ultra gaelic

The region Connemara begins just north of the Burren, on the other side of Galway Bay. But when we told our Ballyvaughan hosts that we were heading to Maam Cross, they talked about it as if it were one of the last frontiers on mother earth. Our original plan had been to lodge with a certain Philomena, whose B&B in the Maam Valley came highly recommended – but when Chevy called in April, Philomena informed him that a return to university had forced her to suspend business until the cessation of the exam period. The nearby B&B that she, in turn, recommended was just down the road from the famous (in these parts, at least) Keane’s Bar. The proprietors at Leckavrea Lodge, however, were not home (day trip to Ballyvaughan?) when we called in around midday, so we continued north to the mouth of Killary Harbour, from where we began our afternoon walk.

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Welcome back and you are very welcome to this post on the Burren. 

Lying just south of Galway Bay, the Burren is a severe mountainous limestone region in County Clare. We travelled by rental car from Galway to our Burren base of Ballyvaughan. Seemingly  overestimating the remoteness of the region (don’t think we were in the car for longer than about 45 minutes), or perhaps just eager to do something useful as compensation for his inability to drive a car on the left-hand side of the road, Kevin insisted on making a stop along the way to load up on goodies for the walks we had planned. We passed at least two more such markets on our way to our B&B and discovered another about thirty feet from our accommodation. Ballyvaughan Lodge had come enthusiastically recommended to us by Hawk’s colleague, but the couple running the place had never heard of her and, in fact, were unsure whether the Irish name Kevin blurted out belonged to a man or a woman. They seemed a bit put out by our late arrival, or at least the woman did, as she sat gloomily in front of her telly. The man appeared intent on making up for her moodiness via the convivial welcoming technique of using Kevin’s name as many times as possible in the first five minutes (though he seemed equally determined to ignore me): “Welcome Kevin, now look here Kevin, this is the door you’ll be using Kevin, your room is right this way Kevin, will you take Kevin in your Kevin in the morning Kevin?” 
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Good day and you’re very welcome to this post on Galway. We spent two nights here. 

Kevin seems to rate Galway fairly highly, but I’m not so sure. Perhaps my disinclination stems from the dubious quality of the hotel we stayed in. The first night was an unmitigated shocker as the drunks streaming back to the adjacent apartment block kept me awake until dusk. Hawkworthy, in his far more comfortable bed away from the window, slept just fine. 
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I’ve slipped in a few more photos of Galway and Dublin (and Dún Laoghaire), including a few attempts at doors.

I asked my colleagues what to do over my weekend in Galway. Consensus was to visit the Aran Islands, a group of three islands in Galway Bay that have developed an insular (literally!) culture with especially well preserved Irish language. Wikipedia will tell you much more. I was told that Inis Mór (the largest of the Aran Islands) is is a bit touristy, so I should instead go to Inis Meáin.
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Earlier this month I went to Galway to teach a workshop and then stayed through the weekend to do some sightseeing. Really lucked out with the weather—not a drop of rain any of the five days I was there.

While Galway is unfortunately about as expensive as Dublin, it’s twice as nice. (Don’t just take my word for it: I overheard two people on the train on the way back singing the praises of Galway.) While Dublin is curiously lacking (for a European city) in genuine public spaces, Galway has got lots of waterfront for walking and lounging along, little plazas, and cozy streets whose pubs have sidewalk seating. Those poles with signs hanging on them pointing in various directions for various sites had probably been twisted a bit because they rarely pointed in the right direction; otherwise, no complaints.

Click my favorite photo below to view it and others:
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Two weeks ago I went to Berlin for a long weekend. Mostly tourism but also a little business. I stayed with an old acquaintance and native Berliner, who showed me around the non-touristy parts of Berlin and provided some historical context (as well as anecdotes about the difficulties of doing civil engineering contracting with the city government).

Berlin is great: things cost half as much as Dublin, and there’s a wider, better selection of food. The trick to the city is finding your way around. Signage is generally good but lacking at a few critical junctures. It’s long been an edgy place, so I found the fashion less conventional than in Dublin (read: less purple).

Speaking of purple, I hear purple is big these days in Russia too. Will see for myself when I go in a week (mostly business but also a bit of tourism).

See a few photos of Berlin from this trip, which might be viewed in combination with my photos from a few years ago.

St. Patrick’s Day is the national holiday of Ireland, so it’s a day off from work. Imagine the Fourth of July, only with things on a more modest scale. Since about the mid-’90s, the government has kicked up the celebrations (mostly in Dublin but also a bit in Limerick) to bring in the foreign tourists, and they seem to be doing a good job of that. I hear the parade in Dublin used to be a sad affair, but it’s fairly polished at this point. Still, my coworker’s husband mentioned that he overheard some American tourists at the parade say, “This is the lamest parade ever!”

I find it strange that they brought in the North Carolina State University marching band (whose banner read “North Carolina State Band”, which I found misleading) to march in the parade. They performed their fight song and everything, but unlike at a football game in Raleigh, there was nobody in the audience to sing along and cheer. Those kids looked a bit dispirited marching down Dame Street.

In small towns the local parade consist of taxi drivers driving their taxis and farmers driving the tractors down the parade route. We had none of that. However, there was also no final act to mark the end of the parade. The rear was brought up by a bicycle advocacy group (with people riding bikes), a few guards (Irish policeman) on motorcycles, and then an ambulance. The end!

Dublin is known for its Georgian architecture, with whole blocks of nearly identical buildings. To help distinguish one building from another, people paint their front door a different color from their neighbor, usually yielding a tasteful rainbow of red, blue, green, black, and yellow as you walk down a block.

And then people occasionally choose less conventional colors:

It’s hard to tell, but the center door is a vibrant, deep purple. I assume the it wasn’t recently painted purple, but with the current fashion, who knows.

Forget Wild Wicklow tours: the real expert on Ireland is Mary Gibbons of Mary Gibbons Tours. I went on her Newgrange & Hill of Tara tour last week and learned that she can rattle off facts like nobody’s business. Being the first one on the bus, I got a chance to chat with the bus driver and with Mary herself about things in Ireland. Reckless public spending, powerful unions, government bureaucrats, and the encouragement of bicycling (leading to accidents with cars) were among the evils of contemporary Ireland expounded by the locals.
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