The Tail End of the Rents Visit

Oct 22 Day 7, My Wisdom at the Age of 20

Today we toured the Strokestown Famine Museum and Estate. We all read through a long stretch of rooms filled with information on the famine. I stumbled across some information on the famine and free trade. Of course I felt obligated to tell the lady at the front desk that the information they presented was misleading. I mean, being a 20-year-old "Yank" with a long red beard, and a full understanding of the world and everything in it I needed to enlighten his elderly woman who'd experienced nothing and had no understanding of her country's history--or not. She had little time for my complaints and didn't even respond to my concerns. Her silence spoke loud and clear... I wined to Mom, Dad, and Emmy about it instead…

(She's still wrong though, and I'm still stubborn, so don't worry I'll be the same man when I get back...)

After my complaints the tour started. Turns out the lady I complained to gave us the tour and we four were the only ones in it. Awkward.

After the tour we drove as far as we could as the sun set in the distance. Emmy gave a B&B, in the book Ma bought, a jingle and with detailed directions we headed to our resting place. On one of our last steps on the path to relaxation and rest we ran into a flooded area. An road on top of a hill (yes on top of a hill) was totally flooded. The lady drove the long way around the hill and guided us to her home. She really knew how to talk. The words flowed from her mouth like the rain from the sky here.

She the talkative lady kindly guided us to a restaurant after we unloaded our bags at her rambler. She drove 1 step ahead of us and we followed her tail lights into the land of wet darkness.

Somehow Ma remembered every turn and we made it back safe after eating…

Oct 23, Day 8 - Crystal Clear (and a political rant, just to warn you... feel free to comment)

We woke up from our sleep and ate breakfast at our B&B. Emmy found bugs crawling around in her cereal and the bread. I didn't notice and got my protein for the day earlier than usual. The woman appealed to Ma, Dad, and Emmy probably because she talked on and on about how my generation is stupid with our money. I feel like this lecture is getting little redundant. I hear it all the time and I really hope they are wrong, but tend to think they’re right. (Then again my generation has to pay some high bills for the expenses the lecturers racked up over the years. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the middle aged lecturing Uncle Sam himself is in debt right now too. Go figure. I know… let’s socialize medicine, that’ll fix our problems. It’s strange we’re trying to hand our healthcare over to the same people who brought us poor education, horrible disaster relief in Katrina, and the neglected treatment of war veterans in their hospitals. Hey, but I know I want these same people to raise my taxes, underpay my doctors, buy generic drugs for me, and to decide which patients have priority over others… Uncle Sam knows best…).
After our protein we hauled down to Waterford and toured the crystal factory. The grandmums and grandpas all around us concerned me. Turns out the old people listen to better music, dance better, and know where to go for an entertaining factory tour too.

The almost emptied crystal plant employed a few old white union workers who managed to hold on to their jobs. Loud noises, heat, flame torches, and burly old men with working class hands manned the crystal forming, carving, and cleaning stations. The craftsmanship of the handmade crystal blew my mind as I watched them blow the crystal into vases. These guys were true artists.

Not surprisingly, the gift shop seemed to be 2 times the size of the factory and staffed by a larger sales force than all the factory workers combined.

After the factory we drove all the way back to Spiddal for dinner and rest.

Oct 24, Day 8 - Raining and Mass

We poured into Galway as the rain drove droplets onto our car windows and hindered our visibility.

The shops of Galway called our names and we went shop hopping and felt the rain drench our coats and soak through our pant legs. We spent more time shopping for gifts for Sara, Mark, Kelli, Caroline (and Ryan and the baby to be) than we spent touring castles, eating and in whole cities. Parking alone cost us €13.20.

The Galway Museum closed in 10mins, but Dad and I grew tired of shopping and scurried through the exhibits.

After shopping and rushing through the museum we drove to the Galway Cathedral to pray for forgiveness for the curse words we muttered under our breath as the rain crawled down our backs in-between running from shop to shop. Emmy and I hit up confession and sat down for mass.

Thirty-two minutes later the priest closed the scriptures, opened his wing span and quickly spat out the words, "This mass is ended go in peace and serve the Lord". Last Sunday at mass the middle-aged Irish woman next to Ma explained that they shorten the masses, because if they ran any longer people wouldn’t tolerate it. They’d leave mass and skip in the future.
As the day turned to night we all headed over to the pub where J.P. informed us of Irish dancing, singing, and drinking.

I brought my laptop and we laughed our way through all 926 pictures dad took over the last 9 days. It made me realize how much we packed into 9 days. Dad and I drank beer while Ma and Emmy drank Coke.

The females went to bed and we made small talk with a 60-year-old guy who was celebrating his birthday. Turns out the music and dancing were for his surprise birthday party. As the kegs emptied and dance floor filled Dad and I were told to join them. With a little liquid courage I busted out my best dance moves and made a fool out of myself Irish style. Everyone joined hands in one big circle and moved in and out to the flow of the music while the gentleman celebrating his birthday and his wife danced in the center. Their birthday parties are almost as fun as the funerals…

After a little dancing I went to the bathroom and gulped a glass of water. After that I lost my dancing shoes. I must’ve lost ‘em somewhere along the way from the urinal and the dance floor.
I packed up my dancing act and hit the hay.

Oct 25, Day 9 – A picture into the passed

I heard the sounds of “knock, knock, knock” pounding on my head and in my ears upon waking the next day. Mom gently tapped the glass of my room window to notify me I needed to get up and get ready to see the day. Strangely, mom stopped pounding, but the pounding feeling never left my head.

I yawned repeatedly as dad twisted town the tiny tangling roads of Connemara. After 45minutes of being half asleep while riding in the car we arrived. My Dad wanted to visit the place his ancestors called home before risking their lives by making the trek to the New World for a better life. We took a photo shoot on the shoreline of a busted down building with roosters hopping around it.

My ancestor Coleman Conroy resided in the Rosmuc area of Connemara. After generations of suffering he took refuge from the famished British controlled area leaving his native lands in 1846. The famine coupled with the British oppression drove many Irish to America and Australia. The Rosmuc area consisted of a docking area, a convenience store, a graveyard with ruins, and a church. The church felt a little dismal with its rotted doors, dusty pews, pink painted walls, and cold air. Also, by the looks of it the church only sat there for 30 years. We were looking for a 165-year-old+ church. At the cemetery we found our ancient church over grown with vegetation, roofless, and crumbling. The tombstones and Celtic crosses ringing the ruins went from ancient to modern as the distance from the crumbling church grew. Near to the church we found the whole Conroy clan. The gated, highest cross, in the most prominent area celebrated the life of Mrs. Patrick Conroy. To the side of this were around 15 other tombstones with the name Conroy. Not only in that area, but other tombstones with the name sprang up all around the graveyard.