Back in the Saddle Again

I am a spectacularly neglectful blogger. Actually, I’m not even sure that I can still call myself a blogger. Not that that’s actually something I go around saying, or anything. But the point I was trying to make is that it’s been ages and ages since I posted anything, so I hope no one has been checking for new material. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to feel guilty for wasting anyone’s time, since not that many people really read this to begin with, but just in case, my apologies. Really.

I’m afraid that I’m now entering the “travail” part of my life; I came home from Ireland last November, and promptly went back to work. I spent December at the cookware store that I had left the previous May, before becoming the Administrative Coordinator for a small consulting firm that specializes in arts sponsorships and experiential marketing. It sounds really important, I know, but it’s really not that big a deal. I handle the administration of the office (which is pretty small and low maintenance), and help out with various projects. It has been a fantastic learning experience, and a great working experience – I really like all of my coworkers, and I usually have a pretty good time here.

However, the time has come to, um, refine my knowledge: that’s right, I’m going back to school! I start a one-year post-graduate Public Relations program in September (which is shockingly soon). I’m not sure how exciting that will be to write about (probably not very), but at least I can regale my non-existent readers with my tales of public transit, which are always colourful. And I can rant about random things, which is always fun. And if I ever get to go anywhere, I can write about that!

Wild and Sexy Scotland

Scotland: land of lochs (lakes), kyles (straights), hairy coos (highland cows) and tartan. Home of shortbread, and apparently many other great inventions.
Today was my fourth day in Scotland; I arrived early Sunday afternoon in Edinburgh, and spent the remainder of that day exploring the town. I really enjoyed it; it is busy but fun and laid back. Everyone was incredibly nice to me, and I enjoyed wandering through the old city (including the Royal Mile and the castle grounds--though not the castle itself, since it cost £10.50 to get in). I also checked out the hustle-bustle of Princes St., and saw a bit of the new city.
First thing Monday morning I met up with my bus tour; it's run by a company called Haggis, who claim that everything in Scotland is "wild and sexy" (to be pronounced in a Sean Connery accent). It's larger tour than the others that I have taken--there are 28 of us--but it's a good crowd. Most of the others are Aussies (they do love to travel), but there are a couple of Kiwis, a couple of Americans and two other Canadian girls. Our driver, Martin, is a very mild looking fellow with a penchant for bad jokes--and I do mean bad, as in not funny. He's quite knowledgable and lots of fun, though; we're all having a great time.
The weather, as one might expect of Scotland in November, has not been ideal. Our first day was fun, but it rained all day yesterday, and this afternoon we got hailed on and soaked. We're not about to let that stop us, though, so we've carried on...mostly.
We seen some spectacular sights--ruined castles, restored castles, monuments, mountains and lochs galore. It's a very dramatic country, in appearance; the trees are all very tall, the mountains are very high, the heather is very heathery, the hills are very rolly... The good thing about visiting at this time of year is that the colours are wonderful--green grass, yellow trees, red heather... Of course, when I come back I'll try to make certain that it's in June, as I'm told that that is the only warm time of year.
I have three more days of this trip before heading back to Dublin...and not long after that before heading home!

Leaving Dublin

First of all, to anyone who has actually continued to check for new updates, I offer my apologies: this blogging thing is more work than I expected, and I could offer a wide selection of excuses for my negligence (I've been busy, I've been tired, my internet cafe is horribly uncomfortable--no leg room and hard chairs, my hair is annoying me, to name a few), but I don't suppose it really makes any difference. So I'm very sorry--I hope you haven't wasted too much time!

That said, I have a lot to report; this isn't the time (I'm tired and my butt has already gone to sleep on this horribly hard chair) to give you all the details, but since I last wrote I've been to Prague, Krakow, Budapest and Amsterdam. I was travelling with my parents, and it was all great!

I'm off to Scotland tomorrow, for what will be my last real trip before I head home (that's right, the time is coming). It's a six-day tour with the sister company of the one that ran my Irish trips, so I'm pretty excited.

What has been on my mind a lot lately is leaving Dublin. Admittedly, it isn't my favourite city, and a part of me is glad to be leaving, but I have had good times here. And one of the best things about leaving a place is how much better is seems as a result of that fact; walking home from my last day of work yesterday, I was admiring how the light looked on the buildings of O'Connell St. Usually all I notice on that street is how crowded and busy and noisy and annoying it is, but yesterday it seemed almost beautiful.

My last day of work was affected by that same phenomenon; suddenly all of the customers were really nice to me, telling me how great I was and giving me notes, and all of my co-workers were going on and on about how much they'd miss me, and my managers and supervisors were complaining about losing one of their best baristas. It was really nice, until I started feeling guilty for leaving and just wanted them to stop...but a day later, I really appreciate the sentiment.

Dublin and my time here were not quite what I expected (not that I was even really aware of having expectations), but the past 5 months have been good ones, dogless-ness excepted. I'm sure, looking back, things will seen even better than they were...which is the best way to remember anything, I suppose.

Kilkenny and the Castle

Kilkenny is a delightful little town a couple of hours outside of Dublin; I'd heard that it was one of the prettiest places in Ireland, and decided to spend the weekend there.

Kilkenny's reputation is well-earned; it's a tiny place, but a charming one. The streets are narrow and crowded with interesting little shops and pubs. There are flowers everywhere, apprently part of some sort of contest or program or something. There are quite a few good attractions, most of them from the medieval era (Kilkenny is known as the heart of medieval Ireland). I climbed to the top of a round tower at St. Canice's Cathedral, which gave me a nice view over the city (but for the clouds), and checked out the Black Abbey.

I also went through Kilkenny castle, which was well worth the price of admission; it has been very well-restored, and the guide was knowledgable and entertaining. The site reflects its many incarnations (the first fortress was built on the site in 1172 by Strongbow, and it was inhabited until 1935 by the Butler family, who them sold the contents and abandoned the castle), including 3 metre thick walls (from its medieval fortress days) and a great Victorian gallery (which was long enough to offer the ladies of the house some indoor exercise).

I spent the night in a little town just outside of Kilkenny; the town itself had no particular appeal, but the hostel I stayed at is housed in a 15th century castle that is reputed to be haunted! (Another check on my "to do in life" list: stay in a haunted castle.) Foulksrath casltle was originally built in the 13th century, and was repeatedly destroyed and reconstructed until 1940, when An Oige (the Irish Hostel organization) acquired it and turned it into Ireland's first hostel. Much as one might expect, the castle was quite cold and drafty, and full of wildlife (spiders in the bedroom, a cat in the kitchen, a dog in the office and slugs in the showers). It was not the most comfortable hostel in my experience, but the staff and other visitors were friendly, and, well, it's a castle for goodness' sake!

The funny part was that, since the buses do not run to Kilkenny after 6:00pm, once you get there you're a bit stuck (unless you have yoru own transportation). I took a nice walk up through the neighbourhood, admired the views and talked to some cows, but once I returned to the hostel there wasn't much to do. Fortunately, 3 local highschool boys who were spending the night as part of an extra credit school activity, had brought along a Monopoly game, and the four of us, plus a Germand girl and Kiwi guy who were also looking for entertainment, sat down to what turned to be a very serious and drawn-out Monopoly game (which I won!). It was an unusual way to spend a Saturday night, but a surprisingly fun one! And not just because I won...

On Sunday morning I got a ride back to Kilkenny with the boys' teacher (the buses don't run on Sundays, which I had quite forgotten, and my plan to walk back to town almost gave the elderly, ailing gentleman who runs the hostel a heart attack). It was, I realized, the first time I've been in a private vehicle since my parents dropped me off at the Toronto airport on May 30! I spent some more time wandering around town and enjoying a bit of sunshine before heading back to Dublin.

It was a lovely weekend...and made me appreciate the comfort (if not the grandeur) of modern living!

Northern Ireland

Last weekend, on a sort of spur-of-the-moment decision, I took a 3 day bus tour up to Northern Ireland. I used the same company that taken me and Jessica on our western tour, and actually ended up with same guide, which was a bit funny.

It was a fantastic, and very revealing tour. We hit all of the hotspots: Derry (aka Londonderry), Belfast, the Giant's Causeway. The scenery was beautiful: green, rolling hills and charming little towns. Apparently the land there is some of the most fertile on the island, which was part of the reason it was so coveted in the past, and why the British government had (long ago) populated it with Scottish people, rather than Irish.

We spent our first night in Derry, which is also known as Londonderry because it was largely established and built by the guilds of London. It is a walled city, and its walls are remarkably intact; we were told that they were to thank for the city's never having been breached. We took a walking tour of the walls, were shown many of the historical landmarks, and were taken down into "The Bogside", as the Catholic area is known. This neighbourhood featured some really remarkable murals: Derry endured plenty of horrible events throughout "The Troubles", and these murals document what happened. They tell the story of children fighting and dying, of housewives acting as an early warning system on the approach of the police, of a city full of rubble and tear gas. They are a warning, a reminder. We also saw the memorial to the victims of "Bloody Sunday", which took place in the Bogside. It was strange to think about all of these horrors taking place in what is now a quiet neighbourhood--children were playing on the memorial, seemingly oblivious to its meaning. A little unnerving, but also kind of heartwarming.

The murals in Belfast are quite the opposite: on Sunday morning, we took a "Black Taxi Tour" with Catholic and Protestant drivers. The city is divided by a wall, which separates these two groups, a very sad thing to see, especially when one learns that not only did the wall have to be built, including sets of gates at each street that are opened and closed as needed, but it had to be raised twice, since people kept throwning explosive devises over the top until it was too high.

The Protestant area centres around Shankill Road, and includes some truly horrifying murals. These paintings do not tell a story: they make martyrs of the gunmen who were killed, and demons of the gunmen who killed them. The most terrifying among them is a mural of a masked gunman, the muzzle of whose gun, through some optical illusion, follows you around. These murals aren't set aside in a memorial, or anything: they're right there, in the middle of a neighbourhood. Children grown up under them, and it's impossible to think that there is any chance for peace if this is what they are taught. The murals on Falls Road, in the Catholic area, are no less frightening, though they were less graphic. They celebrate their martyrs, and demonize their neighbours, much as the Protestants do.

The cities may have been a bit depressing, with all their tales of woe (especially Omagh, a town we stopped in, where 29 people--including a woman who was pregnant with twins--were killed in an IRA bombing in 1998), but the countryside was lovely. The Giants' Causeway, in particular, was amazing: the causeway is a coastal area that is covered in hexagonal rock formations that are remarkable and thus far inexplicable. Legend has it that Fion MacCool, the Irish giant of long ago, constructed the causeway to link Ireland and Scotland to enable him to fight his Scottish equivalent. According to the story, the Scottish giant was even bigger than Fion, so he disguised himself as a baby, bit off the Scots' finger and sent him running at the thought of the father of the monstrous child, tearing up the causeway as he went. (The causeway can be found on the western Scottish coast, as well.)

We also crossed the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, which crosses 60 ft. over a 90ft. drop into the ocean. Apparently it is traditionally constructed by salmon fishers to give them access to a tiny island around which they set their nets. It may have been quite a fearful crossing once, but having become the tourist attraction that it is the bridge is now so reinforced that it didn't bother me at all (though some did not share this feeling, especially when their crossing companions jumped up and down). The island itself really is tiny, and has absolutely nothing on it; we used it to watch a seal swimming around and to take a brief sun nap on the grass. It is so far removed from any traffic or anything that it is wonderfully peaceful, and completely relaxing.

I saw little sign of "The Troubles", outside of the walls and murals. People seem to have moved on fairly well, and we saw no armoured vehicles, had no checkpoint to cross at the border. There are a few strange signs, however; the litter problem, for example. I know I've complained about Dublin being dirty, but it was nothing compared to the cities of Northern Ireland. My guide explained that this was because all public bins had been removed years ago, when the bomb threats began, and had only been replaced fairly recently. People are still getting used to them. Its the little, everyday things like this that really make you think twice about how these people lived for years, constantly worrying about the police and the IRA, bombs on streetcorners and in schools. Major public buildings are surrounded by cages to protect them from such threats.

There are some noticable changes, however; the British army are in the middle of dismantling all of their bases there. Those that still remain are not the fearful places they once were, either; in Derry, we waved to one of the surveilance cameras at the army base, and recieved a wave (via a window wiper) in return, as well as a nod and wave goodbye. It was funny, but also a reminder that there must still be someone watching the now-quiet streets, a job that would once have been very important.

In any case, it was an education. The guide on our walking tour in Derry asked us to tell everyone how much we'd enjoyed our time there (and to keep our big mouths shut if we hadn't), since Northern Ireland is only just beginning to climb out of a major economic depression, and desperately needs the income that tourism can provide. I'd recommend it as a fascinating place to visit, especially with a good guide who can explain the meaning behind everything you see.

The Amazing Aran Islands

Have you ever heard of the Aran Islands? I hadn't until I started researching travel in Ireland...but they're not to be missed! I only spent one night there, and only saw the largest islands, Inis mmor, but I had such an amazing time that I'd have to put the Aran Islands on my "Best of..." list!
The islands are about a 40 minute ferry ride off the west coast of Ireland; I had to take a bus one hour out of Galway to catch the ferry.

The landscape of the islands is frequently described as "weird" and "lunar", but aside from the almost complete absence of trees, I didn't find it so strange, or so different from the rest of the west. Inishmor was lush and green, as one expects of Ireland; it was also incredibly rocky, so much so that, as in other areas of Ireland, farmers had used the rocks dug up from their fields to construct their houses and walls. These walls still segment the hills there, and the fields are populated with cows, goats, donkeys, sheep and horses, all of which I tried to pet.

There are lots of mini-bus tours available, and I'm told that some of them are quite good; in 3 hours or so they take you to all of the islands major sites, mostly the ruins of ancient fortresses, perched on cliff edges that give way--quite abruptly--to the Atlantic. I, however, chose to rent a bike. You'll be glad to know, I'm sure, that I have not lost my ability to ride a bicycle, despite lack of practice. I did just fine--and everyone was walking their bikes up the bigger hills, okay? The bike worked out particularly well for me because it allowed me to stop every 10 seconds or so to take a photo or try to pet some bewildered animal. The weather was glorious, and I had a wonderful time!

Just when I thought that I couldn't ride any further, I came across the Aran version of a mall; a couple of little restaurants in thatched cottages and a few shops. I did very well, with both. This welcome stop turned out to be just around the corner from one of the most popular ruins, Dun Aengus. This site features the remains of a circle fort; only half of the circle stands, however, giving way to a sheer drop into the Atlantic. The winds there were spectacular, sweeping straight off the water (it took me ages to untangle my hair).

I rode back to the hostel, by which time I was not only quite tired, but also very sore in my seat area. (I have, I must admit, a slightly boney butt, and it does not enjoy bicycles as much as the rest of me.) I walked back into the Kilronan, the main town, which was about 20 minutes from my hostel. The town features a couple of pubs, one grocery store, and a bunch of shops clearly aimed at tourists. You may have heard of Aran sweaters; the islands are famous for the intricate patterns they used to knit. Apparently this wasn't a vanity--each family had its own pattern, which helped to identify fishermen who were lost at sea and washed ashore; apparently, all that time exposed to the elements and too much time in the water made them a bit indistinguishable. In any case, Aran sweaters are hugely popular with the tourists, though I didn't see a single local wearing one. Unfortunately, I don't do very well with wool, so I didn't buy one.

The locals on Inis Mor were a friendly bunch; I had only just gotten off the ferry when I was approached by an, um, older gentleman--who appeared to have all of one tooth--who offered to be my boyfriend for the day. I tried to decline politely, explaining that I had only just arrived and needed to find my hostel, but that only inspired him to ask, repeatedly, where he would meet me that night. It was very hard not too laugh out loud. The friendliness was not all of this kind, however; a woman who was next to me in line at the grocery store, where I asked for directions, offered to walk me toward my hostel, since she was going that way. I learned a great deal more than I had expected about her during our walk (she is originally from Galway, and moved to Inis Mor when she married a fisherman from there; her mother recently had a hysterectomy; her children are very fond of peach candies; her remote control ran out of batteries that afternoon), which was cut short when another local offered her a ride home as he drove by.

I would love to go back sometime, and spend a few days on the islands; there is a great deal more to see and do on Inis Mor alone, not to mention the two other islands!

Galway the Glorious

One of the great things about Ireland is its size; a four hour bus ride (and that included numerous stops along the way) took me right across the country! Maybe that's something only a North American (or Russian!) can really appreciate, but I certainly qualify.
Galway City is, in a word, charming. According to my guidebooks, it's the fourth largest city in Ireland, but it feels quite small and, well, quaint. The city centre is full of narrow cobbled streets, brightly painted former fishing cottages, intruiging little shops and street musicians. The city is built around the Corrib river, which is tidal of course, and thus controlled with numerous canals. The council has wisely made the most of this, lining these waterways with parks and gardens. There is a large population--on the river, in the canals, and in the bay--of ducks and swans. I counted over 50 swans in the harbour area yesterday, and they are so used to being fed by people that they'll actually eat out of your hand (just watch your fingers)!
The weather here has been very good to me--nothing but sunshine and white, fluffy clouds--so Galway has looked quite resplendent.
It is a city steeped in history; there are memorial plaques everywhere and loads of very old buildings, including a bank housed in a castle! More points for the city planners: even the newer buildings fit in quite well. It's a very carefully thought out place, it seems.