Good Craic in Galway

For those wondering about how to pronounce the title, it's "Crack" just like the stuff touted on some NYC streets. Only here the word means "fun." Some people even greet eachother with expressions like "What's the Craic?" Try asking a NYC policeman of Irish origin next time you see one. They'll understand .... no really. Onwards to the post.
Goodbye Cork, Bonjour Galway. A much smaller town than Cork on the West coast of Ireland, Galway is a youthful place. With the large amounts of Universities in the area it seems all of the kids congregate either in the main park, Eyre Square or by the water. Yes water, because Galway is right on the Atlantic Ocean! At last we meet, on the other side.
The main river in town flows out into the bay leading to the ocean. All around here are little peninsular type formations which jut out into the water. Covered in grass they make great congregational spots for the areas youth. Though, there are no guardrails so one wonders exactly how many inebriated souls end up swimming by the end of the night.


If Cork had a few buskers than Galway is loaded to the teeth. From harpers to guitarists to drummers to fire dancers to an elderly Irishman who rants and plays the spoon by the James Joyce statue. Outside the main tourist area the place reminds me of an Irish Virginia Beach or Ocean City, Maryland.
Beach front property appears to be hot commodity with gray little houses filling winding lanes with a pub or two sprinkled in for good measure.
Surprisingly though, despite the high tourism, one was able to find complete silence by the water. You’ll find this post shorter than the rest as promised. Though it is mostly because I’m doing almost no touristy stuff and mostly just walking and playing guitar. Not to mention the barrage of amazing music I’ve just picked up from my great host in town Célia. J'ai pratiqué aussi mon français un peu, sorry George.

Photo overload at dimakay.fotki.com

Escape to Inishmore

Though I spent a few days in Galway, this trip deserves it's own post. Monday the 22nd was the trip to the Aran Islands, a group of three Island in the Atlantic Ocean just off the coast of Galway. We were only visiting the biggest island, Inish Mor. After waking up rather early to catch the bus to the ferry we were on the Island. My host, Celia, was accompanying me. Once on land, bicycles were rented and we were off. Perhaps a taste of the Irish luck, the sky was clear with the sun all day, not a touch of gray.
The Island itself is small, only 12 miles by 2 miles approximately. Though the island is inhabited and there are some shops and bars near the docks, most of it is barren with only about 3 to 4 inches of topsoil. Aside from natural rock formations there are many traditional Irish fences made up of thousands and thousands of elaborately placed stones. In the more desolate parts, set against the landscape, they give the Island the look of an alien planet.
Inhabiting many such plots are countless cows, goats and horses grazing or just lounging in the fields which are rich with the aforementioned Irish grass. Another highlight are the beaches around the Island. Though they were too cold to swim in the water was as blue as any tropical beach, with grey-whitish sand to boot.

After a bit of riding around we found some coastline to explore. The Island had decided I needed to get my feet wet, literally. As I approached the coast walking on what I thought was rocks covered in seaweed, I stepped onto a piece that was just seaweed and water underneath. Fortunately, I was wearing water resistant shoes which are apparently quite good at keeping the water in the shoe as well! That wasn’t going to stop this traveler though.
In no particular hurry (we’d arrived at 11 and the ferry was at 5), we stopped for an extended lunch by the water. Having worked on our tans in the Atlantic breeze we set off. Upon trying to make it to the other side of the Island, we’d realized there were no roads around so we had to double back. This put us on a rocky uphill road that brought us to the highest point on the Island. From here we could see both mainland Ireland and the open ocean.


Lost in the Island frame of mind it had dawned on us that our ferry was leaving in no more than 45 minutes (not true, I find the Irish time approximation is more akin to Italy than Germany) and we were on a rarely used road with crappy bikes in the middle of the bloody Island. Fortunately, the nice climb meant that all that was left was a bumpy descent. We actually made it back in time and caught the frigid ferry ride back, satisfyingly exhausted and dreaming of hot tea.

As usual more photos available @ dimakay.fotki.com

Decompression in Cork

Alright here it is, the first entry. Since it’s the first it’ll be verbose and self-important. I promise to work on that and trim all that is to follow. I’m writing this on a bus heading from Cork to Galway out on the west coast of Ireland.

My flight left JFK on Tuesday evening. After a bit of concern over whether or not my guitar would be allowed onto the plane, I boarded the plane and even had a empty seat next to mine. After drifting in and out of consciousness for about 6 hours we touched down in Dublin. The temperature was a brisk 50 degrees but it was a welcoming change to the muggy NYC summer which had decided to stage a last stand in the days before I left.
After taking care of essentials, I hopped a bus to the City Centre where I was to catch the bus out to Cork. For the uninformed, I was in Dublin back in 2005 with some friends and basically spent 4 days running around from bar to sights to bar. Though I met a few great locals in many of the small pubs we popped into, I’d really wanted to get out of the city and see the actual Irish countryside. So this time I made it a point to avoid Dublin.
The bus ride was about 4 hours long, but it wasn’t until we were two hours into the journey that the driver pulled over for a 10 minute break. The air hit me as soon as I stepped out of the bus. Most country people laugh at us city kids when we are excited about simple things like cows, horses and sheep grazing in the fields, super green grass and that air that somehow finds the forlorn crevices of your sinuses that have been long blocked by the dust off of office air conditioners.
That combined with rolling hills and charmingly half dilapidated farm houses really helped to rally my body to wake up as it had now been about 25 hours since I’d slept. We descended into a small yet bustling city with a river going through and numerous bridges. I didn’t have to meet my host Benny for a few hours so it was deemed some wandering was in order.
If you are ever curious to find out just how much you’ve over packed, go walk up some spiraling Irish hills. On the upside, I did get a great view of the city of Cork. After a bit of people watching I met Benny at pub called An Brog. Benny lives in a nice little house not far from City Centre with two German girls. After a spot of dinner we went out and hit some pubs. The thing I love about an Irish pub is that it’s a place where anyone and everyone can just slip in for a pint and a chat without being worried about wearing the proper attire for that particular place or part of town. The music, if there is any, is never obnoxious and you can actually hear each other talking. Just another one of those things that a New Yorker finds quite refreshing.
The next day was my one touristy thing in Ireland. I was heading out to Blarney Castle, home of the Blarney Stone. They say kissing the stone gives you the gift of gab. Actual Irish people will tell you all of the supposedly disgusting things people do to said stone to make fun of tourists. No one I’d spoken to has seen this happen, or really even been here. Note: I’ve never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building and would probably scoff in a similar manner at such things, but hey when in Rome.
After a quick bus ride, only about 15km, you arrive in little town centered around their landmark. The thing I didn’t expect was that the castle sits in the middle of a beautiful estate. Complete with a little brook, gardens, fields and a few of the surrounding hills it was worth the trip alone. After a go up and through the Castle and some awesome mucky caves, I spent the rest of the time just walking around the estate, just breathing in the air and watching life. I’ll let the pictures do the talking about the castle.
The rest of the day included more wandering and some dinner. I think in two days I’ve seen enough of the city to start seeing some of the same faces and knowing my way around. I guess to me that is the charm of Cork. The fact that it has the infrastructure and culture life to keep one entertained but is small enough to not swallow you.
The next day I had to and meet Jim, my next host in Cork, with whom I unfortunately only got to spend one night due to my own blunders. He lives at the top of a giant hill which the call Blarney Street, supposedly the longest street in all of Ireland. Climbing it with my pack and guitar left me drenched. Fortunately, this would be the only time I’d have to climb this hill as Jim was kind enough to lend me his bike.
Jim had an photo exhibition he was participating in that night so I accompanied him. Full of free wine and sandwiches we hit some great pubs with two of his friends. The last of which was Sin-e which had a bunch of people playing traditional Irish music between pints at a table. Last call had us going back up the hill slightly tipsy and looking for take-away.
The morning was the ole rush as Jim had some bike event to go to, so we saddled up and I rode the bike with my pack and all down the hill. We parted ways and I caught my bus out to Galway where I’m hoping to spend a few days before heading up to Donegal. For those still reading, yes I kissed the stone.

I leave you with one picture, the rest are at
http://public.fotki.com/Dimakay/travel/ireland-2008/