A letter to the American family at the restaurant.

Hello,

While I, as I'm sure was the case with all of the other patrons at the small local lodge and seafood restaurant where we ate last night, absolutely loved your debate on whether or not it was acceptable to tuck a napkin into your collar. I personally believe it's fine, and is not, as one of you said, "a sure sign that the person is a slob, and isn't rich enough to be eating in a nice restaurant", but I'm glad you were able to figure it out amongst yourselves so the rest of us could hear. I also thoroughly enjoyed being a part of your conversations on taxes and finance, American college football, and the entirely too jam packed (and poorly planned) rest of your itinerary... Otherwise we wouldn't have been able to chime in and tell you, politely, that your plan to drive up to Dingle, then Galway, then to Doolin, then do the Ring of Kerry, before going back down to Cork, before flying out of the Shannon airport, was kind of stupid, and would take way more time than you'd accounted for. I'm also glad to have been a part of it because it allowed us the chance to add a stop to our trip, so we're not in Dingle at the same time as you.
In short, you make me proud to be an American. Please continue being the loud, obstinate, argumentative, stuck-up, tourists that you are. The world loves it.
Sincerely,
Jacøb Smith

Weather or not

By this point, Erika and I should plan for "bad" weather wherever and whenever we go. From snow on our engagement day, at the end of May, to rain on our engagement photo shoot, and our wedding day, and now this ridiculous wind when we're trying to see the cliffs on our Honeymoon. No boats sailing today, so we drove to the visitors center at the top. Somehow, wind that is bracing and forceful at sea level, when it hits a rock wall, and is forced to climb, becomes a screaming tempest of freezing hatred. I love cold weather, but could not go without my jacket for more than a minute or five... and even with the jacket and hood, my face was numb but for the frozen pain in my jaw. Erika was doing worse.
And, as if that wasn't enough, the road to Kinsale (down south by Cork) was... Well, it was like we were driving through an Ireland snow globe. Not snow flakes, so much... More like fluffy little flavorless white dippin-dots. Kinsale is beautiful, as every place has been, and I'm a little sad we won't be staying after tonight.

Please, sir. I want some Moher.

Food, glorious food!
Even the few things we have eaten on this trip that were slightly disappointing have been fantastic.

Last night, we ate at O'Connor's pub, here in Doolin. Erika had the fish and chips, with Bulmer's cider. I had the beef and Guinness stew, with a Murphy's stout, and neither of us wanted to stop eating... But, alas, we had to stop when it started coming out our ears.
Today, I awoke early. Not to the sunrise, but to the sound of the rushing wind as it tore down the valley and returned like the tide to the sea. Where our arrival in town had been greeted by an icy, though fleeting, rain storm, this morning, the skies were clear (for Ireland), which we took as a good sign for smooth sailing to the cliffs of Moher, and the Aran Islands. After and incredible, and entirely filling, breakfast of fruit, home-made yoghurt, orange juice, and porridge with strawberries, brown sugar, and Bailey's Irish Cream (with tea, of course), we drove down to the coast to start the day's adventure. Despite our host having received an email from the man who runs the boat tours, saying they were running today, and telling her the times, the place was empty and locked when we arrived fifteen minutes early. All of the tour shops were closed, and the one we'd come for had a note on the window saying, "No sailing today. Will sail tomorrow", with dates and times.
Not to worry. We are not tourists, set to schedules, and thrown off by changes. We drove off into the wind for a rambling, self guided, tour of The Burren.
The Burren is a large area of protected landscape, kind of like a National Park or preserve, that seems to be a cross section of all of Ireland. It has seashores, grassy hills, plains, and vast expanses of grey rock with gaps and fissures, either from erosion, or having somehow been naturally formed that way, which makes the whole ground look like an enormous cuneiform tablet. It's as though some long dead race of giants carved out their collected knowledge in the surface of the country.
The first place we came to on our alternate excursion was Doolin Cave. It was discovered in the 1950's by two 19 year old English explorers who happened to find a river coming out of a small hole in a hill, and decided to crawl into what turned out to be a 200 meter muddy crawl space that took them all day to get in and out of. To their damp and cold but overwhelming joy, what awaited them was the largest cave in Ireland (that we know of). The chandelier in this underground ballroom is a crystalline calcium rich Cthulhu, seven meters long, over three million years old, weighing over three tons, and still growing.
For the next few hours, we drove around the Burren, though most of the stops along the way were closed, we were fortunate to find the Poulnabrone Dolmen (an ancient standing stone tomb) and Caherconnell stone fort... though that was only visible from the side of the road, since it's not yet open for the season. On completion of the ring around the Burren, and our safe return to Doolin, we went back to the ferry docks to find... still no trips to the cliffs. We are hoping to get one tomorrow though, because they have been the one thing Erika really wanted to experience on this trip (I think it's because they were in Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince, and she's super nerdy and stuff...), and I would hate for her to miss it.
Tonight, we watched a one legged man who (aside from the missing leg) looked just like the farmer Logan stays with in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, sing Celtic music at the pub. I wish I could be more eloquent and descriptive, but I am going to sleep. I'll see you in the morning.

'Round the Salt Hill Prom with a Galway Girl

Going from Renvyle to Galway has been among the more pleasant bits of travel so far... Not only is it a beautiful drive (as the whole thing has been), but it is significantly shorter than from Dublin to Renvyle. Also, my wife whom I love was actually awake, which makes any trip more pleasant. Before heading South, we made a stop at Kylemore Abbey & Garden. The Abbey is a castle, or a mansion, that was originally built for a wealthy land owner and his family. I believe it was during the famine, and he was paying workers significantly better than average wages, while also providing decent housing, a post office, and a school for their children. He essentially made a town out of his estate, and planted a forest around it, in addition to a beautiful six acre walled Victorian garden. At one point, his son got sick, and Doctors told him the best treatment was in Egypt, so the whole family  went. The son did get better, but his wife got Nyle Fever, and died sixteen days later. He didn't want her buried in Egypt, so he had her embalmed, and brought her back when they returned to Ireland... four years later, I believe. He still didn't want her buried, so he kept her under the stairs until a mausoleum could be built to hold her, and a small gothic church built to honor her. Unlike most gothic churches, hers is adorned with angels, rather than gargoyles.
When he died, after having to spend more than forty years without the woman he loved, his worthless son (who had nearly bankrupted him in life) sold the estate to an American oil tycoon who gave it to his exceptionally stupid daughter, and her surpassingly stupid husband as a wedding present. Because the husband was a Duke, and she was stupid, she had the gothic arches and stained glass windows removed from the house, and took out a number of walls to expand the bedrooms for the royals she imagined would be their frequent guests. Because her husband was a gambling addict, and was also stupid, he lost the house in a card game. The house went unused until it was sold to an order of Benedictine nuns, who still live there, and use the ballroom to hold Mass every Saturday. They keep the house and gardens in shape, and make soap, chocolate, and jam to sell on site. The jam, by the way, is delicious, and, having been to the castle and gardens, I kind of wonder what it would take for me to become a Benedictine nun. Nothing drastic... Maybe a little Bosom Buddies type of shenanigans.

We made it to Galway and found our lodging, after a brief detour where our gps said "turn left" when it meant "turn right", and got all set to go out to dinner. We set the GPS (which I think might be an agent in the robot uprising, set on destroying it's cruel human masters) to search for a restaurant called "The King's Head" near us, and set off when it said it had been found. When it became evident the sleeper agent GPS was trying to get us on the freeway, and we'd already been driving for longer than the concierge at our Bed & Breakfast had told us it would take, we took a closer look at the rout, and realized it was trying to take us to England. We recalculated, and it eventually found the King's Head we wanted, but lead us around and around in circles before we took the first parking spot we could find outside the Salt Hill Prom, and asked a shop keeper. It was a two minute walk, straight down a pedestrian street. Of course, by this time, it was after 9:30pm, and the only place still serving food was a nice pizza place. It was delicious, though not exactly traditional Irish fare. However, when we finished dinner, we went over to Taaffe's bar, which had been suggested to us by a tour bus driver in Dublin (very nice lady). This was much more like the "real Ireland" that we had been looking for. It was packed, almost to overflowing, with locals, and had a small group of middle-aged musicians stuffed in a corner, playing "Trad Music." I've learned that drunk Irish people behave entirely differently than drunk Irish Americans do. Irish Americans drink, and fight. Real Irishmen (which it seems I am much more like) drink, then drink some more, then they get really happy and peaceful, then they drink some more, and challenge friends and acquaintances to step-dance battles. Yes, really. As I said, the room was packed, but Erika found a table near the front, with a decent view of the goings-on. Suddenly, I see a space clearing in the middle of the floor, and I immediately pull our glasses away from the edge of the table, and make sure Erika is near me, because I'm thinking there's a fight... Then I see a chubby, bald, bespectacled head popping up above the crowd, and down out of sight again and again. That face goes away, and another almost just like it starts doing likewise. Through a break in the wall of spectators, I see that attached to these chubby bald heads are the equally chubby bodies of two drunken gentlemen in their mid to late thirties... who, when standing, slouch and sway, drink in hand... dancing, in perfect form, and with perfectly assured footing, traditional Irish step dance.
Erika, upon seeing my delight, asked, "Why is it that, at home, I can't get you out to a club, or any other loud crowded place, but here you're having fun?" The answer, I told her, is that these are my people.

To Renvyle with love.

The majority of day 3 was spent in the car driving through countryside to Renvyle. After another amazing breakfast at Two Rooms (porridge with caramelized brown sugar, Irish whiskey, and cream, followed by baked eggs with cherry tomatoes, gruyere, Irish cheddar, Parmesan and basil, with homemade bread and thick cut bacon) I began to feel sleepy roughly 3/4 of the drive in. We stopped along the way to check out random castles placed in the middle of towns. We drove through Westport, which was an adorable little town, stopped to stretch, and went into a store where we bought jam tarts. About an hour later, we were in Renvyle... Or so we thought. We weren't quite there yet, and our gps didn't really recognize the hotel at all. We drove through houses (along a dirt road that was really more like two dirt tire tracks through the grass) that dotted the hillside along the ocean/bay, or maybe it was a lake (?). We stopped to try our gps again. This time, it recognized the hotel.
Entry into Renvyle House Hotel was breathtaking, and, as we approached, there was a sign that read "stress free zone". They mean it. Not only is stress not welcome here, it's not even spotted. It's impossible to not relax when you're here. The hotel is on a couple dozen acres (or more. I can't remember), it has a large lake that almost meets the ocean, a small dock for boating, fly fishing, golf, croquet, tennis, gardens, clay shooting (extra fee for that). It's like an all in clusive resort, yet full of charm and has the feel of a quaint B&B. our view as we woke up was absolutely gorgeous. It's around 9:30, and we're heading down to breakfast soon, and then plan to take full advantage (weather permitting, it's kinda windy) of the amenities here.
~ Erika Smith.

Friday, March 8th.
Yesterday, we rented a car in Dublin and drove across the width of the country, stopping every so often to pee, stretch our legs, and look at centuries old castles and churches that are just strewn about in odd little towns... Kind of like Wal*mart's in America. Despite our GPS not knowing where we were going, and my urge to take every road that pointed toward Cavan (lake country, in the North, which I've read has, historically, had a high McGee population), but we had not started as early as planned, and we did not want to be lost on nameless one lane roads, in the dark, once we got out to Connemara. Our desire for adventure seems always at odds with our desire for safety, order, and comfort, and I pray that someday adventure will truly win.
Renvyle house, and the surrounding seaside and country, is beautiful. We got in too late to really explore the area, but the worn brick fireplace, smoldering peat fire, hot seafood chowder, and cold glass of Guinness combined to fulfill the prophecy on the entry sign; "Now entering a stress-free zone."... And brought up memories in my heart of a home I've always hoped to know.
Looking out the window of our room (around the corner, up the stairs, turn right through the door, down the hall, turn right through the next door, up the stairs, then down the hall a bit. It will be on your right), I can see the Atlantic held firm in the arms of the rolling hills, with islands dotted throughout like emeralds sprinkled on a blue steel plate.
Perhaps we've found, at long last, a place where time does not exist... With the notable exceptions of checkout time, tea time, and tee time. It looks like a place where a person could be neither early nor late, but where every arrival and departure happens just when it needs to, no matter when. I could spend a day that lasts a thousand years here, or stay my whole life, and it would seem like an hour.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I have more Celtic music on my iPod than you can listen to while driving from one coast of Ireland to the other.
~ Jacøb Smith.

Best Coast

Good evening, from Renvyle House Hotel. It is absolutely beautiful here!! Amazingly gorgeous! If we could afford another night, we would absolutely stay another. But weekend rates jump up starting tomorrow. It was a long journey to get here. Fortunately we traveled through beautiful country, passing sheep, horses and cows along the way. Also driving by/near century old castles, stone ruins, streams, beautiful hillside and through cute little towns. We made about two quick stops along the way to get out and stretch our legs and to capture the random castles/cemeteries right in the middle of town. I think it took us about 4 1/2 hours. Neither of us were really paying attention to the time, nor do we recall the exact time we left. We arrived around 6:00, after a detour or two, checked in, and we were offered tea and scones which we enjoyed by the peat burning brick fireplace. Jacob wants to smuggle some peat back home. I'm not sure how he will do that. We ordered a light fare dinner of west coast seafood chowder, toasted ham and cheddar cheese sandwich on brown bread and and a plate of smoked salmon with capers, lemon, a side of greens with honey mustard dressing served with sliced brown bread( I'll let you guess which one of us had the salmon) the salmon was beautifully plated in the shape of a rose and was just as delicious as it looked. The chowder was scrumptious. Thick and hearty with lots of pieces of seafood and a little bit of corn. We are both still enjoying the fire, accompanied by a bulmers cider for me and a Guiness for Jacob. We are so in love with the country/west coast. Dublin was nice, but this is just lovely. We passed Kylemore Abbey along our way and our plan is to go there tomorrow or the next day. Renvyle house has so much to offer (golf, boating, fly fishing, croquet, tennis, rose garden, etc) all complimentary. And since we got in much later than expected, we plan to take full advantage of the gorgeous grounds and amenities tomorrow. It's now 9:45pm and I want to shower and get to bed, I don't want to sleep away the day. This morning seemed to be much more difficult for me to get up. I blame Fred, he didn't wake us this morning. My guess is that he was preoccupied with the French couple who arrived that night, they were already awake. No need to come find us. - Erika Smith

Lovely day for a Guinness tour.

Rain, in my experience, has a way of making everything seem so fresh, and so clean clean... Usually. I suppose, as Noah found out, sufficient quantities of rain can scrub about anything spotless. Perhaps today's rain, as tame and tepid as it was, lacked the necessary force to remove the dog droppings and litter off of the Parnell street sidewalks between Portland and O'Connel. Wet garbage does not look or smell any better than dry... But at least it wasn't also hot.
After an incredible, and very filling, home made breakfast of scones and tea followed by granola topped with yogurt and poached pears, followed by brown sugar crusted pancakes topped with thin sliced cinnamon baked apples and drizzled with maple syrup, we hefted ourselves out of our chairs and ventured out to meet the day. Actually, we did something today which we should have done yesterday... Bought tickets for the double-decker tour bus, and saw... About 3/4 of the tourist attractions... Maybe. I was, initially concerned about a reprise of my trip to Paris, thinking Erika would have to elbow me like, "Jacøb, wake up. That's the Molly Malone statue you wanted to see." (A la, the Eiffel Tower). As it turns out, there was no napping this time, and we did see a fair number of the sites, from the bus, because I wanted to make sure we made it to Guinness, which we'd already paid for.
If you ever watch travel shows, you may have noticed a trend... Hosts always seem to be offering tips on how to find "the real (insert city name)". I'm not entirely sure why anyone would really want that. The real (any city) is full of people who hate their jobs, or like their jobs but hate having to work, or would like to work but hate not having a job. The real (any city) is full of stress and worry, and the day to day business of continued existence. If you wanted that, you wouldn't be on vacation. What I think you really want is to experience the romance and culture of whichever location you settle on, however that is offered up. And maybe sometimes that means going to museums and tourist traps. To know a place and a people, you have to know their history, and what they think makes them stand out among all the other peoples on earth... This means museums, tour buses, shows, books... Anything that says, "This is us, and this is how we got here. "... though, maybe it's a good idea to avoid anything that's obviously pandering.
As Chimamanda Adichie said, "The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete." For this reason, I would choose to avoid Dublin's Leprechaun museum (yes, it exists. I walked past it) and instead go to history (and folklore) museums if you can find them.
Our bus tour, which, among other things, pointed out the sites of a number of rebellions, uprisings, and subsequent slaughters or executions, provided easier transport than my two feet could, to nearly everything I'd want to see in town anyway.
It took us back to Trinity College and, though the Book of Kells was not on display that day, we got to learn about it, and then see the long room library, which I want to live inside.

Back on the bus and over to what we thought he said was Dublin Castle. Turns out it was not, and that the stop we'd just passed was Dublin Castle, and we got off at the stop for Christchurch cathedral. Not that I'm complaining. Inside was an exhibition on the Viking's, who'd originally built Dublin. Not being Irish or a Viking herself, I think Erika was somewhat less interested than I was, especially since we didn't find time to go to this one street full of shops like she'd wanted. I guess I'll have to make it up to her over the rest of the trip.
We had lunch at a place called Queen of Tarts, and hopped back on the bus for Guinness.
As we pulled up outside, our bus driver told us, "It's said that Guinness is an acquired taste,and it's true... it's a taste I happily acquired over twenty years ago. They actually make so much of it here that, despite our brave efforts, we Dubliners are unable to consume it all, and they are forced to export it."
Contrary to what our taxi driver had said, the tour is not a three hour movie and a pint of beer. It was self guided and somewhat interactive, with videos, wall displays, a tasting room, quizzes, and The Guinness Academy, where my darling wife and I learned to pour the perfect pint. We got certificates. If I ever apply to work the bar at an Irish pub, I'll bring that instread of a resume`.

Sadly, by the time we were done, the tour bus was too, so we had to walk back to the Arlington Hotel to meet Shannon for dinner. It was a trek, but not as bad as the map made it look. Besides, we're here as adventurers, not just tourists, and it gave us a chance to walk past the main Guinness gate, and a stillstanding section of the Norman Wall that had been built around the original town.

At the Arlington, I think there were more Americans than Irish people, among which were myself, Erika, and Shannon, who was nice enough to join us for a pint, and carry on an enjoyable conversation with us  I guess, as Dublin itself, and O'Connel Street, are more touristy than other parts of the country, it's harder to find  that "real Ireland that tv hosts  look for... Though I assume that doesn't mean it's not there. There was live"Trad Music. (Traditional, or Celtic music, as we'd call it.), and Irish step dancing on the stage in the bar... But, given the lack of spontenaety in it, that everyone performing was being paid to do so, and that so many patrons were American... It struck me as being sort of the Irish version of a Hawaiian luau at a hotel. This is what our ancestors used to do, and we know it's what you came to see, so we'll make pretend, and make some money from it. That being said, and since I'm pretty sure if my heart and should made noise, it would sound like whistles,, pipes, bodhrans, fiddles, and banjos, I enjoyed it thoroughly... but it whetted my appetite for smaller towns, smaller pubs, and music sessions with no script or order.