Trip to Scotland and Ireland

Part IV

Thursday, August 23rd

My last day in Edinburgh began with a soft, boy-styled waking delivered by David Walsh.  As if preparing for an attack from a legion of ninjas, I readied myself with brutal speed.  Our mission today was to visit the chapel in Rosslyn, a village about seven miles from Edinburgh.  This is the chapel that plays the final and important piece in Dan Brown’s novel and movie, “The Da Vinci Code”.

As we waited for the bus, there were some musicians on the other side of the busy street playing some very famous, classical, upbeat, cavalry-type song whose name I do not know.  The band was good and was comprised in part of multiple brass instruments.  Looking to break the monotony of our waiting, Dave dashed across two of the four lanes into a median and started to run back and forth like he was either being chased or chasing someone.  At one stage, he started to run alongside a bus whose driver did not see him.  The driver then looked to his right, did a double take and was amazed and annoyed to see Dave sprinting alongside him in the median.  It was rich. 

Dave, Colleen and I enjoyed the chapel for a couple of hours and then ate a meal of moderate delight at a restaurant by the bus stop.  We then headed home and I quickly put my things together and headed back out the door to travel to the airport where I would catch a flight to Shannon, Ireland.

Once in Shannon, I gathered my things and found my rental car.  It’s really special driving on the opposite side of the road.  It’s very hard to undo something you’ve learned your whole life and perform the opposite action.  You may as well be asked to reverse your sexual orientation: “In Manlandia, all straight visitors must be gay and all gay visitors must be straight and all bisexual visitors must be placed in a dungeon until they choose an orientation.  Enjoy your stay in Manlandia!”

I then found my bed and breakfast, cleaned up and approached the night.  My efforts bore Guinness, fish and chips, and some fine live music at the Quays and the King’s Head, two of Galway’s many pubs.  I then went home and slumbered heavily.

Friday, August 24th

I woke from a sleep so deep it needs to medically classified or defined.  I don’t have the resources to do so, so I leave it to you to diagnose.

For breakfast, I walked into the city centre and went to a small café where I ordered something that looked like a hippy piece of art.  It had yogurt, muesli, apples, honey, strawberries and grapes.  What a wonderful, messy pile of health it was.

I then made my way to the sports center at University College Galway.  As a student here in 1995, I used to visit this place often.  Actually, the sports center I knew stopped being used the year after I left which was a good thing since it was very old and extremely outdated.  It was literally a half step away from a gym that would promote wrestling boulders and killing people for exercise. 

When I walked in the reception area, behind the desk was a man in his early sixties and one of the gentlemen I knew from 1995.  Gay is his name and uhh, well…onward.  It was great to see Gay (I swear that’s his real name) and catch up.  In our discussion, he told me to check out a comedy show happening at the King’s Head.  It was a one-man show performed by a former UCG student named Peadar (pr. Pather) De Burca.  I thanked Gay for his time, gave him my contact information and moved on.

I decided it was time to walk up to Corrib Village, the place of residence when I was student.  I’ve been back to Ireland several times since I was at UCG but it’s always supersonic to stroll up the Corrib River to see the place that helped bring manhood to me.  After soaking up some memories in the village, I continued further up the river and into the fields that looked out onto the river and to the opposite side where an abandoned castle stood. 

I then headed back to the house, napped and went back into town.  Soon I found myself at the King’s Head, enjoying a pint of Guinness and Peadar De Burca’s show, “Why Men Cheat”.  It was a show full of characters telling the audience their moments of romantic infidelity.  It was well-performed and written and involved the often involuntary participation of several audience members. 

My favorite part of the show was the surprise entrance by Peadar.  He popped out of a chest that had been sitting on the stage.  He literally curled himself up in this small thing and waited for 45 maniacal minutes.  As great as it was, he sadly did not get a huge reaction out of the audience.  If I stuffed myself into a box for 45 minutes and popped out of it on stage, two people better explode and someone’s hair better turn white and someone better shout out, “My goodness!!”

After the show, I went to Taffes pub and Monroe’s Tavern, enjoying live music at each venue.  I then ate a putrid cod burger and went home.

Saturday, August 25th

Well, I did it.  I woke up this morning, left the house and did something I try to do whenever I travel alone.  That thing is to initiate some interaction with a lady and sort of ask her out. 

I went into a café and was served by a flower-like Italian woman.  I began to ask what part of Italy she was from and why she was in Galway (initiate some interaction with a lady…).  Chiara told me she moved to Galway for the summer to improve her English.  She also told me that she is nearing the end of her studies to become a doctor. 

I then told her that I would be having a drink at Monroe’s Tavern at 8 PM and she is welcome to also have a drink at that same time in this public atmosphere (…and sort of ask her out). 

Mission accomplished, I went back to the house, gathered a few items and drove off to Clifden, a small town located in the scenic region of Connemara.  On the drive out, I remembered just how psychotic the driving in Ireland is.  People here drive 65 mph or faster on roads that Americans would feel nervous doing 35 mph.  The best is when you need to pass someone.  The process usually follows this path:

Muster the courage to attempt a pass…begin your pass…see a car coming around the bend suddenly heading right for you…furiously hitting the gas…cursing your car’s inadequate acceleration…wondering if you’re going to make it or crash into the oncoming car with such force that atoms split apart…looking left to see if you’ve passed the car…glancing straight ahead again to see how close your potential fate is…look left…straight again…realize you are so close to the oncoming car you hear the driver’s breath…feeling weak and tiny now…wondering if I’ll make out with a female ever again…one last look left…coast clear…pulling left…living…repeating process ten minutes later.

Once in Clifden, I walked around, bought some gifts for my nephew and nieces, and purchased a Cuban cigar that will work its way into my life in the next few days.  I then got back into the car and drove west around the Sky Road, a 12-mile coastal loop that boasted delight-filled views of the ocean. 

At one point, I got out of my car, walked down to the edge of a steep hill and saw nothing but fog.  It could have been a huge drop-off or merely ten feet to the bottom, I could not tell.  I then found a nice rock to sit on and began to scribble and eat a container of strawberries that I purchased in Galway.  After about ten minutes, I lifted my head and could now see that I was on top of a tall ridge that spilled out to some houses below and then the sea.  It was like the fog moved in and out like a drawer on a cash register.

This experience reminded me of the time that my friend Matt and I were driving from Los Angeles to Boston in December of 1997.  We decided to check out the Grand Canyon and arrived in the nearby town after the sun had set.  We spent decent money on a hotel and in the morning, drove up to the front gate, paid the ranger $20 and drove into the park.   Never having seen the canyon, I was excited to do so now.  I rushed over to the edge, looked in and literally saw nothing but cloud.  Visibility was probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 feet.  It was as if the canyon didn’t even exist. 

Matt and I looked at each other, laughed our asses off and drove to Amarillo, Texas where we encountered the hugest omelet I have ever seen in my life…on a plate…in a restaurant – it’s not like we saw some wild omelet monster running through a field in northern Texas. 

Upon reflection though, we became agitated with that punk ranger that took our $20.  I’m sure he knew there was no Grand Canyon to see that day.  He could have warned us of our impending folly.  Heck, maybe he didn’t know.  Maybe there were Indians living in the bottom of the canyon with high-powered, fast-acting smoke machines (like the kind in rock concerts).  Maybe they filled the canyon with smoke to screw with the whole institution of tourism and they did it so fast that the other rangers didn’t have time to relay the information to the genius at the front gate.

I then drove back from Clifden to the house, cleaned up and headed to Monroe’s, wondering if the Lady Chiara would show up.  I sat myself down at the bar, ordered a drink and began to read my book.  It soon became apparent to me that there would be no Italian ladyness in my life that evening.  Mildly disappointed, I continued to drink and read (I’m so tough).  A meal eventually made its way in to the process as well.

Once the eating and the reading and the drinking reached an optimal level, I left to go for a walk around the city.  During my stroll, I passed by a bachelorette party.  As I passed by this group of cackling, chattering females, I felt a large net come over my body and could now see that it was indeed a pink net.  I could also see that the bachelorette was the culprit.  She then put her arm around me so her giddy friend could take a picture of this risky moment.  We then made some cute and clever conversation and I told her that I would pray for her marital success.  I walked on, grabbed one more pint, read a bit more and went home.

PART V