I guess I should start from the beginning, so lets see...
Yesterday, having finally determined that yes, I will have a ticket if I go to Galway, yes I'll have a hostel, but no, no one would be coming with me; I tried to buy my ticket. For whatever reason, it wouldn't let me. I'd tried a week earlier to buy it through the online system, but it just wouldn't work, and now I was having the same issue. When I contacted National Rail, they told me "oh that's weird, that's too bad; guess you'll just have to buy it at the station!" So instead of having a relaxing evening at home packing leisurely for my trip the next morning; I rushed home, threw my stuff together and flew off to the Stoke rail station to buy my ticket. There was some problem with the ferry, that was why I couldn't buy online as I'd hoped; but he was able to do it in the station, yay! But being at the station already, it became a case of; why not just leave now?
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So at 7 o'clock, I got on the train in Stoke. Then, at 10am the next morning; I finally arrived in Galway. After: a 1.5 hour wait at Crewe, somewhere over 2 hour wait at Holyhead, 3-4 hour ferry ride, ridiculous bus ride to Dublin station and 3 hours on a train to Galway. WHEW! Let me just say though, if you're taking the ferry; particularly at a time when you're likely to want sleep, take a blanket! Fancy as that thing may be, it seems to have nothing but airconditioning. BRRRR!
Anyways, having arrived, I went and checked in at my hostel, but couldn't go to my room until 3. No leeway on that. So 5 hours to kill on no sleep. What to do? I know! WALK TO ANOTHER TOWN!!! But more on that in a bit.
Given my experience with the frigidness of the ferry, and the fact it didn't seem the outdoor temperature of Galway was going to be much nicer, I was on the look out for a nice sweater. And I found one! At a nearly 1/2 off sale, pure, hand-knit merino wool; made in Ireland of course, it was such a steal! And so cute, fashionable, comfy... plus it suited me! And was purple! I love it! I'd describe it... but it's tough... It's got a nice wide collar that kind of folds down like a suit jacket's lapels, and instead of buttoning down the middle, it kind of over laps at the front and only has 2 buttons. Kind of a wrap I guess... The kind of sweater I can get real fat, but still be able to wear it.
I also got a pair of socks (not on sale, but still reasonably priced and really excellent quality) so now I have sheepies on my feeties! ^.^ Baaaaah!
So after looking around town, checking out the historic buildings, the bridges, the port and bay; I realized Salthill wasn't as far as I was afraid. In fact, from the description in my guide book, it was practically spitting distance. So I started to walk.
And it was beautiful.
It was an overcast, sometimes rainy day. But it was very nice, and I think the clouds really lend to the epicness of a lot of my photos.
I also saw a leisure centre with a really massive water slide. Something else Jon really likes... It looked really fun.
The promenade I was walking along apparently has a lot of historical significance. Having been a gathering place and vacationing spot as long as there'd been farmers.
As with anything with a history, there is tradition. At the end of the promenade, is a wall. The Wall at the End of the Prom, in fact. And for reasons lost to time it is good luck to kick the wall at the end of the prom and well... I haven't had bad luck since! *knock on wood* :POf course, it's good luck if you wave at someone on Tower Bridge (in London) and they wave back, which I managed to succeed at having happen; then my harddrive broke :/
There was a lot of beautiful views to be had down by the water in Salthill. The tide was a little low (or maybe that was a seasonal thing) and the sea-vegetation wasn't the most pleasant smell at times, but boy did I enjoy the sights.
When I reached a spot a little further down the path from where I took this last photo, I checked my watch and was pleased to see that if I set out now, by the time I got to my hostel I'd be able to sleep! Finally! So that's exactly what I did.
Turns out, basically all the people who worked at the hostel were Canadian; one from Winnipeg (who I'd had a great long chat with before heading out in the morning), one from Vancouver and the night shift guy was from P.E.I. When I got up to my room ("room 12, bed 5... room 12, bed 5... or wait, was that room 5 bed 12? ugggggh") I found I had three roommates already there, turned out they were all Americans (one from Tennessee, two from California) though one of them wasn't actually staying at our hostel. I invited them along to the Enter the Haggis concert after they'd inquired about the fact I was travelling solo. They had macbooks with them too. Right at home!
I took my nap, but woke too early and jumped in the shower; then went back to sleep. When I got up for real, it was mostly because of a pack of rowdy German children who were apparently throwing one another into walls for fun, as one of the American girls noted. We had a good long chat about this and that, then I suggested we head over.
On the way, we were surrounded by a group of guys. 2 older men from Kelly were asking us if we knew where Busker Brown's was until they discovered the girls were "Yanks", and 2 guys from Yorkshire had approached at the same time, from the other side (though they all seemed to be together) claiming they could guess our nationalities.
"Bet you can't" I challenged
"Americans!" he exclaimed
"Nope" I said
Then one of the older men from Kelly grabbed me by the shoulder and exclaimed at the one fellow from Yorkshire, "No!" he cried, "She's Irish!"
I laughed. I guess that's my answer about whether there's something in my looks that give me away as a Canadian or whether, until I speak, people could believe I was British. Even having heard me speak, he thought I was Irish!
Which seems an appropriate segue. Can I just say, and use the previous anecdote as a strange sort of proof, that Ireland is Nova Scotia?
Along my walk out to Salthill, I saw this row of houses along the mouth of the river headed out into the bay and it all just clicked.The accents? Identical.
The architecture? Hauntingly familiar.
Which side of the pond am I on?
I guess I'd never heard a proper range of Irish accents, but the first few women I heard with very thick Irish accents had me doing a double take; they sounded exactly like Mary Walsh! Even the lighter, less noticeable accents, primarily from the local youths, sounded suspiciously Canadian.
Such confusion. But, back to my story.
When we got to Kelly's, it turned out the doors opened at 9, not 8:30 as it had said everywhere else. So we sat around and had a drink. Two of the girls ordered shots of Jamesons, which for some reason, made me cringe. I don't know, I guess it's a terminology thing. My dad drinks "fingers" of scotch, and I never really think of whisky as something you get as a shot, it's more for sipping; unless you're in for a get drunk quick scheme I guess. I had a pint of cider; I guess it was Magners, that seems to be almost all they serve here. Appropriate I suppose given that if memory serves, the can bills itself as Irish cider.
My seat-mate knew the piper, Craig Downie, in the band quite well it seemed, and I got to talk to him a bit before the show. He was checking if the Coca Cola he'd just gotten had High-Fructose Corn Syrup in it and I informed him happily that no, it couldn't. I elaborated that HFCS is a regulated ingredient in the EU so as to protect European sugar producers; he looked like he was about to hug me! Not that I'd mind. Maybe I should make that a goal... get a hug from every member of the band; they are the greatest thing since sliced bread after all! My seat-mate even suggested to Craig that I should make a documentary about them; and he seemed genuinely interested! Wouldn't that be awesome!?! ^.^
They played almost all of my favourite songs, though they didn't play my very favourite, though I suppose that would have been a bit of a downer for the last show of the tour (My favourite is Perfect Song, in case you were wondering). But they started off with my second favourite! One Last Drink. And as an encore, they even let Brian play electric guitar! They did a really fun rendition of a song that I recognized, but can't put a name to, unfortunately... But here's a sample of the fun I had:
Oh so fantastic!
After the concert, I even got to talk to Brian, the singer/fiddler/pianist/guitarist, and let him know how worth it it was to come, and how significant a thing that was for me to say, given that in order to be there, I'd barely slept since the previous morning! He didn't believe that it was worth it, but I still think it was! <3 ^.^ <3
I didn't really have anyone to say good bye to, or to walk home with. I felt a little at loose ends. But I figured I'd go mention to their guest Bodhrán player that I'd appreciated his playing. When he mentioned that he knew Craig through the celtic music scene around Toronto (despite him sounding like quite the native Galwegian) I mentioned that my uncle was in a Celtic band in Ontario around that time. When I said that it was the Privateers; he actually remembered them! I told him that my uncle was Mark, and he remembered him too, though neither of us could remember the names of the other band members all I could come up with was "Mitch... something?" which I've since realized was my brain trying to come up with the name Murray.
Unfortunately, the internet's not great in this hostel, and their Skype is faulty. Plus, the machines are all Linux; which I have little to no experience with. Oh well :(
Off to bed!
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