An End to Tourism

We awoke early in the hated West County Hotel. We wanted out, and we wanted it bad. However, our Bed and Breakfast, pre-booked for that evening wouldn't be able to receive us until late that afternoon, and as we had driven far more than planned the day previous, we were only about 30 minutes away. No matter what, it was time to get the hell out of there though.

It was at this point I decided to hop in the shower, and we learned that the West County wasn't quite done with us. I'd originally walked into the room, and noticed some plastic parts soaking in a half a soda bottle sitting on the bathroom counter. While I noted it, I only did so in the sense that the room was crappy and weird, and this only added to that. Turning the faucet on, it suddenly occurred to me that those parts were actually the interior workings of the showerhead, without which, water shot straight out of the shower, and onto the floor, not really leaving us with the ability to effectively clean and rinse, and making a hell of a puddle.

Defeated, we put on clothes, brushed teeth, and made for the front desk. We did some complaining, and asked to have the room discounted because of the various awfulnesses of our stay. We were told that they could take a little money off, but not much, because if there was a problem with the shower, we should have told them. Now, checkout was at 10, and we noticed the problem at about 9:30. We didn't want to wait around for them to fix it, and have to stay longer, or move to a separate room with 20 minutes to go, but either way, the Best Western corporation deemed it was our fault. But who wants to focus on a crappy hotel during an otherwise magical trip? Not I.

I believe on this morning, like all victims, we sought to punish ourselves, and rather than trying to find somewhere to eat breakfast in Ennis, we stopped at the nearest convenience store/gas station and bought muffins or tiny donuts and something vaguely related to a juice product. It was fast eating and convenient food for two people who wanted to be anywhere by where they were as soon as they could be. Covered in crumbs, we left Ennis behind us, perhaps forever.

A quick, and very internationally expensive, phone call confirmed that we could indeed drop our things off at the Bed and Breakfast, even though the room wouldn't be ready until 4 that afternoon. We didn't want to drive our car laden with possessions into Limerick, because we'd read that that is a very stupid thing to do, and we're nothing if not cautious. The lodgings were conveniently located just about 10 minutes from Shannon Airport, from where we'd be leaving the next day. Just before arriving, we saw yet another castle, this one Bunratty, and parked the car before deciding that we really had no desire to see another castle, which was just as well because this one was more tourist trappy than all the rest, being situated next to the motorway coming from the airport. Ironically, we opted instead to go to the Blarney Woolen Mills, situated across the road, a store full of more Americans than actually live in our neighborhood.

This was a mighty estuary of schlocky retail wonder. If your overpriced souvenir or choice wasn't here, it wasn't anywhere. We spent a good hour picking out gifts whose origins we hope are never discovered. From t-shirts to hats, to frames, to jewelry to anything you can slap a sheep or a shamrock on, this place was nearly absurd. After sorting out some strange tax-back scheme the Irish have going, we took off in search of our lodgings.

We ended up driving down some tiny road way off the main path wondering who would ever start a business in a place you couldn't find. I kept asking Lindsay if we'd in fact "missed it" and she assured me that we hadn't. Finally, just before giving up and going to wait at the airport, we found the place, and were quite surprised to find that we had our own little room with a private entrance and a little porch. This place had been recommended specifically and highly by my aunt, who has done more Ireland travel than most. And she was not wrong. The proprietor, another woman named Mary, was as lovely and affable as the others, if not more so. It seems as if people got nicer as we traveled, but that can't be proven scientifically. A quick conversation, and a few tips about going to Limerick, and we were off to meet with our tour guide, Michael O'Donnell for the Angela's Ashes Walking Tour.

I recognize that this is a very touristy thing to do, and, for a moment, I recoiled at the idea, but then, I really liked the book, so we went for it. After a quick lunch in a cafe (beef and chips again!), we met Michael outside the Limerick Tourism Centre, and waited for the rest of the group to show up. After about 15 or 20 minutes, we gave up on the rest of the group and began the tour/book quiz.

Michael's favorite method of showing things from the book was to ask us "Do you remember the story of the _______" from the book. Lindsay and I answered the same every time, which was to say, "No, we don't really remember exactly what happened." This caused him to eventually ask if we had indeed read the book at all, to which I replied, "Yes, but apparently, I remember nothing about it at all, save the tone, and the fact that it was in Limerick." You'd think this would stop him from asking that question over and over, but it didn't and we all settled into a nice routine.

That doesn't mean that it wasn't interesting. Michael knew the book very well, reciting bits verbatim, despite claiming to have only read the book the once. We saw where McCourt went to church, school, and about 3 of the places he lived. Limerick, it should be said, is much nicer now than it was back then, and where there were once lanes full of filthy impoverished people, there are now Irish yuppies in German cars.

Michael did have one trick which was repeatedly impressive. He'd walk and talk in such a way that you were unwittingly positioned in a specific spot, and on the way, he'd ask if we remember such and such in the book, and we'd say no, or guess and get it wrong, and he'd sigh, and eventually just tell us. And at the point of the story where it mattered, he's saying, "and that school is right behind you!" and you'd turn around, and smile, and take pictures and so forth. He did this well, and it was impressive each time. I'm saying, if you're in Limerick, go on the tour. It's a good time.

Our feet tired, and the afternoon waning, we decided to go back and avail ourselves of our tiny porch. Lindsay, ever the prepared one, wanted to have some time to rearrange our baggage, and make sure there was room for the goods we'd be taking home with us, and I just wanted to not search for something entertaining.

Where normally, after you find someplace that's hard to find, and you go back, it doesn't seem so out of the way, this was not the case. It was still way the hell out there. But then, at the same time, it was quiet and beautiful, and relaxing. It was also the most beautiful afternoon one could wish for. I sat at the table on our little deck and read while drinking tea, and Lindsay made volumes of items fit into container that defied physics. They had a small dog with a missing lip who came over to inspect us, and only tried to bite me once. I forgave him, because missing one of your lips would make anyone testy.

At this point, we did the "re-pack all your stuff, and get ready to get out of town" thing. We were kind of in the middle of nowhere, so there weren't many options for food. Contrary to our prior avoidance to pub food, it only seemed appropriate to spend the last night in a pub. As it turns out, that was our only option, because at the end of the very long road where we were staying was the only place we could find, and it was, indeed, a pub. It seemed a normal pub on a normal night, but as it was our last night in town, we decided to do it up. As much as possible anyway. I got a steak (you get better steak in America to be honest) and Lindsay got some pasta dish that wasn't actually that awful. Then it was chocolate cake for desert, because we're on vacation dammit!

As we were eating, an Irish National Football game started up, and the place actually came a bit alive. Ireland went up early against Slovakia, and then Slovakia tied, and then Ireland scored an incredible goal, and of course blew it right at the end, when Slovakia scored the tying goal. It was a qualifying game for the Euro 2008 tournament, and as yet, they haven't won any games, just some draws. Ah soccer, where you try real hard and then you tie. But it was a ton of fun to be there. I don't really love sports all that much, but national teams are always fun to watch, because everyone has to be behind them. Lindsay had a Guinness, and I had an Irish Coffee, which I don't think I was prepared for. The whiskey was strong. Mighty strong. My hands got tingly, and I stopped partially out of the desire to be able to drive back, and partially because I thought that if I kept it up, I might never taste anything again.

After a quite satisfying evening, I offered Lindsay the chance to drive home, as she hadn't experienced right-hand driving, and her time was running mighty short. But do you know what the best time to learn driving on the other side of the road is? It isn't in the pitch black night of Ireland's country on a dippy narrow road with no streetlights. But she did it anyway, and we missed that oncoming car by at least 4-5 inches. With much relief and an incredible sigh, we pulled into the driveway of the B&B unharmed, collapsing into sleep a short time later.

In the morning, we got up and dropped the car off by 9:30 or so, and made our way into an extremely crowded Shannon Airport, and the airport was arranged like London, where you end up in a central holding area with all the passengers from all the flights, and with one pub-like stand with food, which is the only food you can get in the airport. And there was a line of much magnitude and girth, filled with lots of American soldiers who were there for some reason I don't know. They called us through customs, and we went through a series of long halls to some chairs with access to a hidden bathroom, and broken vending machines. I don't think either of us were looking forward to the extremely long flight, but we did want to be back home again.


And that was really the end of the whole thing. I can tell you know, writing this, I could certainly see myself going back several more times. I could even live there given the chance. But that might just be a "grass is greener" sort of statement, which is quite literally true. The grass really is greener, and the skies are bluer. We were ready to go home, but were already missing the place.

Actually, I think I could deal with a trip up Ireland's west coast right now.