IRELAND DAY 12 – A FITTING END

We load the car and leave the inn.  We get caught in a bit of construction just as we pull out and, while waiting for a steamroller, we’re jolted by a knock on the window.  It’s Fred, our innkeeper.  Seems my credit card on file from when we booked a year ago had expired.  Mandy and I can’t help but laugh… the man has had over 100,000 guests in his 22 years here, and this is probably the first time he had to run a car down to get paid.

We’ve completed the southern loop of Ireland and are bisecting the country on the M6, the road from Galway to Dublin and the most modern highway we have seen here.  It’s an easy drive, 130 miles in about two-and-a-half hours.  Traffic when we hit the city is a bit of culture shock, the last few miles taking almost 30 minutes.  We check into the ALoft in the Liberties section of town right across from the Teeling distillery.  

The room’s not ready, so we drop the bags and head out to explore this part of the city.  We walk a few blocks to Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.  We’ve been to plenty of European cathedrals, but this one strikes us as a bit odd.  Sure it’s got a rich history, and sure it’s beautiful, but it’s current format is unsettling.  The first thing you see when you walk in is a gift shop.  Not in some separate space but open air, right there in the church.  There are regular services most days, but it feels more like a museum than a working chapel.  We take the self-guided audio tour, which is very interesting, then wander outside to check out the grounds.  We spend another 20 minutes enjoying St. Patrick’s Park with it's well-manicured gardens and happy energy.  It’s also the best place to photograph the cathedral. 

Enough with the saints, time for the sinners so we catch the 2:30 tour and tasting at Teeling.  I’ve never been a Jamison fan (blasphemy in these parts) but I’ve been digging the Teeling.  As the tour starts, they explain why.  While traditionally whiskey is aged in a single barrel, Teeling is aged in any combination of ex-bourbon barrels, rum barrels, and wine casks including sherry, port, Maderia, white Burgundy and Cabernet Sauvignon.  A couple years in one barrel, some in another, maybe use a third and you get some really complex and interesting flavors and some damned smooth hooch.  We end the tour with a pretty exclusive tasting of some of the very limited production bottles.

Coming full circle, we’re meeting Allison and Steve for dinner.  They pick us up and on the way let us know that Allison’s sister and brother-in-law, Siobhan and Thom, are meeting us at the restaurant.  In fact John Kavanagh “The Gravediggers”, our dinner destination was Siobhan’s idea, a favorite haunt of hers.  Gravediggers is next door to Glasnevin Cemetery, established in 1872 as the first cemetery for Irish Catholics in Ireland, and we take a few minutes to marvel at the massive headstones and monuments before we head in.  

The pub predates the cemetery by 40 years, but reportedly acquired the Gravediggers nickname thanks to the “secret” door in the back where the cemetery workers would be served pints and shots while they dug.  The 190-year-old institution has always been a drinking establishment and to this day has never allowed singing or dancing, much less a TV or Wi-Fi.  There are partitions and even a set of swinging doors (think Western movie saloon) that break the place into several intimate spaces.  The floors are so caked over with Guinness and tobacco stains that the wood has literally bubbled in places.  The counters and tabletops are equally as experienced and our pints wobble as set them down in our corner perch.  We do as we’re supposed to here, talking with friends and making new ones.  It’s amazing how much more social everyone is when the distractions are removed.   A few pints, a lot of laughs and I’m pretty sure we invited ourselves to stay with Siobhan and Thom at their place in Sweeden before we say our goodbyes.

We continue next door with Steve and Allison to the restaurant side for some dinner.  While the space is equally as historic, the food is a very modern concept – Irish Tapas.  What the hell, you may be asking, is Irish Tapas, ‘cause that's what we were asking, too.  As it turns out it’s tapas dishes reinvented with an Irish brogue.  Some examples best illustrate.  Arancini, the traditional Italian rice ball filled with mozzarella and meat, has been scrumptiously redesigned with black pudding, spinach and mixed Irish cheese fillings.  Irish spring rolls are filled with ham and cabbage and were surprisingly delish.  It’s also our first chance to try coddle, a dish associated with Dublin like Philly does cheesesteaks, which consists of layers of bangers (roughly sliced pork sausages), rashers (wide slices of pan fried ham or bacon), potatoes, sliced onion, spices and herbs.  It’s Irish comfort food at it’s most comforting.  Did we over order?  Yes, yes we did.

Our hosts have one last stop in mind, and we buzz 10 minutes to the edge of Phoenix Park, Dublin’s version of Central Park.  Right there, built into the wall of the park since 1610, is The Hole In The Wall, so named for the literal hole in the wall used for about 100 years to serve beer to British soldiers who were not allowed to leave the park while on patrol.  The Holer, as the locals call it, also known for being the longest pub in Europe, 100 meters from end-to-end, and from the outside appears as a stretch of row houses.  We walk in the main entrance on the far end into an intimate little pub, bar on the left, a few tables on the right.  Straight through, we walk into the next intimate little pub space, a bit different from the first but just as charming.  As we take our places at the bar, Steve explains that the place just keeps going on like that, room after room, for an entire city block.  I go exploring and start chatting with Steve when I get back.  Unbeknownst to us, Allison is explaining to Mandy that you haven’t officially been pubbing in Ireland until you steal a pint glass to take home.  They settle on a matched pair we just emptied and conspire in hushed tones on their plan to get them into Allison’s couture handbag.  Out of nowhere, Conner, the manager of the joint and a charming Irish devil, walks over to the women and says “Well ladies, the place may be ancient, but the security system is modern with very sensitive microphones.  At your age, if you’re going to put glasses in that nice bag, they should probably be clean ones”.  We are mortified, stunned into silence, but Conner puts down 4 glasses, two Guinness and two Holer, with a big grin on his face.  A fitting end to our Irish adventure.

IRELAND DAY 11 - CONNEMARA & GALWAY

 

Our last epic drive today, this one to Connemara National Park, for the final big hike of our trip.  The drive takes us through some very different landscapes.  Lakes, big and small, make the plains shimmer in the shadows of the Twelve Bens Mountains.  The little island country feels very big from here and reminds us of our drives through Montana. 

We arrive at the park, layer up and strap on the hikers.  As we start out, we end up in the middle of a big group of French school kids at the park on a field trip.  Fortunately, they split off as we start the route.  We’re not sure how committed to the whole 7km distance, but there’s a there’s a fork in the trail that cuts off the steepest 3km, so we’ll decide when we get there.  As the trails rise gently, the green pastures drop away to slowly reveal the lakes in the distance in every direction.  We get to the fork and look up at Diamond Hill, the peak a mere 1450 feet above us.  We see hikers in silhouette along the upper ridge and decide that of course we want to be one of those guys, so we turn left to follow the red trail up.  New bodies of water appear in all directions with every few feet of vertical rise from tiny lakes to the North Atlantic.  The climb is steep but well-marked with plenty of vistas to catch a breath and a pic.  

It’s one of the rare trails that when you’re at the top of the trail you’re at the tippy-top of the mountain.  When I tell Mandy my idea for a video… “we’re going to spin around right on the point”… she has another idea… “hells no we’re not!”  Let’s go to the tape…

We spend 15 minutes taking it all in before starting our descent.  About halfway back to the start we find ourselves smack in the middle of the same bunch of school kids who tease us playfully as we weave our way through the group.   Well deserved lunch just outside the park entrance at Veldons Seafarer on Main Street in Letterfrack.  The crab salad and chicken burger are both delish, but the Irish brown bread (and now that we’ve eaten it 3 meals a day for the better part of two weeks, we’re clearly experts) is the absolute best we’ve had.  

We head back following the signs to Sky Loop, a scenic drive up, up, up beautiful seaside cliffs replete with middle-of-the-road livestock and more splendid views.  We continue on to Clifden.  Clifden is a vibrant little place, so we park and check it out.  We end up in an art gallery and chat with the proprietor for half an hour.  Down the street for a spot of tea and another fun discussion with the owner of the shop.  Tired, but it’s still an hour back to our hotel for a nap.

Dinner at McSwiggans Pub, then off to find music, heading to Taaffes Bar on the server’s recommendation.  The place is jumpin, locals, the college crowd and tourists all packed in together.  Not surprisingly, we’re adopted by a few Galwayins sitting at the bar who, not surprisingly insist on buying us some pints.  Some U of G guys add themselves to our conversation as the duo on stage gets the whole place singing along, a combination of traditional Irish music and classic American covers.  When a couple floats in and orders beers, I pass the glass (that’s a baby pint) of Guinness to the woman, then the bartender hands me another glass instead of a proper pint.  I get our new friends’ attention as I pass the glass and ask the guy “where are you from?”  “New York” he replies.  I raise my glass as if to toast, but instead say “Hey guys!  Here’s the difference… New York (pointing to the bitty brew in the guys hand)… Philly! (lifting my own pint)”  After the New Yorker’s penalty shot of Jamison to atone for his sin, the whole UN meeting lot of us partied well into the night.

IRELAND DAY 10 - THE CLIFFS TO GALWAY

About the Opal Corsa.  There are no worries that the Opal Corsa will be mistaken for a sports car.  With 0-60 times that can be measured with a calendar, you don’t have to stress that it will be mistaken for a performance car.  With 13” rims and gelatinous body lines, it’ll never be mistaken for a cool car, either.  But that’s not to say the little thing is without merit.  With the seats folded down, our 2 big suitcases fit nicely.  It’s got Apple CarPlay, so the geniuses in Cupertino can take us to the wrong address right from the dash screen.  The short wheelbase and narrow track means it’s well suited for the insanely tight Irish roads.  It sips the expensive petrol, so not too bad at the pump.  And the 1.nothing liter, less-then-your-lawnmower-HP engine mated to the vague, mushy 5 speed improbably got the job done, especially if you keep it around 4000 rpm.  So we’ve become oddly connected to our bitty econobox, now the third member of our posse.

This morning our trusty steed to taking us to Doolin, the northern end of the Cliffs of Moher trail.  We did the southern half of the trail yesterday, so now we get to see it from another perspective.  We park next to a row of stores that look like they came from someone’s model train set and we set out.  The trail is good, steep in some parts and excitingly close to the cliff’s edge.  We are virtually alone which makes it even better, feeling like we have the whole thing to ourselves.  We pass a little spike of a castle that looks like it could have been made with Legos, and a perfect little farmhouse on a high bluff.  The rock outcrops are an unexpected cacophony of color, white from the birds, yellow shore litchen, green algae, and splashes of pink blooms emanating from the cracks.  At the top, the 700’ cliffs are dizzying and we’re afforded a few minutes to take in the scene alone, our personal wonder-of-the-world if only for a bit.

Leaving the cliffs, we stop in Burren, a cute town but one that does not cater to travelers.  Like most non-tourists towns, restaurants are not open for lunch, even the cafe in the big hotel in the middle of the main street.  We eventually end up finding a meal at Keogh’s in Kinvara, a tasty burger and a fantastic buttermilk chicken sandwich that crushes Chik-Fil-A, replete with the requisite pint of Guinness.

We make it to Galway and wander through the busy Latin Quarter.  Throughout our trip, we’ve been hearing that Galway was the music hub of the country, and there’s a street musician every block or so to illustrate that point.  We’re having a bit of culture shock, the busy city energy a stark contrast to the peaceful village vibes we’ve been in for the past week or so.  Our walk ends at the famous Spanish Arch, which, we have to admit, is underwhelming.  We leave the Quarter and check into the Sea Breeze Lodge B&B in the Salt Hill section of town, and meet Fred, our meticulous French innkeeper.  After showing us around and helping with our bags, he and I end up in a 10-minute conversation about Irish culture.  He explains that the French cities he hails from were tough, and that you needed a thick skin to get by.  But in his 22 years here, the overwhelming and consistent kindness of the people have inspired, if not forced him, to become his best, most caring self. 

After a deep afternoon nap we get a last minute reservation at Oscar’s in the trendy West End.  The place is modern bohemian with colorful artwork and low thumpy music.  The restaurant is the creation of Euro-Toques chef Michael O’Meara, who is also the author of Sea Gastronomy and Oyster Gastronomy, two books that have become the gold standard among accomplished chefs on the preparation of north Atlantic seafood.  The menu is entirely based on the freshest catches on the local dock today.  I get the mixed platter special, which included Spurdog and Raywing, two fishes I have never had before.  Spurdog is a type of dogfish shark and served as a tender steak.  Raywing is the edible delicacy made from the flaps of north Atlantic ray, flaky, mild and super tender.  Mandy gets the Hake and muscles.  It’s served is a rich fish stock with leeks and spinach and Mandy immediately picks up the tarragon essence.  It’s an unbelievable dish that gets better with each bite.  I flag down our host, a big guy from Croatia with an easy smile, and ask him to tell us more about the dish.  As he starts to describe it, tables on either side of us stop to listen.  He speaks of building layers from starting with the intense stock then poaching all the seafood in the simmering broth.  He reveals the one spice we cannot identify, what he calls the magic in the recipe, is star anise, which we never would have guessed.  Mandy and I agree that this is one of the best dishes we have ever had anywhere in the world and know we are having a moment in the moment.  Our hosts picks a dessert for us, a torch brazed banana served with house made ice cream and a thin, crispy biscuit.  To top it all off, we are stunned when the bill comes, and it’s very reasonable, especially considering it included a bottle of exquisite Spanish Tempranillo.  Any meal even close to this in the states would easily be triple.