corianderstem
Blue Crack Distributor
To Westport, To Galway
Pictures for this part of the tale: Westport to Galway Sept 21-22 - a set on Flickr
September 21 - time to hit the road! I caught the shuttle back to the airport to pick up my rental car. I'd been told my multiple sources not to drive in Dublin: not only is it unnecessary with their great public transportation options, but it's an absolute nightmare. Plus, I was told, if you pick up your car on the way out of Dublin, then your first driving experience is on the motorway, and it's pretty hard to mess that up! Works for me.
Picked up my little blue Ford Fiesta and took my sweet time getting my directions and maps out of my bags, and familiarizing myself with the car. Get in on the right side. Shift with the left hand. I learned to drive on stick, and it comes back easily if I'm back home and driving my parents' cars ... would it come back as easily here?
Yes! Honestly, driving was a piece of cake. For the most part. Reverting back to stick was easy, and shifting with the left hand was second nature after five minutes. The hard part? Being aware of where the left edge of your car was. Any beatings my car took, it was all on the left side.
My biggest problem was keeping my left wheels on the road. I'd be tootling around down the motorway, when my left wheels would hit the shoulder. Easy to drive in the left lane .... harder to keep yourself from veering left.
Right turns were tricky as well, from the left lane. A few days later, I would make a right turn onto a very narrow bridge with stone walls, and SCRRRRRRRRRRRRAPE! Oops. I didn't see any marks on the car when I got out later to check, but I know I hit that bridge wall.
A few instances of my left wheels going up on a curb on turns through narrow village streets as well, but that was the worst of my "mishaps" ... although "mishaps" seems like a strong word. I kept all my mirrors, which, from what I've read from other travelers, is an accomplishment in and of itself.
The motorway was indeed easy, and a relatively straight shot across the country. I'd had plans of seeing a few sights along the way, including Moydrum Castle, the castle ruins on the cover of U2's "The Unforgettable Fire" album. But once I was on the road, I realized I just wanted to get straight to Westport. The directions to this place that I'd found online were kind of vague, and with my first day driving, I didn't want to be dealing with "vague."
I went into this trip as prepared as I could be, and that included directions from place to place via Google maps. It was a bit excessive, as the signs for the roadways were (most of the time) well-marked, and getting from city to city was not hard.
Getting around WITHIN a city? Not so much. I hit my first roundabout entering Westport, and looked for the street as marked on my directions. No match. The same thing happened on the way to Galway - my directions were useless. D'oh!
So I drove into Westport not really knowing where I was going, and unable to see anything resembling street signs. In Dublin, the street signs were up high, usually attached to buildings. In Galway, the signs I saw were low to the ground (when I saw them at all). In Westport? No idea.
Westport is small, but the streets were narrow, and there was a lot of traffic, so it was a bit nerve-wracking driving blindly through the streets, trying to look for street signs as well as trying to make sure I didn't bang the left side of the car into parked cars in the narrow streets and take out someone else's mirror.
But I lucked out, and after only a few pointless turns, I saw the hotel - relief! I parked, checked in, and went to find a pub to reward my first day of successful driving with my first Guinness.
Matt Malloy's was the pub where I'd been told was THE place to go in Westport. It's owned by a member of The Chieftains, and is known for great traditional music. So I popped in and ordered a half pint of Guinness.
Now, while I'd never been a big fan of the stuff, in recent months I'd decided that it wasn't so bad, and would occasionally have one if I was out with friends. But everyone had told me "Oh, you have to have one in Ireland! It tastes so much different there, so much better!" Apparently the stout does not travel well, which is why it supposedly tastes better in Ireland.
Call me a bad beer drinker, but I honestly couldn't tell the difference. It was just okay. I had one more half pint in Galway the next day, and still couldn't taste any difference, so from then on I switched to Bullmer's cider (which, for the record, is called Magner's everywhere else but in Ireland. It's delicious!).
I wanted to see if I could walk to the harbor, and was told it wasn't a long walk, and there was a path that would take me out that way. So I headed out. It took me through the grounds of a swanky hotel complex, then through some lovely woods, and then I could see the quay along the harbor, and the ocean in the distance. It was still quite a ways off though, and I'd been walking for over a half hour already. And I wasn't really wearing the right shoes to walk another 20 minutes or so before having to turn around. I turned back without getting all the way to the harbor, but it was a nice walk anyway.
Moseyed around town a bit, had the worst meal of my trip (pizza that was the weirdest pizza I'd ever had; I heard another table of people complaining about theirs as well). Hung out in my hotel for a while, killing time until 9:30, when the nightly session would start at Matt Molloy's.
The session was in a back room, and there was music already going when I got there, a woman playing guitar and singing. People crowded into that room and spilled out into the rest of the pub. After the woman was done, the regular session musicians arrived, and started playing the expected traditional music.
They didn't play songs that I knew, but almost everyone in the room seemed to know them, and sung along enthusiastically. In between songs, an old man would tell a story or a joke. I swear I missed a few punchlines due to his thick accent. I was wondering if he had thickened his accent on purpose for the benefit of us tourists in attendance.
I wasn't keen on spending just one night in a city, but there were some things near Westport (County Mayo) that I did really want to see, and it was just far enough outside of Galway that it made sense to do the one night in Westport.
So the next morning, I set out to head out of town .... and it only took me a few wrong turns to finally head in the right direction!
Just outside of town is Croagh Patrick, a 2,500 foot mountain. According to tradition, St Patrick went up the summit in 441 AD, fasted there for 40 days and then banished all the snakes and demons from Ireland. But even before Christian times, it was a sacred destination for the Celts as well.
Nowadays, on the last Sunday of each July, it's a site of pilgrimage, where climbers will take the long way up (the pilgrimage route), some of whom will walk barefoot! I had no intention of doing anything remotely like that, but had considered taking the "easy" way up, which I'd been told could take anywhere from 2 to 4 hours, considering how good a hiker you are. I figured I could do it in less than four, for sure.
But faced with the mountain in the fog and mist, that plan quickly went by the wayside, so I just went up a little ways to take some pictures, and then headed back down, passing a class of teenaged boys and their teachers who were on their way up. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't climb, as it would have been pretty late by the time I'd gotten to Galway. Another thing to save for next time.
Across the street from the mountain is a famine memorial, a sculpture of a coffin ship symbolizing the mode of transport for the famine-stricken people fleeing the country.
There's some information at this site, if you want to read more: The History Place - Irish Potato Famine: Coffin Ships
During the Famine, an estimated half-million Irish were evicted from their cottages. Unscrupulous landlords used two methods to remove their penniless tenants. The first involved applying for a legal judgment against the male head of a family owing back-rent. After the local barrister pronounced judgment, the man would be thrown in jail and his wife and children dumped out on the streets. A 'notice to appear' was usually enough to cause most pauper families to flee and they were handed out by the hundreds.
The second method was for the landlord to simply pay to send pauper families overseas to British North America. Landlords would first make phony promises of money, food and clothing, then pack the half-naked people in overcrowded British sailing ships, poorly built and often unseaworthy, that became known as coffin ships.
From there, I was taking a detour on the way to Galway, rather than just taking the straight-shot down there. I'd read about the Doo Lough Valley and it sounded like it was gorgeous scenery to drive through. And it was. There were a few other cars that I passed, but for the most part, it was desolate and silent, the only other sound being the wind.
It was still a bit foggy, so the mountains were partially-covered, but that just added to the eerie stillness of the area. I encountered my first sheep in the road, and so far, this was the narrowest road I'd driven. But there are always lots of little pull-outs on both sides of the road, so when you meet an approaching car, one of you just pulls over into one and lets the other one pass, and then you give the little Irish finger wave to acknowledge the other. (I find myself doing it still here in the States, even two weeks later!) The pull-outs also make handy places to stop and take pictures, as every time you turned a new corner, there was something beautiful to take a picture of. And the sun that did filter through the clouds just added to the beauty, as the light played with the mountains and the fog and the colors.
(A note on the sheep: they were everywhere in the countryside, and they were dotted with color, like they'd been spray-painted. This was just to make sure the farmers knew whose sheep were whose. So you'd see sheep with blobs of pink or blue on their backs. I don't think I saw any sheep without these markings.)
The West was badly impacted by the Famine, and driving through this area, there's another marker to memorialize yet another horrible event from that time.
In March of 1849, hundreds of starving people walked the 10 miles from Louisburgh down to the Delphi Lodge hoping to get food for their families, or be declared destitute to gain entry to the workhouses. They were turned away (despite having been told to go do the lodge for assistance), and many died on the walk back to Louisburgh.
I hadn't planned on stopping in Cong, just wanting to get down to Galway to my B&B, but, as per usual with me, I had to pee, so I stopped to walk around and find a pub to slip into for the restrooms. I ended up visiting Cong Abbey, which was just lovely. It was founded in the 7th century, but after being attacked in 1203, it was rebuilt in the early 13th century. The ruins seen there today date back to that reconstruction.
Made it to Galway ... and once again, my Google directions were useless. I circled the roundabout a few times trying to decide which way to go, and after two false starts and backtracking, I decided to follow the signs to the city center, as I knew the neighborhood I was staying in (Salthill) was west, along the Bay, and I had to go through the city to get there.
Sure enough, I started seeing signs for Salthill. The traffic was awful, though, the worst I encountered in Ireland. picture rush hour traffic in a mid-size US city. The plop that traffic into an Irish city full of old, narrow streets. Ugh!
Finally made it to my B&B (after having to stop and ask for directions, as I could not, again, find any street signs). Lovely B&B, right by the Bay. Settled myself in and set out for a walk down the promenade. Tons of people out and about, walking, jogging, playing with their dogs on the beach, swimming ... yeah, swimming. I have no idea how cold that water was, but the B&B owner assured me it wasn't anything resembling "warm." There was even a little pier with a diving board at the end of the promenade where the brave (or crazy) souls entered the water.
Had dinner at a cozy restaurant/pub, beef and Guinness stew - yum! This place had the best brown bread I had anywhere in Ireland. It was like candy to me. Bliss.
September 21 - time to hit the road! I caught the shuttle back to the airport to pick up my rental car. I'd been told my multiple sources not to drive in Dublin: not only is it unnecessary with their great public transportation options, but it's an absolute nightmare. Plus, I was told, if you pick up your car on the way out of Dublin, then your first driving experience is on the motorway, and it's pretty hard to mess that up! Works for me.
Picked up my little blue Ford Fiesta and took my sweet time getting my directions and maps out of my bags, and familiarizing myself with the car. Get in on the right side. Shift with the left hand. I learned to drive on stick, and it comes back easily if I'm back home and driving my parents' cars ... would it come back as easily here?
Yes! Honestly, driving was a piece of cake. For the most part. Reverting back to stick was easy, and shifting with the left hand was second nature after five minutes. The hard part? Being aware of where the left edge of your car was. Any beatings my car took, it was all on the left side.
My biggest problem was keeping my left wheels on the road. I'd be tootling around down the motorway, when my left wheels would hit the shoulder. Easy to drive in the left lane .... harder to keep yourself from veering left.
Right turns were tricky as well, from the left lane. A few days later, I would make a right turn onto a very narrow bridge with stone walls, and SCRRRRRRRRRRRRAPE! Oops. I didn't see any marks on the car when I got out later to check, but I know I hit that bridge wall.
A few instances of my left wheels going up on a curb on turns through narrow village streets as well, but that was the worst of my "mishaps" ... although "mishaps" seems like a strong word. I kept all my mirrors, which, from what I've read from other travelers, is an accomplishment in and of itself.
The motorway was indeed easy, and a relatively straight shot across the country. I'd had plans of seeing a few sights along the way, including Moydrum Castle, the castle ruins on the cover of U2's "The Unforgettable Fire" album. But once I was on the road, I realized I just wanted to get straight to Westport. The directions to this place that I'd found online were kind of vague, and with my first day driving, I didn't want to be dealing with "vague."
I went into this trip as prepared as I could be, and that included directions from place to place via Google maps. It was a bit excessive, as the signs for the roadways were (most of the time) well-marked, and getting from city to city was not hard.
Getting around WITHIN a city? Not so much. I hit my first roundabout entering Westport, and looked for the street as marked on my directions. No match. The same thing happened on the way to Galway - my directions were useless. D'oh!
So I drove into Westport not really knowing where I was going, and unable to see anything resembling street signs. In Dublin, the street signs were up high, usually attached to buildings. In Galway, the signs I saw were low to the ground (when I saw them at all). In Westport? No idea.
Westport is small, but the streets were narrow, and there was a lot of traffic, so it was a bit nerve-wracking driving blindly through the streets, trying to look for street signs as well as trying to make sure I didn't bang the left side of the car into parked cars in the narrow streets and take out someone else's mirror.
But I lucked out, and after only a few pointless turns, I saw the hotel - relief! I parked, checked in, and went to find a pub to reward my first day of successful driving with my first Guinness.
Matt Malloy's was the pub where I'd been told was THE place to go in Westport. It's owned by a member of The Chieftains, and is known for great traditional music. So I popped in and ordered a half pint of Guinness.
Now, while I'd never been a big fan of the stuff, in recent months I'd decided that it wasn't so bad, and would occasionally have one if I was out with friends. But everyone had told me "Oh, you have to have one in Ireland! It tastes so much different there, so much better!" Apparently the stout does not travel well, which is why it supposedly tastes better in Ireland.
Call me a bad beer drinker, but I honestly couldn't tell the difference. It was just okay. I had one more half pint in Galway the next day, and still couldn't taste any difference, so from then on I switched to Bullmer's cider (which, for the record, is called Magner's everywhere else but in Ireland. It's delicious!).
I wanted to see if I could walk to the harbor, and was told it wasn't a long walk, and there was a path that would take me out that way. So I headed out. It took me through the grounds of a swanky hotel complex, then through some lovely woods, and then I could see the quay along the harbor, and the ocean in the distance. It was still quite a ways off though, and I'd been walking for over a half hour already. And I wasn't really wearing the right shoes to walk another 20 minutes or so before having to turn around. I turned back without getting all the way to the harbor, but it was a nice walk anyway.
Moseyed around town a bit, had the worst meal of my trip (pizza that was the weirdest pizza I'd ever had; I heard another table of people complaining about theirs as well). Hung out in my hotel for a while, killing time until 9:30, when the nightly session would start at Matt Molloy's.
The session was in a back room, and there was music already going when I got there, a woman playing guitar and singing. People crowded into that room and spilled out into the rest of the pub. After the woman was done, the regular session musicians arrived, and started playing the expected traditional music.
They didn't play songs that I knew, but almost everyone in the room seemed to know them, and sung along enthusiastically. In between songs, an old man would tell a story or a joke. I swear I missed a few punchlines due to his thick accent. I was wondering if he had thickened his accent on purpose for the benefit of us tourists in attendance.
I wasn't keen on spending just one night in a city, but there were some things near Westport (County Mayo) that I did really want to see, and it was just far enough outside of Galway that it made sense to do the one night in Westport.
So the next morning, I set out to head out of town .... and it only took me a few wrong turns to finally head in the right direction!
Just outside of town is Croagh Patrick, a 2,500 foot mountain. According to tradition, St Patrick went up the summit in 441 AD, fasted there for 40 days and then banished all the snakes and demons from Ireland. But even before Christian times, it was a sacred destination for the Celts as well.
Nowadays, on the last Sunday of each July, it's a site of pilgrimage, where climbers will take the long way up (the pilgrimage route), some of whom will walk barefoot! I had no intention of doing anything remotely like that, but had considered taking the "easy" way up, which I'd been told could take anywhere from 2 to 4 hours, considering how good a hiker you are. I figured I could do it in less than four, for sure.
But faced with the mountain in the fog and mist, that plan quickly went by the wayside, so I just went up a little ways to take some pictures, and then headed back down, passing a class of teenaged boys and their teachers who were on their way up. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't climb, as it would have been pretty late by the time I'd gotten to Galway. Another thing to save for next time.
Across the street from the mountain is a famine memorial, a sculpture of a coffin ship symbolizing the mode of transport for the famine-stricken people fleeing the country.
There's some information at this site, if you want to read more: The History Place - Irish Potato Famine: Coffin Ships
During the Famine, an estimated half-million Irish were evicted from their cottages. Unscrupulous landlords used two methods to remove their penniless tenants. The first involved applying for a legal judgment against the male head of a family owing back-rent. After the local barrister pronounced judgment, the man would be thrown in jail and his wife and children dumped out on the streets. A 'notice to appear' was usually enough to cause most pauper families to flee and they were handed out by the hundreds.
The second method was for the landlord to simply pay to send pauper families overseas to British North America. Landlords would first make phony promises of money, food and clothing, then pack the half-naked people in overcrowded British sailing ships, poorly built and often unseaworthy, that became known as coffin ships.
From there, I was taking a detour on the way to Galway, rather than just taking the straight-shot down there. I'd read about the Doo Lough Valley and it sounded like it was gorgeous scenery to drive through. And it was. There were a few other cars that I passed, but for the most part, it was desolate and silent, the only other sound being the wind.
It was still a bit foggy, so the mountains were partially-covered, but that just added to the eerie stillness of the area. I encountered my first sheep in the road, and so far, this was the narrowest road I'd driven. But there are always lots of little pull-outs on both sides of the road, so when you meet an approaching car, one of you just pulls over into one and lets the other one pass, and then you give the little Irish finger wave to acknowledge the other. (I find myself doing it still here in the States, even two weeks later!) The pull-outs also make handy places to stop and take pictures, as every time you turned a new corner, there was something beautiful to take a picture of. And the sun that did filter through the clouds just added to the beauty, as the light played with the mountains and the fog and the colors.
(A note on the sheep: they were everywhere in the countryside, and they were dotted with color, like they'd been spray-painted. This was just to make sure the farmers knew whose sheep were whose. So you'd see sheep with blobs of pink or blue on their backs. I don't think I saw any sheep without these markings.)
The West was badly impacted by the Famine, and driving through this area, there's another marker to memorialize yet another horrible event from that time.
In March of 1849, hundreds of starving people walked the 10 miles from Louisburgh down to the Delphi Lodge hoping to get food for their families, or be declared destitute to gain entry to the workhouses. They were turned away (despite having been told to go do the lodge for assistance), and many died on the walk back to Louisburgh.
I hadn't planned on stopping in Cong, just wanting to get down to Galway to my B&B, but, as per usual with me, I had to pee, so I stopped to walk around and find a pub to slip into for the restrooms. I ended up visiting Cong Abbey, which was just lovely. It was founded in the 7th century, but after being attacked in 1203, it was rebuilt in the early 13th century. The ruins seen there today date back to that reconstruction.
Made it to Galway ... and once again, my Google directions were useless. I circled the roundabout a few times trying to decide which way to go, and after two false starts and backtracking, I decided to follow the signs to the city center, as I knew the neighborhood I was staying in (Salthill) was west, along the Bay, and I had to go through the city to get there.
Sure enough, I started seeing signs for Salthill. The traffic was awful, though, the worst I encountered in Ireland. picture rush hour traffic in a mid-size US city. The plop that traffic into an Irish city full of old, narrow streets. Ugh!
Finally made it to my B&B (after having to stop and ask for directions, as I could not, again, find any street signs). Lovely B&B, right by the Bay. Settled myself in and set out for a walk down the promenade. Tons of people out and about, walking, jogging, playing with their dogs on the beach, swimming ... yeah, swimming. I have no idea how cold that water was, but the B&B owner assured me it wasn't anything resembling "warm." There was even a little pier with a diving board at the end of the promenade where the brave (or crazy) souls entered the water.
Had dinner at a cozy restaurant/pub, beef and Guinness stew - yum! This place had the best brown bread I had anywhere in Ireland. It was like candy to me. Bliss.