Ireland, the Final Installment

By 9:30 the snow was gone completely and the sun was out; I decided to make a day trip out to the Cliffs of Moher. There are roughly millions of various tour companies offering day excursions to the cliffs; I opted for one that included a walking tour of the Burren, a region near the Cliffs. At 10:00AM I was boarding the bus to go, and the weather was still clear(ish).

The Cliffs of Moher and the Burren are both in County Clare, another of my ancestral homes (part of my family called the Reddens came from there). And it is a beautiful county, probably my favorite of all the ones I visited. It was dotted with ruined castles and churches and cottages. One of its villages, Doolin, is widely considered the best place in the country for traditional Irish music.

The first part of the tour, once we got into County Clare, was the Burren. The Burren is a rather mountainous region rich in limestone. Indeed, from a distance the hills of the Burren just look like towering piles of limestone fragments. The fields of the Burren are demarcated by stone fences, and farms dot the landscape. My walking tour was led by a guy named John who had a degrees in Irish heritage and archeology. The tour began on his family's farm, where he still works. His family has been on that land for literally centuries, apparently, and they actually own two mountains (well, large hills really) of the Burren. He gave us rain boots and raincoats (although the sky was cloudy, it wasn't actually raining, but he thought it was worth the precaution) and we strode across the fields of the farm and then into the hills of the Burren. Along the way, he told us about the history of the region and explained how its geography actually made it good farmland. Up in the Burren it was easy to see why people farmed there--while it looked like solid rock from a distance, in the hills it was evident that there was lots of grass around, apparently perfect for grazing cattle. Nonetheless it was a wildly isolated place, a mood only enhanced by the overcast weather and chilly wind. It reminded me strongly of the Badlands, although it looked nothing like that region. But it had the same atmosphere. From the stony hilltops you could see Galway Bay in the distance, and distant shadows of the mountains of Connemara Nat'l park. It was obvious that John loved the place, and I could understand why. If I ever want a quiet hermitage, the Burren would be the place to go. When we finished our walking tour and we went back to the farm to wait for the bus. In the great tradition of Team Lantern I got a slice of apple pie there (the family sells tea and baked goods literally out of their kitchen) with fresh cream. The pie was quite good but substantially different from American apple pie because it lacked cinnamon.

Once back on the bus we headed for the cliffs. At one point we stopped for a photo opportunity, but the snow was falling so thickly you couldn't really see anything. Luckily, when we finally got to the Cliffs of Moher all precipitation had stopped; it was remarkably windy and cold, but dry. The Cliffs themselves were as awesome as I could have hoped. It would have been more enjoyable without the cutting wind, but it was well worth the sight.

From there the bus tour wound through County Clare, up the coast back to Galway. We stopped for lunch in Doolin and had occasional photo stops where we would get off and walk around for a bit and enjoy the scenery. The western coast of Ireland is wild and dramatic, with farmland and ruined castles and rocky sea cliffs. It's a remarkable region and I was enthralled by it.

That night I met Nora and her cousin Hannah for dinner in Galway. It was good to see a friendly face from Pitt. We never really hung out after our Tolkien class ended, so I was quite grateful that she offered to meet me in Galway--it was a kind gesture that I'd had no reason to expect and appreciated immensely. After dinner we went out to a pub with a couple of her friends to hear some music (although not before we went to her room and I spilled tea all over my sweater--I am that awesome). Her friends were a good time and the band playing was brilliant. It was my first time hearing Irish pipes (a variation on the familiar Scottish bagpipes) and I loved the sound. After several days wandering alone in a foreign country it was nice to find myself at a full table.

The next day, Thursday, I debated going on a day tour to Connemara Nat'l Park. But I decided to sleep in and spend the day in Galway instead. As usual the weather alternated between pleasantly sunny (during which I did some reading and writing in the park) and cold and drizzly. Galway is a pretty university town right on the ocean and I enjoyed it. That night I met Nora again for dinner and promised to meet her for a pint when she comes to London in April; she went home after dinner because she wasn't feeling too well. I resolved to go catch some music by myself, but when 9:30 came around I really didn't feel like going out. I went anyway because it was my last night in the Republic of Ireland, but even once I got there I wasn't feeling it. The band came on quite later than they were supposed to, which irritated me further. Once started the music was great, but I hurried my pint along and left after maybe four or five songs.

Friday morning I bid a farewell to Galway and the Republic as I boarded a bus to Derry, a city just across the border in Northern Ireland. It was a fairly epic bus trip--something like five and a half hours. I'd been dreading it, to be honest, but it ended up being one of the best bus trips of my life. The weather was gray and drizzly (shocking, I know) but the bus was half empty and the landscape was gorgeous. Even beneath slate skies Ireland is astonishingly green. I put Sigur Ros on my iPod, spread out across two seats, and spent the gray morning wandering in and out of sleep and watching the green fields of Ireland roll past me. Not a bad use of five hours.

I wondered whether we'd have to go through a border patrol, but as far as I could tell there wasn't even a sign signalling the border between the Republic and Northern Ireland (and I was looking). I got to Derry around 3:30 and went in search of my hostel. It took me forever to walk to it, and I was thoroughly damp from the drizzle by the time I got there. I nearly walked past the hostel, as it was distinguished only by a banner next to the front door saying "Independent Hostel". It looked a bit dubious, but ended up being a comfortable and friendly place. It was essentially a large house that was now being run as a hostel, with two common rooms and a kitchen on the ground floor, two dorm-style rooms and a bathroom on the first floor, and I imagine further rooms/bathrooms on the second floor. I was shown to a bed on the first floor. When I paid for my room I felt very backpacker-esque:
Me: "How much is it for the night?"
Kylie: "That's twelve pounds."
Me: "Can I pay with credit card?"
Kylie: "It's 3% extra."
[I rifle through my wallet and Kylie senses my hesitation.]
Kylie: "You can pay in euro if you want."
Me: "Can I pay in a mixture of pounds and euro?"
Kylie: "Sure, if you want to be awkward about it." And I did. Certainly one of the perks in staying in an independently run hostel (my reservation had been scribbled in a notebook under just my first name, and when she gave me my three pounds in change it was from a large, disheveled heap of money that she dumped out of her purse).

Derry is quite a cool city for a few reasons. First, it has two names: Londonderry and Derry. It's frequently written as Londonderry/Derry, although on bus timetables and things in the North it's always Londonderry, while in the South it's always Derry. A rather startling reminder of its history of political unrest. My hostel was near the Bogside district, which was the Catholic Reublican holdout during the Troubles. There is a famous series of political murals in the Bogside related to the Troubles, and I went over to see them. They were quite astonishing works. In that area there is a large sign welcoming you to "Free Derry" and the Irish flag is flying; even the pavement and streetlights are painted green, white, and orange. After I wandered that area I went across the city (which is conveniently divided by a river) to see the Protestant murals. There were fewer of them and they didn't directly depict the Troubles like the Catholic ones did. In this part of town, the Union Jack was flying and the pavement was red, white, and blue.

To further complicate Derry, its 17th century city walls are still completely intact. They surround what is today just a small area, central Derry (the bus station, my hostel, the Bogside district, and the train station were all outside of the walls). You have to go through gates (now just arches with roads through them) or over the walls (there are stairwells leading up to the walls periodically) to get into central Derry or go across it. I took a walk on top of the walls to get a look at the city and a sense of its history; there are historical markers all over the walls explaining various significant events. Back in my hostel I befriended some French students and a Canadian backpacker. I shared the 10-bed room with the Canadian and with a large group of Spanish guys who all stumbled in (literally) at 4AM raucously drunk.

Saturday morning I began my excursion to the Giant's Causeway in northern County Antrim. It was a bit complicated to get to using public transportation, but I managed to make it there by a bit after 11. The bus to take me from the Causeway to my next hostel didn't come until 4:30, so I had all day there.

My first step was to get rid of my backpack. This proved tricky. The TI wouldn't let me leave it there (which I understood) but suggested I ask the parking lot attendants, who had a small hut near the entrance to the car park. So I went and asked and they said I couldn't leave it with them because of liability issues, but I was welcome to leave it just outside and behind the hut if I wanted. I decided it was worth the risk and ditched it there, again reassuring myself that it contained nothing valuable or irreplacable. And then I set off through the cold, windy, drizzle for the Causeway itself.

The coast here was every bit as spectacular as the western coast had been. The Causeway is difficult to describe; it's a sort of series of large and regularly shaped stones that juts into the ocean from the rocky coast. There's a long and somewhat complicated legend about it being built by giants. This is a tremendously pathetic description and once I get my pictures online you'll see what I'm talking about.

I climbed all over the Causeway itself, and then started walking further down the coast. There were two trails: the lower cliff trail and the upper cliff trail. First I followed the lower one until it ended; then I looped back around to the upper one. By then it was past noon and I was starving, so I went up to the visitor's centre area for lunch. Since I still had a good amount of time after eating, I went back out to the upper cliff trail and resolved to follow it for a while.

It was windy and cold and the trail was muddy, but those two hours of walking were among the more beautiful hours of my life. Once I had been walking for about twenty minutes there was not another human in sight. Even the cliffs of the coast and the Causeway were hard to see, because mist had rolled in. At one point I ventured out near the edge of a cliff and stood there for a while, singing. I couldn't see anyone else in any direction and above the rushing wind I could discern the roar of the waves; my own voice seemed to get completely lost in the wind and the gray and the mist.

Around 3:30 I got back to the visitor's centre. I was tired, cold, and damp but deeply satisfied, and I got tea and a scone while waiting for the bus. That night my hostel was in a village called Ballintoy. By village I mean there were some houses, two pubs, a church, and a hostel along a mile stretch of road. When I arrived I was shocked the bus even stopped there. The bus stop was literally in front of the hostel, which was convenient. When I tried to check in I had to wait for about an hour before being shown to my room because they had been hosting some sort of Irish language class or something and were clearing out a large group of people. But they gave me tea and I got to sit next to the radiator in the kitchen, so it wasn't too bad. I talked to a couple of French backpackers who were also waiting. And it was a really nice hostel--only 11 pounds for the night, and I had the 6-bed room to myself. There was an en suite bathroom in the room and the bed was really comfortable. I got dinner at one of the pubs in town. I was leaving early tomorrow morning to get to Belfast in time for my flight, so I showered that night and organized all of my belongings. When I went to bed my backpack had been carefully repacked and my shoes were resting right beneath the radiator in hopes they would be dry by morning. I slept incredibly soundly.

And...suddenly I found my time in Ireland was rushing to an end. Sunday was largely spent dashing from bus to train to bus to bus to plane. I didn't actually see Belfast at all; I got a bus there and then immediately boarded the airport shuttle. While in the airport waiting for my flight I bought a book by Bill Bryson called The Lost Continent; it was Bryson chronicling, with characteristic wit, his road trip across America. I'd bought it because I wanted something entertaining and I wanted to see whether any of his experiences matched mine from last summer's epic road trip.

But I'd been reading it for about forty minutes maybe when I abruptly set it down. There was nothing wrong with the book; it was hilarious and fun to read. It had just really hit me that I was sitting in the Belfast airport, and I wasn't waiting for a flight home--I was waiting for a flight to London. After ten busy days by myself in a foreign country the thought of London was exhausting and even frustrating. For about ten minutes I grappled with what was only my second attack of intense homesickness. Still, I suppose twice in two months isn't too bad, and it passed.

So there you are--the mostly full story of my adventures in Ireland. And just in time, because I am leaving early tomorrow morning for Wales. I'll do something about pictures at some point, but I have over 500 from Ireland so I don't know when that will be.