We flew into Ireland on a very loudly color-schemed Ryan Air jet (think of McDonald’s Playland). I spent the majority of the short flight listening to the people behind me converse in what sounded like Gaelic mixed with English (but which I understood less than the Spanish we heard in South America, and, to refresh, I don‘t speak Spanish) and began to wonder if, converse to my expectations, Ireland would be the most foreign of all the places we had visited. In addition, I feared I would make my 100% Irish Gramps unproud by disliking Ireland.
My first impressions of Dublin didn’t help much:
It has a small city center, though not in a quaint, friendly, easily navigable kind of way. It felt too big to be easily traveled, but without the awe-inspiring infrastructure or buildings of a big city. I guess I can blame the Brits for that. I also found Temble Bar to be like a drunken Irish theme park. Everything felt contrived and New York seems more Irish.
It was cloudy and the bitter, biting wind didn’t help to fill us with joy at arriving. The weather has been the number one thing about the British Isles that I’ve always thought would turn me off. I was right.
Our hostel, a giant dorm that was ok enough until you checked out the bathroom, also didn’t help. The bathroom was co-ed, with 2 showers in the same room, one for men and one for women (with no real changing area). This would have been uncomfortable enough by itself, but the kicker was that this one bathroom was to be shared by two rooms of beds that could number up to 28. It also wasn’t cleaned, at all, and some clothes we left behind were easily recovered 4 days later in the exact same spot we had left them in the bathroom.
Luckily, my mother, in all her frolicking glory, and her friend Valerie were there to cheer us up with stories of an over enthusiastic Romanian waiter/green card seeker, the beginnings of their search for the Masterson family history, and what they had already seen in Dublin. We also got to enjoy the creature comforts of their above average hotel room, which was quite a step up from our hostel.
The highlight of Dublin was actually getting out. We headed towards the west coast and our destination of Westport. We made our way there slowly, via a castle in Trim that reminded me of how cool it was to study castles back in elementary school (you remember those big Eyewitness picture books?) and some flooded country roads winding through amazing terrain of moors, mountains, bogs, and sheep and cattle grazing land. The terrain was truly alien in the most positive way possible and what you hope to see when you travel.
In Westport, we enjoyed the charming tourist town vibe, had several pints of Guinness (more on this later), enjoyed some surprisingly tasty food (I had heard negatives about the food and expected the equivalent of gruel and potatoes), argued with Sue about the merits of a small room with a view versus a larger and warmer room looking out upon a concrete slab (I’m all for the smaller view with the nice view), sat near a fireplace in the homey environs of Matt Malloy’s pub (flutist for the Chieftains), and most importantly, headed out to the local heritage center on a tip from my grandfather, who claimed his father was from county Mayo (in which Westport is located) and who had once visited “a town full of Mastersons.” The friendly woman in the heritage center enlightened us with stories of Mayo and Westport, including about how the town grew and was re-located at the orders of the main landowners, how a noble pirate woman named Grace O’Malley terrorized the seas (and her three husbands) hundreds of years ago, and how my girl Grace Kelly visited ancestors in Mayo after being crowned the Princess of Monaco. Most importantly, we got a lead to the whereabouts of the mysterious Masterson heritage and headed to Achill Island on the coast.
There, we found a sister city of Cleveland (Keel), a restaurant bearing my grandfather’s last name, and the trail of our ancestry, which in all likelihood originated somewhere on Achill Island. This was exciting and nerve-racking for me in an odd way, but thanks to Sue and my mother asking all the questions, all I had to do was drive and not risk annoying the locals too much with random knocks on their doors followed up by random questions about Mastersons. After our investigation ended with no definitive results, but with the future possibility of finding my great grandfather’s birth records on Achill somewhere and locating our roots, we headed back to Westport. By itself, the drive through the bogs of heather and rolling hills overlooking the violent waves of the Atlantic would have been plenty for the day, but we got a bit more, in the form of a Masterson hunt, as well. The whole experience made we want to rally all the relatives for a trip there together to enjoy our homeland. Jack and family, Mary and family, Mom, Dad, and Shannon, let’s do this! (This coming from someone who thinks most of all that heritage nonsense is bollocks).
On our way to Galway to visit Jim, Jung-Eun, and Lina, here were my scattered thoughts of Ireland up to that point:
Driving on the wrong side of the road with the steering wheel on the wrong side is somehow manageable.
Good radio in Ireland- Good soul, but way too much Snow Patrol (I was made aware of their new album and shows throughout the UK somewhere in the vicinity of 100 times during the trip).
Westport-Feels like a real small town; the community is truly friendly with eachother; It also made me witness to the classic three tap Guinness pour (see pics)
Masterson’s Restaurant is in about as beautiful a location as is possible. It’s on the shores of the Atlantic not far from highway N59, the equivalent of California’s Pacific Coast Highway in its beauty
I hope we did Gramps proud here. It would have been great to see it all with him. We might be able to find his grandfather’s grave with some research. The parish church could hold records
Potato Famine-The Irish have forgotten it and forgiven the English. My mother, however, is ready to go to war. I think she’d welcome a return of the IRA.
Whole radio stations and television channels are dedicated to only Gaelic language programming. This came as a bit of a shock. I thought some people knew Gaelic, but that it was not the predominate language for anyone.
Ireland and Korea remind me of each other
-The were both conquered by a nearby nation and treated like dogs
-They’re emotional, fun-loving and love to drink
-They have old pagan traditions that have lived on in one form or another for millenia
-Their both isolated on an island/peninsula
-They both have conservative exteriors and politics that, once cracked, reveal much more wild and crazy sides
In Galway, we had the chance to visit with my friend and former co-worker from Korea Jim, his wife Jung-Eun, and their daughter Lina. They welcomed us with a delicious meal of lamb chops and entertained our many questions about Ireland and their lovely daughter like “how in the world did she get to be so cute?” They also took us out into the countryside to see the Cliffs of Moor and to drive along the coast. This all further cemented the fact that the Irish countryside is better than advertised (even in gale force winds) and should be visited by all of you if at all possible (and hopefully will be again by us).
Later, I had a chance to sit down for a chat with Jim. I realized a few things during the course of that conversation:
Jung Eun and Jim have had a great life. They have experienced a lot and seen and
done more than most everyone we know. They traveled Australia together, working in the cities and on the farms and fell in love. Even though we feel extremely fortunate to be traveling and seeing and experiencing so much, they also have shown us how much more there is to see and do in this world.
Jim and I talked about Korea and where we worked together and I realized how my time there between 2004-2006 would probably qualify as one of the best periods in my life. My coworkers, friends, students, and the other circumstances surrounding me were perfect and I’m glad that I took advantage of them. Jim helped to show me the way as a teacher and support me (as did many other teachers) and I’m grateful to all of them.
Overall, seeing Jim, Jung-Eun and Lina was really rewarding and I’m glad they were kind enough to welcome us.
A few words on the booze:
The Guinness is better here. Better than it is anywhere else. They do a special three tap pour that I didn’t quite understand, but certainly won’t argue with. Guinness also serves as an excellent antidote to the cold, cloudy, and wet climate.
Beamish, another stout, was also nice, and a bit cheaper. The Beamish Red was an excellent surprise: creamy and a little sweater, but by no means overpowering. Obviously, it’s much better on tap as the head cannot be simulated out of a can.
Sue enjoyed her Murphy’s. I found it to be good, as expected, but not better than the Murphy’s I’ve had in the US.
We missed the Jameson distillery (and the possibility of being chosen as a whiskey taster). Maybe next time.
We arrived back in Dublin and, after a very interesting visit to the old prison (now closed, except for tours) on the edge of town, sent off Valerie and my mother after enjoying their wonderful company for almost a week. I can’t thank Valerie enough for accompanying my mother over and making it possible for Sue and I to get to see her and get a little taste of home and family on such an important part of our trip. It was great to see the both of you and I hope it’s not the last time we’ll all travel together. Korea 2009, perhaps?
The next day was pretty non-descript. We explored Dublin a bit more and its ho-humness was confirmed. Our final meal, Irish stew and fish and chips, while ridiculously expensive, was excellent. That about summed up Dublin: More expensive than it should have been, but with better food than expected.
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