Céad Míle Fáilte! My Ireland Vacation Journal
Posted 10-24-2007 at 01:06 AM by jude
(NOTE: This lengthy post is mostly intended for my close friends and family. Of course, should you wish to read through this long vacation recap, be my guest.)
I'm convinced that it's places like this that inspire writers (and even non-writers like me) to write. This lush, private, hedged-in courtyard, just off the gorgeous, perfectly green, sloped yards of an estate (on the center of which sits what is now my dream house)--with the perfect combination of sounds of a fast-flowing stream out front, birds of several varieties singing and chirping, and the oddly comforting noises (comforting for a Metro Detroit suburbanite anyway) from the occasional cars and trucks on the road that pass this place that I wish was mine forever--inspires thoughts that demand being expressed through my hands into this keyboard that sits in front of me (or vocally if anyone was actually sitting in front of me; but, thankfully for that someone, I'm alone, and so I type). I could live here at this estate for the rest of my life, if not for a couple of minor glitches: First, it's not for sale; second, even if it was for sale, it would almost certainly be so far out of my current price range that buying it at even half the price might require a career change, to, say, something that involves nervous couriers trying to get through customs, very fast speedboats, and very low-flying planes trying to evade radar. Of course, there's always the possibility that my legitimate career choice(s) could eventually lead me on a path back to County Galway in Ireland as not just the renter, but the buyer of this emerald slice of inspirational heaven on earth, and so I've another new goal in life, which is to be old (but hopefully not too old) and happy here with my wife eventually.
The crunching of gravel under tires out front brings even more peace to my heart, reassuring me now that my family has just safely returned in our rented van after taking a drive to look at a nearby 15th century castle and its grounds. (For Americans unfamiliar with Irish roads, our driveways are wider than most of them; so a safe return for someone used to driving on much wider roads, on the opposite side, is a reasonable thing to be thankful for.) And the sound of my three-year-old son's cute little shoes crunch-crunch-crunching through the gravel will soon lure me from this table and bench in this dreamy courtyard, through the arched arbor opening in the back yard's densed hedge border to greet them all (my son, my wife, my sister-in-law, and our cousin) out front. (My father-in-law is in the large home's front room taking in a book in front of a peat-brick-fueled fire.)
This is me on my first out-of-the-country vacation I've taken in almost seven years. Yes, business travels have taken me to many places in between vacations--including this very country where now I am--but it is pretty much always without the company of my family. And, though my wife's family has a lovely cottage on one of the Great Lakes that we escape to for weekend (and occasional week-long) getaways, I'm reminded here that we should plan on getting away together--really getting away like this--more often than once every six or seven years.
I feel a kinship with Ireland's County Galway that quite literally started with a song many years ago. Before so sadly it closed, my father-in-law used to love to treat us to turkey dinners at Michigan's oldest inn, the Botsford Inn. It was a glorious throwback to a time long before my time to enter the old foyer of the Bostford Inn, and to be greeted and led into one of its dining rooms by its latest proprietor, Creon Smith, like we were old friends of the place--we all felt like small pieces of a whole lot of history there every time we went. On some nights there--the best nights there, as far as I was concerned--a man named Lyman P. (Dusty) Rhodes would serve as troubador to the smiling diners, his particular specialty being a knack for fully transporting his audience to Ireland with a God-given gift for story-telling and music. Thanks to Dusty, I had Ireland steeped in my heart long before I'd ever stepped foot in it, or sipped at a Guinness properly poured. One song--and Dusty's passionately descriptive narrative that preceded it--always resonated with me more than any of the others (and I loved all of them), and it was "Galway Bay." I felt I had to find out more about this place that clearly owned a part of Dusty's heart, even after just the first time I'd heard him sing it (and I've since heard him sing it many times), so I read about it, and saw pictures from the various parts of County Galway, and put it on my short list of places I absolutely have to visit before I die.
Then, on a flight to Dublin a few years back, I ended up sitting with a red-headed, freckle-faced, green-eyed Irish girl who spoke Gaeilge (Irish) as her first language, and English as her second, who happened to be from a place in County Galway, where (and I'm not kidding) her parents owned a pub, essentially making her the most Irish girl in the world, as far as I was concerned. And, though she wasn't currently living there at the time (she was teaching English in another part of the world, and returning home for a visit), there wasn't an Éire-accented syllable she spoke to me about her home (including the phrases I asked her to speak to me in Irish) that didn't strengthen my desire to visit Galway. Unfortunately, on that particular visit to Ireland, I never got any closer to Galway than Tullamore (and that certainly isn't very close)--though, for a Head-Fi'er like me, Tullamore was particularly special in another way, because I had the opportunity to tour Sennheiser's state-of-the-art factory there (and it's in that factory that they manufacture some of my favorite headphones, like the HD600 and HD650).
Now, several years later, I finally made it to this place I'd also since seen on a couple of different travel television shows (shows that, again, did nothing to wane my deep desire to one day be here). My family arrived in Ireland a week before me, staying at a cottage in Kilkenny, and driving the van to several counties and towns from there, logging countless kilometers (hey, I'm in Ireland, so kilometers it is for now). We were to meet up in Galway, but my journey there wasn't quite as dreamy as the place itself has been, and ended up being, for me. Here's a bullet-point summary of my journey from Detroit to Shannon Airport and Galway, most of which I wrote at points in transit (all times in Eastern Standard Time, unless otherwise noted):
We packed a lot of sightseeing and relaxation into our time together, and I'll forever treasure the memories of my time in County Galway (and other parts of Ireland we drove to) with my wonderful family. I had raw oysters in Clarinbridge, at a place that came highly recommended by a local for their fresh oysters. We were treated to a round of drinks by the owner of a pub that we initially couldn't figure out by its sign if it was named "Anglers" or "Antlers" (click here to see a picture of the sign), which wasn't made any easier by the fact that inside the pub were wall-hung taxidermied fish and, yes, antlers. (The fish outnumbered the antlers and appeared on the sign, so we guessed "Anglers," and it turns out we were right.) We went to the Cliffs of Moher. We did some rock climbing and scrambling in the Burrens. We shopped. We drank countless pints of Guinness and Smithwick's in as many pubs as we could amble into. And we made that new dream house of mine (new to me, but probably built in the early 1800's) feel very much like our home for just over a week.
I’m in my beloved courtyard again, and it’s the day before we depart for home. For a man to spout this much long-windedness for what amounted to just over a week’s vacation for him is an obvious sign that he probably needs to vacation more often than he does. Unfortunately, my work responsibilities make that very difficult, and it may be a few years again before I can leave the country like this with my family (I hope not, but if history is any guide…). And that’s why I’ll always treasure the memories of this trip, my first out of the country with my son, and the first in many years with my wife (and with other members of our family).
I'm convinced that it's places like this that inspire writers (and even non-writers like me) to write. This lush, private, hedged-in courtyard, just off the gorgeous, perfectly green, sloped yards of an estate (on the center of which sits what is now my dream house)--with the perfect combination of sounds of a fast-flowing stream out front, birds of several varieties singing and chirping, and the oddly comforting noises (comforting for a Metro Detroit suburbanite anyway) from the occasional cars and trucks on the road that pass this place that I wish was mine forever--inspires thoughts that demand being expressed through my hands into this keyboard that sits in front of me (or vocally if anyone was actually sitting in front of me; but, thankfully for that someone, I'm alone, and so I type). I could live here at this estate for the rest of my life, if not for a couple of minor glitches: First, it's not for sale; second, even if it was for sale, it would almost certainly be so far out of my current price range that buying it at even half the price might require a career change, to, say, something that involves nervous couriers trying to get through customs, very fast speedboats, and very low-flying planes trying to evade radar. Of course, there's always the possibility that my legitimate career choice(s) could eventually lead me on a path back to County Galway in Ireland as not just the renter, but the buyer of this emerald slice of inspirational heaven on earth, and so I've another new goal in life, which is to be old (but hopefully not too old) and happy here with my wife eventually.
The crunching of gravel under tires out front brings even more peace to my heart, reassuring me now that my family has just safely returned in our rented van after taking a drive to look at a nearby 15th century castle and its grounds. (For Americans unfamiliar with Irish roads, our driveways are wider than most of them; so a safe return for someone used to driving on much wider roads, on the opposite side, is a reasonable thing to be thankful for.) And the sound of my three-year-old son's cute little shoes crunch-crunch-crunching through the gravel will soon lure me from this table and bench in this dreamy courtyard, through the arched arbor opening in the back yard's densed hedge border to greet them all (my son, my wife, my sister-in-law, and our cousin) out front. (My father-in-law is in the large home's front room taking in a book in front of a peat-brick-fueled fire.)
This is me on my first out-of-the-country vacation I've taken in almost seven years. Yes, business travels have taken me to many places in between vacations--including this very country where now I am--but it is pretty much always without the company of my family. And, though my wife's family has a lovely cottage on one of the Great Lakes that we escape to for weekend (and occasional week-long) getaways, I'm reminded here that we should plan on getting away together--really getting away like this--more often than once every six or seven years.
I feel a kinship with Ireland's County Galway that quite literally started with a song many years ago. Before so sadly it closed, my father-in-law used to love to treat us to turkey dinners at Michigan's oldest inn, the Botsford Inn. It was a glorious throwback to a time long before my time to enter the old foyer of the Bostford Inn, and to be greeted and led into one of its dining rooms by its latest proprietor, Creon Smith, like we were old friends of the place--we all felt like small pieces of a whole lot of history there every time we went. On some nights there--the best nights there, as far as I was concerned--a man named Lyman P. (Dusty) Rhodes would serve as troubador to the smiling diners, his particular specialty being a knack for fully transporting his audience to Ireland with a God-given gift for story-telling and music. Thanks to Dusty, I had Ireland steeped in my heart long before I'd ever stepped foot in it, or sipped at a Guinness properly poured. One song--and Dusty's passionately descriptive narrative that preceded it--always resonated with me more than any of the others (and I loved all of them), and it was "Galway Bay." I felt I had to find out more about this place that clearly owned a part of Dusty's heart, even after just the first time I'd heard him sing it (and I've since heard him sing it many times), so I read about it, and saw pictures from the various parts of County Galway, and put it on my short list of places I absolutely have to visit before I die.
Then, on a flight to Dublin a few years back, I ended up sitting with a red-headed, freckle-faced, green-eyed Irish girl who spoke Gaeilge (Irish) as her first language, and English as her second, who happened to be from a place in County Galway, where (and I'm not kidding) her parents owned a pub, essentially making her the most Irish girl in the world, as far as I was concerned. And, though she wasn't currently living there at the time (she was teaching English in another part of the world, and returning home for a visit), there wasn't an Éire-accented syllable she spoke to me about her home (including the phrases I asked her to speak to me in Irish) that didn't strengthen my desire to visit Galway. Unfortunately, on that particular visit to Ireland, I never got any closer to Galway than Tullamore (and that certainly isn't very close)--though, for a Head-Fi'er like me, Tullamore was particularly special in another way, because I had the opportunity to tour Sennheiser's state-of-the-art factory there (and it's in that factory that they manufacture some of my favorite headphones, like the HD600 and HD650).
Now, several years later, I finally made it to this place I'd also since seen on a couple of different travel television shows (shows that, again, did nothing to wane my deep desire to one day be here). My family arrived in Ireland a week before me, staying at a cottage in Kilkenny, and driving the van to several counties and towns from there, logging countless kilometers (hey, I'm in Ireland, so kilometers it is for now). We were to meet up in Galway, but my journey there wasn't quite as dreamy as the place itself has been, and ended up being, for me. Here's a bullet-point summary of my journey from Detroit to Shannon Airport and Galway, most of which I wrote at points in transit (all times in Eastern Standard Time, unless otherwise noted):
- 1343 flight from Detroit to New York delayed to 1500. Plane taxis at 1510. Something called a "ground stop" at JFK is keeping us grounded in Detroit, but for how long I have no idea. Well, it's now 1715, and we're finally taking off for JFK. I thought planning a three-hour layover at JFK would give me plenty of scheduling wiggle-room, but....
- ....we arrive at JFK about a half-hour after my Aer Lingus flight to Shannon went wheels-up.
- At JFK, I find out that I may have to wait until the next day to catch a flight out, as their only other flight to Ireland remaining that night (a 2140 to Dublin) isn't filled, but also doesn't have enough meals for all the passengers, due to a glitch in the Aer Lingus flight-planning matrix. Like several others, I am put on stand-by, pending the hopeful arrival of more food for the flight. I meet a nice young lady from Manhattan named Heather, heading to Dublin to stay with friends. Heather is text messaging back and forth with her friends in Dublin to keep them updated, as I am also doing with my wife, who is in Kilkenny. Like me, Heather's on standby, awaiting news of the food situation, both of us gladly willing to waive our meals to get on that flight (but, alas, it seems FAA regulations don't care whether or not we're willing to skip our flight meals).
- Hooray! They got the food just in time to get us on that 2140 flight. To get me to Shannon, Aer Lingus is re-routing me on that 2140 flight to Dublin, with a subsequent connector to Shannon. Though scheduled for a 2140 takeoff, the flight doesn't go wheels-up until just before midnight. For six hours or so, my portable rig keeps me company, entertaining me with music and podcasts. The portable rig I have with me for this trip is my Ray Samuels Audio Tomahawk (chosen for its combination of fidelity and its seemingly endless battery life, which is great for extended travels), my iPod nano, an ALO Audio three-wire Jena Cryo Dock (chosen for its physical flexibility), an Ultimate Ears UE-11 in-ear monitor, and a Sennheiser PXC450 active noise-canceling headphone (which I like for its full-size, comfort, and "talkthrough" feature, which allows me to hear what's going on around me when needed). I listen to some GTD Connect podcasts, the new Radiohead album In Rainbows (I love it), a lot of Brad Mehldau and Tord Gustavsen Trio, and some other podcasts about SEO and SEM (search engine optimization and search engine marketing), and still more music of every stripe.
- Despite the late flight out of JFK to Dublin, I do still make it in time for my connector to Shannon in Dublin, which ends up taking off at 0645 EST. It's a very short flight from Dublin to Shannon, taking off and landing in what seemed like a half-hour at best.
- I'm in Shannon, but my luggage is apparently still in New York--don't get me started. At the earliest, I'll get it tomorrow, said the very nice gentlemen manning the lost luggage desk. One of the men gives me a complimentary Aer Lingus dopp kit for my troubles, telling me he's “99.9% certain” I'll get my luggage delivered to me at the house we rented in County Galway tomorrow (which is almost two hours away from Shannon Airport by bus). (I found out later that, in addition to toiletries and a razor, inside of that dopp kit was underwear, and an undershirt--the undershirt was very roomy on me, but, on the other end of the fit continuum, wearing the Aer Lingus underwear was as close to wearing a thong as I ever hope to get.)
- I hop on a bus to Galway at 0955 EST. It's about a two-hour ride. 10 miles shy of Galway, it breaks down, apparently having blown its radiator. It is from this broken-down bus that I'm typing this now. Luckily, at the airport bus stop a couple of hours prior, I met a nice gal from New Zealand, who has been backpacking it through Europe for the last 3 1/2 months (staying with friends along the way, too). We discuss traveling, our families, our friends, music, and even headphones. At some point in the conversation, she mentions that her iPod's iBuds have been dying a crackling death. I reach into my backpack and give her a pair of Sennheiser earbuds, to her delight.
- My temporary travel pal (and now Facebook friend) and I get on the new bus that comes to save us from our now-useless, overheated vessel, and complete our trip to Galway. We gab for the remaining distance to Galway, and, as we exit the bus together, chatting it up, my wife--who'd been touring Ireland with my son, her sister, her cousin, and her father for over a week before I got there--surprises me at the bus stop, tugging at my shirt. I introduce my new travel buddy to my wife, we say our good-byes-and-nice-to-meet-you's, and then my wife and I saunter off arm-in-arm to the waiting van that my family'd been traveling 'round Ireland in before I arrived. (The New Zealander and I, later that week, greeted each other on Facebook again, where we wished each other well, updated each other on our travels, and she told me the Sennheiser earbuds sounded fantastic.)
- My luggage arrived today around 1700 Ireland time (the day after I arrived in Ireland), which couldn't have been a more welcome relief, after what felt like an eternity of constantly yanking that Aer Lingus underwear from my butt crack.
We packed a lot of sightseeing and relaxation into our time together, and I'll forever treasure the memories of my time in County Galway (and other parts of Ireland we drove to) with my wonderful family. I had raw oysters in Clarinbridge, at a place that came highly recommended by a local for their fresh oysters. We were treated to a round of drinks by the owner of a pub that we initially couldn't figure out by its sign if it was named "Anglers" or "Antlers" (click here to see a picture of the sign), which wasn't made any easier by the fact that inside the pub were wall-hung taxidermied fish and, yes, antlers. (The fish outnumbered the antlers and appeared on the sign, so we guessed "Anglers," and it turns out we were right.) We went to the Cliffs of Moher. We did some rock climbing and scrambling in the Burrens. We shopped. We drank countless pints of Guinness and Smithwick's in as many pubs as we could amble into. And we made that new dream house of mine (new to me, but probably built in the early 1800's) feel very much like our home for just over a week.
I’m in my beloved courtyard again, and it’s the day before we depart for home. For a man to spout this much long-windedness for what amounted to just over a week’s vacation for him is an obvious sign that he probably needs to vacation more often than he does. Unfortunately, my work responsibilities make that very difficult, and it may be a few years again before I can leave the country like this with my family (I hope not, but if history is any guide…). And that’s why I’ll always treasure the memories of this trip, my first out of the country with my son, and the first in many years with my wife (and with other members of our family).
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