Viajar el mundo: Black Gold and a Hundred Thousand Welcomes.

18th December

It was too difficult to tell the two apart, so I drank them both

Ireland wasn’t on our original itinerary during all that planning months ago. Maybe it was a wild night in an Irish pub in South America that prompted us to visit. Kylie hadn’t been to the Emerald Isle yet and for me it was like a homecoming, having Irish family and having spent many many years drinking Guinness there. So we reaccommodated a few things and headed across the Atlantic, to colder climes.

The jumper would lose this ugliest thing contest to the ranga

We flew from Rio to Dublin via London on the world’s shittiest airline, British Airways. How else can you categorise them after finally getting fed and watered at 3am, three hours after take off, and been given 1 cup of water throughout the flight, while trying to sleep on bent and twisted seats. Rio airport itself isn’t much chop, but we were highly entertained by the Scotsman trying to board the plane still swigging from a stubby, this after several fruitless attempts by airline staff to locate him and extract him from one of the bars.

The Irish countryside is littered with castles, rocks, ruins and is such stockpiled with medieval history that on its own could take months of exploring. However, it is winter, so our history lesson was to be short and brief, as much as we could stack inside a week and within the boundaries of shortened daylight hours.

The Rock of Cashel was our first highlight, after departing from Dublin. It towers above the small town of Cashel in county Tipperary, and was a traditional seat of the Kings from the 12^th century onwards. It usually looks good, unfortunately some scaffolding obstructed our views a fair bit so we held gift shop postcards to our eye line to imagine what its like.

The brilliant thing about travelling in Ireland is the freedom and ease to do things. And the short distances. No more marathon bus rides. If you stayed on a bus for 24 hours in Ireland it’s likely you were drunk and fell under the seat. Here, its 3-4 hours from coast to stunning coast. We hired our own car, and were happy to have remembered how to drive after so long since we operated a vehicle. Add to that that I usually drive an auto, so yep, I stalled a few times on the roads. At night we would rest in B&B’s, meeting the local proprietors and engaging in warm and friendly, and often strange conversations. One such laugh was to be had with Patrick from our Cashel pad. Winter sees very few guests so the money dries up for the locals, and in a country such as Ireland who are currently experiencing severe economic difficulties at this time, the winter can be very long. So he was thrilled to see us, overjoyed. He quickly ran in to the living room and threw some logs on the fireplace, and shifted two chairs in place for us to rest and soak up the heat.

“Now sit there will ye, here is some tea, get yourself some books and relax”, says the amiable host Patrick, in his thick middle-aged midlands accent.

“Thanks Patrick, that’s very nice of you”, I gestured.

Patrick then left us to continue his chores, which we assumed was painting, judging by the remnants on his hands and overalls. We heard the footsteps slowly up the stairs, only to pause, as they proceeded to file back down again.

The door creaked open every so gently, and Patrick’s face crept into view.

“Now lads, where did ye say ye are from now?”

“Australia”, we replied.

“Ok then, that’s grand that is”, as he closed the door and continued upstairs.

Again, a pause, and the footsteps returned. The door opened slightly again, and the fair hair cut through the air

“Do ye want some marijuana?” asked the host with the most.

Taken aback, not knowing what to say, except marvelling at the current extent of Irish hospitality. We politely declined, and a disappointed Patrick closed the door, but there were no more footsteps. The door opened again, same face, same hair, “Well will ye have some whisky then?”

Of course we will. A roaring fire, quiet night, a glass of Jamesons, who wouldn’t want that. But we never saw Patrick again until his bleary eyes watched over our huge breakfast the next morning. We left in high spirits as he made us promise him he could stay at our place when he visits Australia, if that ever happens.

Lego competitions in Ireland are taken very seriously

The Rock of Cashel, still with twelfth century scaffolding

The Ring Of Kerry is one of the world’s best drives. The west coast of Ireland is stunningly picturesque, with sights such as twelfth century castles, homely villages; endless rolling green hills and fields, and of course loads of sheep. The weather was particularly Irish as we traversed the narrow roads, grey and gloomy with a bit of rain coming up sideways. All the best conditions to find refuge in a cosy local pub and have a roast dinner by the fireplace. Which we did an awful lot. The Ring Of Kerry route takes you through Gaeltacht, or Irish speaking areas. Although English is understood, it is not spoken as a rule. We landed in Dingle for the night, a beautiful town almost on the extreme west of the mainland. We were lucky enough to have a drink at the local pub in town (one of them, there are dozens) and experience the fervour of card night, where the locals come to play an exciting brand of cards all the while discussing the ills of the worlds. No money is gambled; it’s purely for fun and conversation, and drinks are strictly not allowed on the playing surface, which is also a wooden bench. We were invited to share in the excitement and frivolity but politely declined and instead headed to a traditional music session, which turned out to be an old man with a mandolin singing about lost love in the mountains. Dingle is the sort of place you would expect to see the cast of Father Ted hanging about over a pint. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid if you saw a sheep downing a stout at the bar. Its just Dingle.

Number 5 , is still alive

Murphy thought he was onto a winning idea naming the pub as the only Murphys in Ireland

The weather cleared the following day and allowed access to even more spectacular views as we headed north through Killarney, Tralee and into Galway, to me the most beautiful part of Ireland.

Galway lies on the west coast only three hours from Dublin, overlooking Galway Bay due west and the Aran Islands slightly off course from there. There is no Craggy Island though. I’m assuming many people are disappointed when they visit that there is no Father Ted Island.

Galway is like many places in Ireland, its famous for homely snug pubs and also it’s the home of the Claddagh Ring, which you see many Irish lasses wear. I’m not sure what the significance is but I’m sure it’s important

Drink. Feck. Girls

Short on Y's, tourists were often asked to stand in

The Irish generally have the gift of the gab, no doubt, which is unsurprising as Ireland is home to the Blarney Stone, just outside of County Cork. Legend has it kissing it in a contortionistic kind of way will gift you eloquence for life. To get this opportunity, one must climb through the narrow passages of the medieval Blarney Castle, towards the top where a friendly Irishman helps you bend your neck into an impossible position while laying horizontal as you look to the ground twenty or so metres below, upside down with only his safe hands around your waist. You then attach your lips to the stone, which was previously sanitised by Windex and safely negotiate the return to your usual upright position. As you look for a chiropractor on the way down, the lovely gift shop offers to sell you a photo for an extortionate amount.

Other escape points were necessary when the elevators were broken

Cows found rubber boots especially necessary in the mud

We did of course spend time in Dublin, home to the greatest drink in the world, Guinness. We spent time with some family of mine who were amazing to us and made sure we were well fed and warm. It was great to have home cooked meals with family and friends after so many months of retrieving labelled food to try and create hostel dinners or insincere restaurants.

Dublin was also the opportunity to replace our wardrobe somewhat. After wearing the same old worn out clothes, ruined out of shape by constant hand washing in hard waters and still with stains from Bolivia’s chicken and rice meal of the day, it was time for a new look. So it was off to Penneys, the iconic cheap department store where everything that needed to be replaced was replaced. All for a pittance. Admittedly, I only bought a pair of jeans while Kylie went nuts, and gleefully threw all her old crap into the bin.

We also spent many a night in the pubs sampling Dublin’s finest whilst also catching up with mates. After sightseeing during the limited daylight hours we would relax over a pint of the black stuff with some old great friends of mine. Ireland isn’t all about sightseeing; sometimes the best experiences are to be had simply with the people. The friendliness is explained somewhat in the famous Irish saying that there are no strangers in Ireland, they are friends that you have not yet met.