DAY 2: Gal as in gallblatter.

Off to my grandmam’s old stomping grounds in Galway we went. Did a bit of “I spy with my little eye…” along the way. There is a castle constantly within sight along the coast.

Stopped at Coole Park where William Butler Yeates himself went for inspiration, i.e. The White Swans of Coole Lake… a very enchanting piece of land covered in ivy and beech trees, one of which has W.B.Y.’s initials carved in the trunk along with several other famous writers.

Stone walls are the primary property divider… after the war, the famished were put to work by building these in exchange for food. I believe with my inseam I could easily step over a majority of them- and I’m certain one of these techni-colored sweaters could heave themselves over, but it seems to keep the beef and ponies put.

Ate on Salt Hill in Galway at a little Italian bistro and wandered to the library following a margherita pizza to find my ancestors. I didn’t have the luck-o-te-Irish; nearly impossible to trace… or the librarian was being a lazy sack and hates anxious American morons like myself.

Checked out the first maker/founder of the “claddagh” ring- Dillon of Galway, 1750. Fun to see all the old wax and rubber castings… because I love wax and rubber…. “Let Love and Friendship Reign.”

I keep finding myself getting in the wrong side of the car. Tomas asks if I’d like to drive and I reply “Do you want to die today?” Saw a ten year old get out of the left side of an SUV and thought “She’s MIGHTY young to be behind a wheel…” Blond.

Drove back through the “reeks” of Burren- puke and rally has a whole new meaning… remember Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride? Well strap yourself into a french sedan and step on it… one lane roads with stone wall bumpers. Oh, and rain.  Weeeeeee! All the the hills are pure rock…

“No tree strong enough to hang a man,

No water deep enough to drown a man,

No soil soft enough to bury a man.”

Literally no man’s land, that is until you turn the corner and see that lovely Guiness sign hanging off a hot pink pub called Connolly’s. My Motha’ Land… I can hear it now… “Look at te bland ocross the bear…” if only they knew.

It’s official! The Irish are THE kindest people ON EARTH. Must be where I get it from. Tomas has not allowed me to pay for one damn thing! I threatened a gas station cashier’s permafrost locks with a 2 euro pocketknife to let me pay for his coffee. And he gave me a Nokia in case of emergencies- complete gentleman. His mot’er Mary offers me tea and homemade brown bread every 20 minutes AND she gave me a beautiful little wool scarf she made with special “heritage” knots. If sailors were ever lost/found, you could identify him by the knots used to make his scarf. Mine has blackberry knots and rope twists… its like a hairy white chocolate twizzler.

Tis Connolly is outa’ Ennis and off to Dublin in te marning. And Tomas is driving me tere… golly gee willikers, what a lad.