked at the rain clouds overhead my adrenaline started pumping. The poor visibility contrasted the clear skies on the way to the island. Emmy informed me of her fears of smaller planes before we took off to get to the island and I talked tough and pretended like it didn’t faze me. On the way back my true fears came out. I guess the rapid fidgeting of my foot might have given it away. The plane landed and we all walked out of the single runway airport in one piece.

The clock read around 5p.m., so we decided to head toward a B&B a little ways outside of the quaint town of Leenane tucked way back near the base of the mountains. The town overlooks a natural fiord in the Delphi Valley.

The roads shrank, twisted, turned, split, and grew rougher as we puttered along down the road. The tension rose as the sun began to set. Emmy proudly said out loud something about how well everything had worked out for us. Being in the middle of nowhere surrounded by mountains, trickling streams, rainbows, pastures dotted with sheep, and rays of the setting sun felt so right.
Suddenly we hit a pothole and heard a, thud… thud… sound coming from our car. The car started to shake like my nervous hands and we pulled over to assess the damages. I opened my door and looked at the front tire rapidly deflating. At the same Emmy opened the back door and assessed the situation. We both looked up at once and showed our concerns. I couldn’t believe it. The tires both popped! So there we sit on a windy road with 2 tires flat and the picturesque sun setting in the backdrop over the mountainside, and little idea of how our ideal situation deteriorated so quickly.

Emmy and I walked up the road to find a sign of civilization, but only saw a closed down sweater shop a ways down. Not even a car passed us… And the phone faded in and out of 1 to no bars. The Verizon World phone Dad bought seemed pretty useless. I guess a little sleep over in the car never hurt anyone. Well, maybe it’d hurt the wheel…

I called the B&B with almost no signal and cried for help. Her strong accent and my weak signal made this challenging. I told her the car brand, year, and that we needed 2 tires. After 10mins of repeating myself she assured me something about a “carriage” being on the way. All I could picture was a horse and buggy pulling our Toyota down the road. The repair man took forever to arrive. (Maybe more like 20mins.) The mechanic named Brendan wrenched on two doughnuts in no time and asked us to follow him to replace the doughnuts with the right tires. The twenty minutes Brendan took to get to us seemed like nothing. After 45mins of dodging sheep and potholes while driving the maze of roads guided by Brendan’s tail lights we arrived at the garage. (Not the “carriage”) Three hundred Euros later the tires looked brand new. In fact, they looked too new for a rental car. (Hopefully Avis will never know).

Finally, we pulled up to a cute house tucked away in the hillsides. For €35 a head we slept, ate breakfast, and backed our bags for another day.

Oct 18, Day 3 - Cars, Bars, and Gardeners

After your car troubles yesterday I was a little tense sitting in the front seat. Emmy took a ride for an adventure instead. I literally got a headache, because it stressed me out so much… I guess the feeling of thinking deaths around the corner makes most people tense. It made me a little crabby unfortunately for Ma, Dad, and Emmy.

We visited the picturesque Kylemore Abbey today. The miniature castle originally was a gift for a rich Englishman’s wife in the first half of the 19th century. His wife died at a young age from a disease contracted in Cairo. He lived as a widow for the rest of his life. After his death the Castle became an abbey when an order of Benedictine Sisters fled from Belgium and took refuge.
The place felt like Disneyland with a religious horticultural twist and no lines. On a good day 1,200 tourists trampled through the estate, but today during the off season the place was all to us.

Behind the castle a huge walled garden filled with rows of lush dwarfed, medium, and large sized hedges outlining pathways throughout the gardens. The meticulously maintained gardens were decorated with a variety of well groomed flowers. I bumped into one of the guys pushing a wheel barrel down the crushed rock path cushioned with green moss and picked his brain about the amount of work to keep this place up. Apparently it took him all of June, July, and August to trim the hedges of one part of the garden alone. I told him I work outside in gardens all summer but “I’m not a gardener at all, I’m a professional weed picker.” The guy laughed, but his worn hands peppered with calluses maybe didn’t think it was too funny. The laborer informed me they use no chemicals for weeding either. With the amount of rain here though, he said, “You pick one and see the next one popping up in its place.”

After a fabulous time at the Abbey we drove into Westport for the night. A jar of Nutella, peanut butter, prepackaged processed ham, Wheat Thins, and a glass of tap water was a fine meal. After our money saving meal we walked into town for a sip at a local pub. The Porter House served me a pint of Smithwicks, Dad a Guinness, Emmy a Coke, and Mum a Bailey’s on ice to start the evening. With our cheap meal plan, the stimulus check Uncle Sam sent us last year and a Euro laying on the ground almost gave us enough money to buy another round.

I went over to the crowded bar and struggled to get the attention of the tender. A local helped me wave him down and I ordered the second round. While waiting, I made small talk with a tipsy older guy and a buzzed 40 year old looking man.

After 10 minutes of small talk it evolved into large talk. Turns out the 40-year-old looking man served 13 years in prison and is a proud card carrying member of the IRA. The two Irish Catholic Nationalists intrigued me especially after they bought me a couple more Vodkas and Red Bulls. (Look at the trouble I get into when I go to the bar with my parents…)

Oct 19, Day 4 - Smooth Roads and Rough Ice Cream

Today went much smoother on the road. Driving out of Westport the first couple left turns went easy. On our first right turn we drove into oncoming traffic and a speedy Irishman almost clipped us on my side, but thank goodness he veered out of the way in a split second. As our adventure went on the roads widened and the beat of my heart slowed down. We trucked it into Sligo for a bite to eat.

Unfortunately, our waiter moved a little slower than the Irishman who veered out of the way. Emmy, Ma, and I ordered soup, sandwich, a baked potato smothered in fake chili (which tasted like Taco Bell meat with sloppy joe mix), a couple of drinks, and a milkshake. Meanwhile Dad took a nap in the car. Ma’s soup arrived in about the time it takes to hit the soup button on the microwave. Emmy’s potato took quite a bit longer. They must have handpicked them in the back garden, scrubbed it clean, then baked it and slopped some sloppyjoe over it. My chicken club sandwich took even longer. I guess it takes much longer to butcher a chicken than harvest a potato. Apparently, to whip the cream and let it freeze and sit takes even longer. It seems the cream they used sat out on the table while they cooked up my chicken, because the shake gave a little kick to the taste buds and later to the gut. The “World Famous Ice Cream” they sold tasted like spoiled ice cream melted into cup. He said that’s how it’s supposed to taste, but I told him I’d drank plenty of shakes here and none shook my gut so much. After a longtime of waiting we walked around the mall for a minute or two and took a bathroom break before buying dad lunch and hitting the road.

We decided on a different place to buy Dad a bite just for time sake alone. Sadly, the next café in the mall, as we found out, also moved at snail speed.

Off to Donegal we went. After a couple days of fumbling my way around the Ireland map my confidence as a navigator plummeted. Today on our way out of Sligo the GPS glitched and started making a crazy knotted mess for us as a route and thought our car was off the road when we clearly were driving down one of the largest ones in the country. It was beast of a road. HUGE! It grew so wide at some points that a truck and a car might be able to drive side by side. This was a mammoth 2 lane road! Snelling Avenue size only with roundabouts, a 66mph speed limit, and a zigzagged pattern.

Emmy took over the navigation role and guided us to safety when my map reading abilities failed and my life line (the GPS) went crazy.

Oct 20, Day 5 - Faith and Good Works

The town of (London)Derry takes tension from the Irish Republicans and British Loyalists swirls everything together and creates a rich cultural and historical experience. The curbs, buildings, and flagpoles tagged with True Blue and the colors of the Crown indicate the Loyal Protestant communities who bleed orange. The murals expressing freedom, independence, civil rights, and the oppressive occupation of the British in Ireland scream that the Catholic Republican ideology rules the territory.

The four of us drove into Derry ready for a little relaxation and break from navigating the roundabouts and rugged roads. With a little luck and a lot of backtracking, U-turns, and high blood pressure we safely parked near St. Colum Cathedral. We stretched our legs and walked over to tour the church. The highly decorated building and large stain glass windows made me assume it was a Catholic Church. Once I stepped in and saw no signs of the Virgin Mary, the Stations of the Cross, or worn out kneelers I knew it was not a Catholic church, but Protestant instead. Clocks, a giftshopesque entrance way, and pictures of Royalty should’ve been a dead giveaway as well. The tour guide joyfully let dad and I tag team him with questions, pick his brain, and listen to ourselves talk. The clock above us was ticking away time and Mom gestured us to pick up the pace.

After listening and defending his faith the guide walked us all the way to the Tourist Info Center through the mall, up the hill, down the hill, and across the street. For a guy who thinks you get to heaven on faith alone and not good works he really went beyond the call of duty.

While dad and I babbled away time with the Anglican the last walking tours and bus tours started. A personal taxi tour from the “Free Derry Taxi” fleet was our only option left for the day. Hue our driver picked us up 5mins later and we saw the political history of the town through the half fogged, rain drenched windows of a taxi. Periodically Hue stopped the car, we all hopped out and he told the personal stories of his experience as a Catholic on the Bogside as a 17-year-old freedom fighter. He painted a picture of the bloody, poor, violent past of Derry in the 60s and 70s. At the Bloody Sunday Memorial he told us of his personal experience there. The emotion filled tour ended with a B&B suggestion, food suggestion, and a feeling of satisfaction and respect for Hue.

The hostel—I mean B&B lacked sheets, towels, and overall space, but connected us to the World Wide Web. Mom called everybody via Skype. The excitement in her voice speaks volumes about how much she cares about everybody back home. Maybe just the idea of calling home for 2cents a minute over the internet blew Mom’s mind. Who knows…

While Mom talked Emmy diligently typed emails.

I talked with Mark and Jinette which brighten my night. My giddy mood carried into the next day.


Oct 21, Day 6 - Muslim Bitc***

We woke up and ate our standard eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast. Tea and OJ washed down the bacon fat lodged in our throats. The server told us to “take the Giants Causeway Route to the Muslim Temple and the beautiful bitches… You can walk all over the bitches by the Muslim Temple.” We all looked at the guy in shock, but soon realized he meant, “beaches” and smirked every time he mentioned the nice “bitches”.

After cracking that code I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that the devoutly Christian island of Ireland contained a Muslim Temple worth looking at… I threw out my pride and asked about the Mosque. He informed us the Mussenden Temple on the Bishop’s estate and a Muslim temple isn’t one in the same. Go figure?

We jammed Mom and Dad’s 6 suitcases into the trunk with my backpack and Emmy’s bag and hit the road to see all the nice bitches around the Muslim Temple.
The gorgeous backdrop with cliffs, green turf, lazy sheep, and the angry sea highlighted the already amazing looking temple. I chased the sheep a little, but Dad ended my excitement by calling me out on it… I guess it’s not appropriate behavior for an almost 21-year-old man to chase innocent animals around?!

The Bushmills distillery marked the next point interest on the map. As we hopped out of the car the air around us changed. The smell of distilling whiskey pinched our nostrils. Not only that, but the proper personality pinched me the wrong way too as we entered British territory. The poor farmland covered with shattered rock, hills, and Catholic cattle country transformed into flatter land with richer soils and more prosperous Protestant grazing lands.

We missed our tour by 15mins and the lady at the ticket booth made it seem like we’d shot a man. The next tour to join was a half an hour later. We browsed the gift shop and scurried back to ensure the ticket lady who treated us like noddy grade school kids didn’t put soap in out mouths.

Our guide walked us through the distilling process and the factory jammed with moving productive machinery and lagging workers. To end the tour we all sampled their line of quality aged whiskies. Back home my drink of choice (other than a beer) is whiskey mixed with Dr. Pepper. The idea of drinking a smoother better quality whiskey turned me on about as much as it turn mom off.

As the whiskey burned mom’s tongue and stung here esophagus she quivered in disgust. We all followed and reacted the same. I couldn’t understand why I could take a pull of Jim Beam, but Bushmill’s nauseated me. With a little ice I managed the taste much more and stopped gauging when the alcohol hit my lips, but still thought it tasted repulsive.

After the tour we high tailed it to the Giant’s Causeway. We hauled to the site, parked, and walked down to the magnificent geological phenomenon. Mom, Emmy, and I climbed the rock formation while dad snapped pictures of our every move. Dad makes me feel famous sometimes. I know what having a paparazzi feels like now.

After the Causeway we hit the roads and ran back to Irish lands. The expensive British Pound and proper personalities had us running for the more casual easy going Irish Republic hills.