The Warmth of an Irish New Year

According to an old Irish proverb, "When God made time, he made a lot of it." Well, one week isn't a lot of time, but in the right company, and with the right attitude, even a cold, rainy, windy (and sometimes snowy) week in Ireland can warm your heart and renew your sense of wonder.

Ennis, where we began our ramble, is a neat little market town on the River Fergus, in County Clare, where the families all know one another (or at least know of one another), and where, because of the dearth of tourists, a visitor can get a sense of everyday Irish life, on the streets, in the shops, and at the pubs. It's also located near Bunratty Castle and Folk Park, and thus the town served as a wonderful home base for our first few nights in Ireland as we recovered from that long journey across the pond. We enjoyed the pizza at Pizzeria Uno very much, but were not impressed by the food (or ambience) at Quinn's Pub, on our first night. The Poet's Corner Pub, at our hotel--The Old Ground Hotel--was delightful, however--energy, ambience, great drinks at fair prices, locals and visitors, and trad every night. We also found The Old Ground (the oldest section of which was built in the 18th Century) a wonderful, warm and inviting place to stay (great breakfast scones!). Jane O'Brien, our local walking tour guide, told us many believe the place--once the county jail--to be haunted. Didn't see any ghosts, but the ruins of the 13th Century Franciscan Friary in town, especially at night...well, they seemed perfect for such spirits.

Unanimously dubbed "The Day from Hell," the day of our departure from Ennis for The Burren and Cliffs of Moher (before bunking down for the night in Galway City) was a challenging one. Temperatures below freezing left ice on the road from Ennis to Galway with which the local governments had no means to contend. This resulted in a long, slow journey to Galway with John Woods, our driver, beginning at 7:45 AM on 28-12. We arrived late to our Galway B&B, the Ardawn Guesthouse, and just as we walked in the door and were invited to enjoy a warm breakfast by Breda, the owner, a driver for our Cliffs of Moher tour company came in and practically demanded we join him immediately or risk missing the tour bus. Breda came to our rescue, however, and told the guy to get lost for a while...which he did. And then she served us the most delicious scrambled eggs on toast---free-range, she called them--any of us had ever eaten. We inhaled the rejuvenating eggs, and rushed out the door for our Cliffs tour, making the bus on time.

The driver informed us immediately that while the trip would take place, dangerous road conditions--ice, mainly--meant we'd have to skip portions of The Burren in the mountains, and that the journey would take longer than usual to the Cliffs. He explained further that we'd have to pack into this small little mini-bus since it handles more safely than the usual, larger tour bus. Just as we settled in--half disheartened about the abbreviated tour and the expected long, slow journey, and half relieved that the tour was taking place at all (and that we'd see the Cliffs of Moher today, on a cold but clear day)--things took another bad turn. A man and his family from the Canary Islands--an entire family, as it was, whose personal habits of hygiene were considerably less than desirable for such close quarters over a long drive--planted themselves near us. And from that moment until we exited the bus almost seven hours later, back in Galway, our tour completed, each of us shared one simple, basic objective: don't vomit on ourselves in Ireland. So this is what our ramble had come to by 28 December.

But we rallied. We made a friend from Appleton, WI, a teacher called Lindsey, whom we had lunch with in Doolin town, helped out with photos at the Cliffs (and she, in turn, took photos of us), and who we bumped into later that evening at a pub in Galway. And even though the stench on the bus was worse going home than heading toward the Cliffs, and even if the Trad played by the driver on the return journey seemed like one long, piercing root canal, and even if our guest rooms were ice boxes back at the Ardawn and a steady rain poured down on us as we explored Galway City's Medieval old town that night...we were fascinated by The Burren, blown away by the Cliffs of Moher, eager to explore some shops in town the next day...and so looking forward to the possibility of more of Breda and Mike's free-range eggs on toast after a good night's sleep.

With only one night and half of the next day in Galway City, we didn't really get to know this old college town of about 65,000 which serves as Galway County's main administrative center. The name "Galway" comes from an old Irish word for foreigner, since the city's British overloads kept the native western Irish out of the town for centuries. Little of the old Galway fishing village and trading center was preserved by the foreigners who controlled the city (to them, Irish heritage was not something to be preserved) and thus only a portion of the Norman wall remains today, at the Spanish Arch. The Spanish Arch, built around 1584, was where Spanish ships would unload their cargo when Galway was a major port city. We purchased silver Claddagh rings for each of us at Thomas Dillon's Claddagh Gold, which, having opened its doors in 1750, claims to be "the original makers of the Claddagh Ring." The rings feature two hands holding a heart which wears a crown. It is believed that the symbol originated in the fishing village near Galway's shore (or claddagh), and represents the phrase, "Let Love and Friendship Reign." The ring became popular outside of Galway in the middle of the 19th Century. Tradition dictates that if owner of the ring wears it with the crown pointing toward the finger nail, he or she is in love or married. If, however, the ring is worn with the heart pointing toward the finger nail, he or she is unattached. The day we purchased our rings snow was falling in the old town center, which, being quite rare in Galway, seemed to add excitement to the street.

On 29 December we boarded the 3:05 PM train at Galway station, near Eyre Square, bound for Dublin City. We arrived in rainy Dublin after dark and taxied to the Fitzwilliam Guest House, located in a neighborhood of old Georgian townhomes about six blocks south of St. Stephen's Green. The Fitzwilliam was our home for four nights. Dublin is an amazing city, combining gorgeous 18th Century Georgian/Neo-Classical architecture and planning--courtesy of the British, since Dublin was the Empire's second city, next to London--with the spirit and humor and charm of the Irish. While the Irish people everywhere in our journey were warm and friendly and full of life and wit, Dublin's taxi drivers, in particular, were pleasantly sarcastic, curious, and chatty, making us laugh out loud during nearly every ride. Highlights of our time in Dublin included walks through St. Stephen's Green; strolling and shopping Grafton and O'Connell Streets; visiting the Guinness Storehouse and Brewery at St. James Gate; touring Kilmainham Gaol, a somber and powerful national monument; exploring Christ Church Cathedral (a church has stood on this site since 1040); ending our nights with drinks and dessert at Foley's, our local pub near the Fitzwilliam; a double-decker bus tour through the town; having dinner in the colorful and lively Temple Bar district; walking the grounds of Trinity College, founded in 1592; and seeing the Gate Theatre production of Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." On New Year's Eve, we had dinner at Good World Chinese Restaurant, walked O'Connell and Grafton, had drinks at Foley's, and returned to the Fitzwilliam for a Prosecco toast at midnight--and, for Frankie & Tony, a snowball fight, as big wet flakes fell just before twelve o'clock (Dana, Mari & John hung out in the room, and talked). The weather was a constant challenge for us in Dublin, but like the Irish, we just kept going. St. Stephen's Green, for instance, was rainy and cold on our first full day in town, sunny and bright on our second, and covered in snow on our third. Welcome to Ireland!

A lot has been said about the food in Ireland, most of it unflattering. And while it's true we were eager to get home to eat something not accompanied by potatoes and meat with gravy, the food wasn't bad. We enjoyed Irish Stew (with lamb), fish and chips, steak, Beef and Guinness Cassarole, turkey, ham, and some excellent Chinese food during our stay. At Foley's, we had Bailey's Ice Cream and Christmas Pudding more than once, usually accompanied by drinks: Baileys on the Rocks, Bailey's & Coffee, Guinness, or Carlsberger, a nice lager from Denmark.

But it was the Irish people and their sense of irony and humor--and their good-natured, take-things-as-they-come outlook--that really left an impression on us, and left us feeling content at the end of each day. Throughout the week, guides and locals we met told us this short Irish parable about worrying too much, about coping with the challenges life presents us all: "There are only two things to worry about: being healthy or being sick. If you're healthy, you've got nothing to worry about. If you're sick, there are only two things to worry about: getting better or dying. If you get better, you've got nothing to worry about. If you die, there are only two things to worry about: going to heaven or going to hell. If you go to heaven, you've got nothing to worry about. If you go to hell...well, you'll be too busy visiting with your friends and family to worry about anything!"

Now that's the kind of spirit that can keep you warm on a cold Irish winter's night.