Can You Hear Me Now

Geographically, Ireland is a medium-sized rural island that is slowly but steadily being consumed by sheep.

Dave Barry

I did a lot of business travel over my long career. Looking back, I realize that it was too much. Both my family and I struggled with the long absences. I didn’t see it at the time, but it’s not healthy to hop on an airplane several times a month. The frequent flier miles were not worth everything it took to get them.

For the most part, my business travel wasn’t very exciting. Most of my trips were to places like Dallas, Texas or Raleigh, North Carolina. I flew in, drove to my hotel, drove to my place of work, ate poorly, drove back to the hotel, and flew back home. Glamorous it was not and I only have vague memories of most of those trips.

On a handful of occasions, though, I managed to fly to destinations that were far more interesting and at times, downright exotic. Highlights include Australia, Ireland, Hong Kong, Hawaii, and France.

I wrote journals of those trips that detailed what I saw and how I felt. Sadly, most were lost as I changed computers and backups were lost. However, a few days ago I managed to stumble upon two.

Here is one of them. I am not sure if it will be all that interesting to anyone other than me. Still, I wanted to save it here for posterity. At least as much posterity as a WordPress blog can provide.

Prelude

On November 17, 1997, I journeyed to Galway, Ireland. I taught a class on some software I helped develop. For the life of me, I cannot recall what that software was. Thankfully, the class seemed to go well enough and the software was greeted with enthusiasm.

As with too many Northern Telecom projects I worked on, this one never went anywhere in the marketplace. I am sure I learned something from it, though, and that’s all that matters — even if I have no idea what it was.

What follows is my lightly-edited travel journal. I fixed the spelling errors and rewrote a few convoluted sentences while leaving the flow and feel of the trip intact. Changing too much would take away from my original and true feelings. In other words, I left in the half and non-sentences.

Reading my words again all these years, I find that they have become less of a travelogue and more of a reflection of a much younger me. That’s more important than place-names, anyway, and why they are worth preserving.

Fun fact. With the exception of the one of me, I took all the photographs in this article. The black and white photograph that begins the article is a product of my time in the darkroom. I developed the film and made the print by hand. It currently hangs on the wall of one of our Lake Sallie cabins. The color photographs were not developed nor hand-printed by me. I only did black and white work in the darkroom.

And now, without further explanation or delay, here my is my Ireland journal in all its stream-of-consciousness glory.

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Monday

After too many hours of airports and airplanes, I finally made it! First impressions: The roads are narrow, but the drivers are very polite. The houses that run alongside these narrow roads are practically right smack up against the curb. They are white and pink. They are plaster and stone. In the country there are sheep. Lots of sheep.

It is now 8:35 p.m. and I have had only about an hour’s worth of sleep since yesterday morning at six. That may be why I can only understand about half of what people say — especially when the older men speak. Pete, my taxi driver, spoke with such a deep accent that I had a hard time telling his English from his Gaelic. Even so, we became the best of friends. I have met lots of people who are now my best friends.

I was too tired to join my work pals for dinner, so I had a quiet meal at the hotel. I can’t believe that I thought I would hate Irish food. It’s wonderful. And talk about service with a smile. The chef came out to meet me and asked if I wanted anything not on the menu. He told me that he could make just about anything and not to hesitate to ask.

So, I didn’t. I asked for something vegetarian and he made me this incredible dish which simplistically could be described as a filo shell around a stir-fry. I don’t know if it had a name, but it was perfect. And the bread! Homemade slabs of Galway brown bread with fresh butter. Add a delightful cream-based vegetable soup and steamed broccoli, carrots and cauliflower — I was in heaven.

It is now close to 9:00! I made it. I figured that if I could stay up until now, I would get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow even I could speak Gaelic. Pete says he will teach me.

Tuesday

Day one of teaching went very well — many compliments and only a few bugs in the software. We had lunch in a wonderful Irish restaurant — very quaint, very old world.

It stopped raining and since we are not meeting for dinner until about two and a half hours from now, I am going to do some exploring. I am armed with my road map of Galway (for a road system designed generations before Henry Ford), my running shoes, and about 30 Irish pounds in me pockets — all set.

Wednesday

Wandered around a bit in the streets tonight and managed not to get too terribly lost. The map they gave me at the hotel (more of an inn, really) wasn’t all that useful since the roads have no street signs. I did finally figure out that the few roads that did had them on the sides of buildings and not on signposts.

It’s interesting to see how the old and new come together here on the streets of Galway. Most of the buildings appear to be ancient, but what they house is often surprising. An old gray stone building harboring a CD store that blares rap music into the streets. A red brick store that most likely housed a blacksmith is now a cellular phone shop.

I walked down one street that had a dozen pubs in a row. That might also have been the street with two dozen red-haired Irish lasses.

No street begging in Galway. I walk down the streets in a city like Toronto and I am constantly badgered for spare change. Not here.

No straight roads, either. They twist and turn in a maze-like fashion. Pick a road headed west; before too long you are headed east. Walk long enough and you are headed west again.

I stopped for a bite to eat at a homey looking place and I’m now safe and sound in my room.

Thursday

Today was a very intense day. I had to meet with a company from Switzerland to discuss my current product and where I intend to take it next year. They were a very sharp audience and asked lots of difficult questions. I managed to pass their test, though. Who knows? Maybe they will invite me out there for a visit — or at least send me a pound of chocolate.

I am getting better about understanding the accents. Except for the cab driver this morning. I have absolutely no idea as to what he was saying. None whatsoever.

Want to know a funny thing? Only this morning did I discover that I am staying at a bed and breakfast inn. The woman at the reception desk might have said something when I checked in, but I was so out to understand. I have not been eating breakfast the other days, but this morning I felt hungry.

When the woman waiting on me asked what I wanted, I said, “scrambled eggs and toast.” Maybe it’s a local custom, but I got scrambled eggs on my toast. I skipped the black and white pudding when she started telling me about the animal blood. Yuck! There are some Irish traditions I don’t need to experience!

I went to dinner with two workmates and our Swiss visitors. My absolute favorite part of the evening was immediately after leaving the table (it looked like my Swiss friends were going to be there all night, so I was the first one to leave). On the way out I began to chat with the owner of the restaurant and we had the most marvelous conversation about the area and things I should do on the weekend.

Call me a coward, but I really am not comfortable with the thought of driving on roads hardly wider than my upstairs hall. She told me about hourly bus trips up the coast that I could take. These are not tour buses, but buses the locals take to get to some of the northern towns. I learned of all the little hamlets worth stopping in. She told me they are much more Irish than even Galway (fiddlers in the pubs and streets even more narrow). Anyway, we had a lovely chat and I think I will take her up on it and pick up a bus schedule today.

Friday

The workday is through and I’m ready to relax. The night is cool, but dry. I hope for the same tomorrow. I am still debating about renting a car. Maybe I am being a little silly about all of this. After all, the Irish come to my country and drive, don’t they? Sure, our roads are just a trifle wider (like twenty feet!), but what the heck. Thinking…

No more customer visits while I’m here. That’s a relief. I am getting a little tired of being on my best behavior all the time. From now on I get to speak my piece.

Okay, time to wander out to find dinner and some postcard stamps.

Saturday

I took the plunge! I woke up early and had a pleasant breakfast with an environmental engineer from Norway. He had the black and white pudding and rashers — we say bacon, they say rashers.

Funny story. I wanted fried eggs and asked for the yolks to be broken while they were cooking. When they arrived, the yolks were not broken. I told the young girl who was serving me and she said the cook wouldn’t do it. Spoils the presentation, you know. Jeeze, these Irish and their cooking…

But back to my story! I decided that I would rent a car to tour the Connemara region of Ireland. You know what? You get used to left side of the road driving and right side of the car steering wheel pretty quickly. I drove around the parking lot once, realized I had been afraid for nothing and hit the road. This is not to say that the roads all of a sudden got wider and the roundabouts disappeared. They didn’t, but I did manage to survive every Irish obstacle thrown in my way.

The day began foggy with very little visibility and I drove out of town feeling as if I were going to see nothing but white for eight hours. It turns out that I did see a lot of white, but that was only for about the first 30 miles (and yes, they still measure things in miles around here).

I was driving this very narrow road up from the town of Maam Cross when I crossed over a ridge at the top of a hill and all of a sudden the entire world opened up to me. Before me was blue sky, green and brown rolling bog and on either side, two mountains. I literally shouted out, “Oh my God!” It was as if I were blind and suddenly could see. I immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road (the Irish pull over to either side of the street — there is no such thing as parking your car in the same direction as the traffic flow). I ran out across the bog (soaking my running shoes in the process), climbed to the top of the first hill, and stood there awestruck.

Get out your map of Ireland and trace this with your finger. Galway to Maam Cross, Maam Cross to Maam, Maam to Leenane, Leenane to Moyard, Moyard to Clifton, Clifton to Toombeola, Toombeola to Kilkieran, Kilkieran to Screeb, Screeb to Maam Cross and back to Galway.

Along the way, I stopped at Aughnanure castle. Built around the year 1500, this place has an honest-to-goodness moat! It was still a bit foggy there and I felt as if I would see a row of knights come through the mist at any moment. Magical.

Kylemore Abbey was a special treat. I had already seen a photograph of it on a postcard, but I had no idea I would see it in person. I was driving north from Maam when all of a sudden, there it was. As big as a castle, it sits alongside Kylemore Lake. I parked my car and walked around the lake to get a closer look. I decided I didn’t have enough time for a tour of the inside so I said my farewells and headed on my way.

I spent time watching the boats in Killary Harbour at Leenane. I spoke with the woman and her daughter who run a sweater shop in Moyard. I tried to buy potato chips in Ballyconneely.

Me: “Excuse me, do you have any chips?”

Her: “Right here.” Switching from greeting me in Gaelic to English, she hands me a bag of frozen French fries.

Me: “No, potato chips.”

Her, with a puzzled look on her face: “But these are made out of potatoes.”

Me: “Wait,” reaching into a bin, “here they are.”

Her: “Oh, potato crisps!”

I stopped at lots of other places along the way that have no name. I gazed across the Atlantic as the sheep gazed at me. I snagged my foot on a blackberry bush. I watched the still waters of Lough Fee.

And through it all, I never once drove on the right side of the road. In fact, I became such a good Irish driver that I soon adopted the local custom of waving at everyone you pass driving in the opposite direction.

I’ve heard that Connemara is the strongest Gaelic-speaking region in all of Ireland. Between Ballinaboy and Ballynahinch you see more Gaelic writing than you do English. When you do see English, it’s an afterthought. Something to help the tourists along on their way. I was told of a Gaelic radio station, but the darn car radio wouldn’t work.

I am glad I mustered up the courage and conquered my fears — my unfounded fears. I would not have had as much fun on a bus filled with tourists.

Sunday

In Ireland they say, “When it’s raining it’s not sunny and when it’s sunny it’s not raining.” Words to plan your day by.

Today it is raining.

Last night I wandered a bit around the town again. Being Saturday night, it was extremely lively. The young folk were out in force on the streets. Two lads were playing guitars for coins — one traditional Irish, the other Bob Dylan (“So it’s fare thee well my own true love”).

It is nice being here after the tourist season. I am told that during the summer months the roads are so filled with people that you can hardly walk them without being bumped and jostled. Here in late autumn, the restaurants are quiet and the people in the pubs are mostly Irish. I love to walk and enjoy having the space to stop where I wish without the worry of being in someone’s way.

I forgot to mention that I stepped into a church last night. There were about five older people praying in the pews or walking the Stations of the Cross. The younger people are too close to life to bother about such things on a Saturday night. It was quite a beautiful church. There were many stained-glass windows, but since it was night I could not truly enjoy them. I plan to return today (as well as to other churches). Strange, today is Sunday, yet I hear no bells.

Today I plan to explore Galway in the daylight. I have seen a lot of it at night, but that is only one side of this fair city (the city of tribes). It’s Sunday so I don’t know how many places will be open, but I imagine that after noon I should find at least a few shops with open doors.

For breakfast, I had a wonderful bowl of porridge. I am very sorry that I waited this long to have some. It was the best bowl of porridge I have ever had in my life. It consisted of nothing more than rolled oats cooked in milk, but it was exquisite.

As I gaze from the window of my room I see tugs and the open waters of Galway Bay. During the weekday I hear horns and the sound of their engines as they go about their workday. Today, though, all is quiet and the boats are docked at the pier. They float calmly on the mostly still water.

It was a wet and windy walk today. My path took me to the Spanish Arch, along the promenade of the River Corrib, across the river to the Galway Cathedral, back across to the University of Galway, down to Eyre Square, into the Church of St. Nicholas (built circa 1320), through the streets of the center of Galway and back to my room at Brennen’s Yard. It rained. The winds blew. I had a grand time!

For the first half-mile or so I had a traveling companion — a scruffy, salt and pepper mutt. Without the benefit of an umbrella, he was soaked through and through. I felt pity for the poor little guy, but as soon as the thought of “wouldn’t it be nice if I could take him home with me” entered my mind, he was gone. Vanished. I suppose he’s too much the free soul and calls too many places home to ever hook up with the likes of this wandering American.

It was nice finally seeing Galway by day (albeit a cold, windy, rainy day). I still could not drive these city roads without great difficulty, but I have managed to get a good walking sense of the place. That’s more important to me, anyway.

After my day in the rain, but before eating, I settled into my room and watched a John Wayne war movie on the TV (“Operation Pacific”). Even though I love the Duke (he was even called Duke in this movie), it felt a little odd being in Ireland watching something so American. At the same time it felt good to get a shot of the good old USA.

After John, I walked down the street to a wonderful Indian restaurant. Being a cold and rainy night, I was the only one in there. The bright fire burning in a fireplace took the chill from the air and made me feel cozier than I had felt all day. I ordered biryani (a rice dish), chana masala (chickpeas), and naan (bread). It was one of the best meals I have had here so far. As I was finishing my meal, three Englishmen arrived. I hate seeing an empty restaurant so I walked away feeling happy (as well as stuffed).

Monday

Today is the day that should have been yesterday. The day is dawning clear and dry. This could all change, of course, but the way things start is just as important as the way things end.

Meetings went well. I’m tired and want to get to bed early tonight. No more writing today.

Tuesday

Getting close to wrapping things up. I have one more day of working before driving 60 miles south to Shannon where I will spend the night. I have an 8:15 flight Wednesday morning and want to be close to the airport.

As wonderful as this trip has been, I’m ready to go. I’ve seen enough of Ireland that I want to experience as a lone traveler. I had a great time, but I miss my family, familiar places, and my pillow. It’s time to go home, Mr. Wizard.

Hours later and I’m in Shannon. The ride to the airport hotel was long, but Joe, my driver, was pleasant company. I learned much about Ireland that I didn’t know before. For instance, the stone walls that are so prevalent throughout Connemara were built in the 1800s as Irish WPA-style projects. After the potato famine (which Joe tells me was a failed attempt by the British to force the Irish into surrendering their independence), the British were left with a starving nation on their hands. In order to give the Irish work, they paid them to build the walls. There are literally thousands of walls out there. They stretch right up the sides of the mountains in places.

Who knows if any of that is true, but Joe insists it is and who am I to argue?

And another thing. Until yesterday, I did not know that Ireland was a completely independent country. I thought it was like Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom. We in America know so little about the rest of the world.

I experienced a very different side of Ireland on the drive down to Shannon. What I saw up and around Galway was old and for the most part, different from what you would see in the States. Along the road from Galway to Shannon (the major road — Pete took me on the back roads last week), I passed through what looked like a typical American suburb. The houses were no more than five to ten years old and most of what I saw were townhouses. Very boring. I even saw a Texaco gas station!

I am so glad this is not the Ireland I spent the last ten days exploring. I would have definitely gone back home with a very different impression.

Wednesday

Sitting in the London airport waiting for my flight home. It’s a funny world. I go through more hassle with customs entering and leaving Canada than I do here in London. I literally had to ask someone in the Northwest Business Lounge if I was done. The procedure here in London is more like a security check than a customs check. Not that I’m complaining, mind you!

Last night in the hotel, I turned on the TV for one of the first times in Ireland (except, of course, for infamous “Operation Pacific” night). What a bore! It appears that they show little more than cricket matches and British soap operas. I switched it on and off over the course of an hour and a half (I am staying at the airport and there is absolutely nothing to do or see out here) and it never changed. TV is a wasteland in the States, but if last night is indicative of things, it is a disaster here in Ireland.

Less than an hour before my flight back home.

I am glad I went to Ireland. It’s too bad for my family that it was such a long trip. I enjoyed what I saw and the work I accomplished, but starting Sunday night I was ready to go home. I thoroughly enjoyed my Irish hosts, but I miss the comfort of a familiar face.

I suddenly have an urge for a pizza. Extra cheese. Black olives. God bless America.

Postlude

Congratulations on making it this far. I doubt if I would have read the entirety of someone else’s travel journal. I hope you found some of it worthwhile.

I returned to Ireland for a few more work trips, but those journals appear to be long lost. I eventually did take the commuter bus to Spiddle and it was a wonderful experience. I also took many more photographs, but have not been able to find them. I know they are in the house somewhere and will show up after I publish this article. I may add them at a later time.

Finally, decades after my last trip, I began playing the Irish banjo and cannot help but wonder how much influence my adventures had in that decision. Even if they didn’t, the music is a gift that keeps on giving. An Irish gift.

Go raibh maith agat as léamh.

Rain falls in dark sheets
painting stone gray walls
that much grayer.
the winds twist and turn
down hand-hewn streets
straining weary umbrellas
and the people beneath.

In Ireland I’m told
“When it’s raining, it’s not sunny
and when it’s sunny, there is no rain.”

What more can be said
on this rainy Galway day?