fall backwards

So for Friday and Saturday my friend Nomes offered to take me to the west coast town of Galway. I figured this was a good chance for me to get out of Dave’s hair for a little while after having taken over his living room for the past week so I took her up on her offer.

We took the 2pm train there and arrived at around 6pm, set up camp at hostel near the train station and then headed into town where we had a lovely dinner of tapas and then went bar hopping amongst the locals in fancy dresses (it was Halloween). It was then that I learned Nomes actually has already won the around the world race but I disqualified her due to her unfair advantage of being kind of hott with a posh British accent at her disposal.

The next day we decided to explore the town before heading back to Dublin. Having only drank in Galway before (this was a constant theme) Nomes was at a lost for where to actually go as a tourist so we headed to the tourism office where they ignored us for 20 minutes so we just grabbed a tourism map and explored on our own.

There’s not much in terms of things to see in Galway(in some places you go for the view – in Galway you go for the bohemian vibe) but we did walk through a quaint market and took a lovely walk by the river and then the ocean on the non rainy day and chatted catching up on each other’s lives.

We arrived back in Dublin at around 6 that night where I sadly bid Nomes farewell and headed back to Dave’s where I found him curled on his couch looking like death after the fancy dress party the night before (He was a pirate and to stay in character he had to drink loads of rum). Despite his massive hangover some 14 hrs after the fact and my early flight the next morning (I had to be there around 6:30am) we headed out to one of his friends’ engagement party at a local swanky bar by the river.

We got back around 3am and both passed out. At 5:30am the small alarm Dave set for me went off and knocked on Dave’s door to wake him up so he could drive me to the airport. He looked at me with much distain and told me it was only 4:30am.

See, the day after I arrived in Dublin happen to be fall backwards so when I left France I was an hour ahead. Couple that with the fact that Ireland is an hour behind France and it gets a bit confusing to do the math on my only means of time telling which is my French cell phone.

Add to that the fact that some phones automatically switch for daylight savings and some don’t so I wasn’t quite sure if I needed to subtract one or two hours. Once I got the hang of things my phone died because Irish electrical sockets are different than French sockets. So then I had to use the clock at Dave’s place which I was sure at some point in time was not changed (subtract one hour) but maybe Dave or his roommate changed it without my knowledge so then that becomes unreliable.

So yeah during my entire stay in Dublin I suffered from slight time paranoia which wasn’t a big deal when it comes to things like going to dinner but becomes a bit more important with things like catching an early flight.

After Dave spent 10 minutes convincing me it was actually 4:30 and not 5:30 (I become super paranoid when I’m sleepy not to mention super unable to follow reason or logic) so I went back to bed but couldn’t fall back asleep because of already explained paranoia.

At the actual 5:30 Dave took me to the airport where I got on the plane and made my way back to Rouen (2 hour flight + 1 ½ hour bus from Beauvais airport to Paris + 1 hour train ride from Paris to Rouen + 30 minute metro ride back to my apartment from Rouen train station + all the overhead in between) on one hour of sleep. I got home around 4pm and was exhausted.

Oh living in a major airport hub, je tu manque.

kilkenny – first in flight?

So as it turned out, Dave had a meeting in a town close to Kilkenny Thursday and he wasn’t adverse to skipping out on work afterwards and showing me around Kilkenny and I wasn’t adverse to him skipping out on work and showing me around Kilkenny either so I came with. He dropped me off at a quaint coffee shop where I sat with a nice cup of hot coffee and homemade caramel bar while I waited until he was done with his meeting (I would’ve explored the town but, bien soir, il pleur).


An hour later we made our way into Kilkenny and walked the town where Dave kept remarking about one of three things: 1. how everything looked so different when he’s sober (alcoholic much?) 2. how everything is “older than America.” (Look Kelly, see that building? It’s older than America. And see that fire hydrant? Also older than America. And the second hand dial of that clock? Older than America. Ok, America doesn’t have a long history. I GET IT.) and 3. How he is connected to everyone and everything in Ireland.

Not in a pretentious way, it’s just in a country of about 4 million people everyone/thing is connected in some way. There’s that theory were everyone is connected by 7 degrees of separation. In Ireland it’s about 3. For example Dave is connected to this manhole we came across on the street.

Dave played in a band with a guy who’s father owns the company that made the manhole.

Anywho Kilkenny is known for its castle so we headed over there to check it out. The castle is only available for group tours and the next available tour wasn’t for another hour so we had some time to kill. We decided to visit some old house (yes, also older than America).

It was in this house that the hands of fate pulled the wool from my eyes and showed me the light of truth.

If you can't read that it says:
“Kilkenny man claims prize for first flight in 1856
In 1903 the Wright brother’s achieved fame for their first flight at Kitty Hawk, Carolina. However almost 50 years earlier Lord Claringford, a Kilkenny eccentric had already succeeded – albeit for a few fleeting seconds. “

All these years I had lived my life under the false notion that the Wright Brothers were the first to achieve flight. But now I know better than to the believe that Smithsonian propaganda. Thank you old house that randomly houses the propeller involved in this historical act. Next time I go to the Smithsonian I shall paste this picture I took of you by the Wright brother’s display and let the world know the truth.

The propeller of the eccentric that achieved flight (albeit for a few fleeting seconds) is a tough act to follow but the Kilkenny castle was very nice. Got to see the interior of my very first castle and learn of its history which I can’t really recall except that cousins marry first cousins and boys dressed as girls until a certain age and for some reason there were several paintings of women with their right breast exposed in an otherwise normal portrait of a lady. Not their left breast, just the right one. I found this odd but didn’t want to ask the tour guide and risk looking like a pervert to notice such things.

2008 Kelly Pham achieves flight albeit for a few fleeting seconds

Afterwards we went to Kells Priory, a site of the remains of an old monastery my guidebook recommended since Dave had a car and the place is hard to get to otherwise. Very cool mostly because it’s not a touristy area and you could just hang out by the old ruins with the sheep.

That night we headed back to Dublin and over the Myles’ place so I could collect on my drunken promise of monkfish.

I arrived expecting to see take out menus. Instead I got an appetizer of salad with a vinaigrette sauce, entrée of monkfish baked with onions and mushrooms in a light lemon pepper sauce with a side of steamed potatoes and green beans, and fresh raspberries and yogurt for dessert.

Myles I hardly know thee.

kilmainham gaol

So Wednesday was suppose to be my “get started on my project that’s due two days after I get back to France” day but I got the idea to go to Kilmainham Gaol prison instead because 1. three different Irish people on three separate occasions recommended it to me and 2. I somehow lucked out and got people to take me to places outside Dublin for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday so this was my only free day to check it out.

I actually had no interest in going there before people recommended it and Dave has been there several times and told me it was kind of depressing but it was either go out in the cold rain to catch a bus of which the origin point I’m unaware of to get off at a stop I’m also unaware of to pay money to see a place of suffering OR stay in a nice warm apartment in my p.j.’s doing much needed schoolwork. I think the choice is clear here.

You can only see Kilmainham gaol by group tour and I lucked out by getting a full blooded red haired Irishman with a passion for Irish history as my tour guide. He was awesome.

If Kilmainham Goal made the claim: To know the history of Kilmainham Goal is to know the history of Ireland itself, my eyes would remain unrolled. Honestly the place is fascinating.

I learned about the Great Hunger where you can see the number of prisoners in the prison spike to ridiculous numbers. That’s because people in prison were getting fed so people would commit petty crimes to get admitted for food. Could you imagine a time where life outside prison is worse than inside a prison? Really gives you a since of how awful things were (Hearing about how the people that were literally starving to death on the side of the road didn’t even have the strength to shoo away animals that were starting to eat their bodies before they were actually dead also gives you a sense.)

I also saw where the ringleaders of the 1916 Easter Uprising were imprisoned and then executed one by one turning them into martyrs thus gaining international support for Ireland’s independence from the British. The tour guide also included a story about one of the prisoners that, 24 hours before he was to be executed married his love in the prison church and afterwards was brought back to his prison cell alone for the night. The next day they were given 10 minutes together before his execution under the watchful eye of a prison guard. After 10 minutes they took him out and shot him. She never remarried.

Gore, drama, death, and romance. That prison’s got it all (Ireland’s daytime soap writers could learn a thing or two from that place). I highly recommend.

fancy dress party

An American and a European have the following conversation:

Dave: I’m going to a fancy dress party on Friday night if you want to come with.
Kelly: Sounds great I’ll pack my fancy dress.

Later the American gets a text from the European:

“Kelly, we’re going to fancy dress shopping on Monday so bring your shopping mojo!”
Kelly: [But I already told him I was packing a fancy dress. Maybe he forgot. I’ll tell him later there’s no need.]

Later they have the following conversation:

Dave: Kelly did you get my text? You’ll have to help me out, I need to find a dress for the fancy dress party. Me and some mates will be going as the girls from Sex and the City.
Kelly: [oh he wants to go fancy dress shopping for himself. Wow he’s really taking this fancy dress party seriously…]

Like really REALLY seriously. Like a little too seriously. To the point where there’s something wrong here…

Friday = Halloween :: fancy dress party = ________?

Light bulb.

Kelly: Dave, when you say fancy dress party do you mean like a costume party?
Dave: Yes of course.
Kelly: OOOHHHhhhhh.
Dave: What did you think I meant?
Kelly: A formal affair where I wear a fancy dress.
Dave: OOOHHHhhhhh. So you packed a fancy dress.
Kelly: Yes, and shoes to go with it. What do you think I meant?
Dave: That you brought a costume with you. I thought that was an odd thing to bring with you to France. I just concluded you were really keen on Halloween or something.

Ah English. The same thing happened to my British friend who invited an American to a “fancy dress” party. She went to meet him as a geisha. He showed up in a tux.

I didn’t end up going to the fancy dress party but had I gone I would’ve worn my fancy dress anyways. Had anyone asked I would’ve said:

I’m American. What I’m wearing is a fancy dress. What you’re wearing is a costume.

monument of light

So having lucked out on Dave having Monday off for a random holiday (what makes it random? I call any holiday we don’t celebrate in the states random – in this case it was a “Bank Holiday” whatever that means) I was on my own for Tuesday.

Armed with my guidebook and a camera to document how I got from Dave’s place into town (I get lost easily) I headed to Trinity College to look at the Book of Kells.

The line was long and it was pissing down rain and I was starting to wonder if this was going to be a constant theme for me when it came to tourist attractions in Europe. Finally I got in to see the book of Kells after a very long and elaborate introduction about the making of the book, the meaning of the book, the authors of the book, the ink of the book, etc.

In the end it was a really old book (dates back to the 800AD) behind glass that I couldn’t read because it’s written in Latin. I stood there for a while though pretending to admire it because that’s what other people were doing and if anything I did stand in line in the rain to look at this thing and by golly I was going to look at it right.

Next it was on to Christ Church Cathedral:

Then St. Patrick’s Cathedral:

By this time I was getting really cold and bored because I was by myself and my guidebook didn’t have much else in it besides museums and galleries which I really wasn’t in the mood for. And then I saw something in my guidebook called the Monument of Light which is on the touristy O’Connell Street. I decided it could be interesting so I headed over to check it out.

So I’m walking down O’Connell Street. Walking, walking and on the lookout for the Monument of Light and I don’t see much outside of cheesy souvenir shops and fast food restaurants when I pass what can only be described as a giant rod in the middle of the street.

No. Could that be it? I looked at my map. Yup. That’s it. I walked all that way to look at a giant pole sticking out of the ground.

Dejected and craving the comfort of greasy food I got a hamburger from Supermac’s and headed back to Dave’s where I curled up in a blanket and watched Irish soap operas with griping plot lines like guy thinks fiancée is cheated on him in Australia but turns out she wasn’t cheating on him she was actually *drum roll please* a beauty queen in Australia! She actually took out a tiara and put it on her head when she told him to, I don’t know, make her story seem more credible?

Sure, not great but it beats a giant rod.

guinness smuinness

So the night before Dave requested that he be able to sleep in till at least noon since he had the day off. I woke him up at 12:30 because 1. I’m American and like to get stuff done on vacation and 2. I was hungry and he had promised me a proper fry up for breakfast the night before (I didn’t give any allowances that it was a drunken promise – when it comes to food I don’t mess around.)

Like a champ he got up and came through on the promise of a traditional Irish fry up complete with black pudding (it’s the black stuff in the back).

Good stuff for being made of blood and pig guts.

Afterwards we headed into Dublin where we walked around for a bit. I could tell Dave has the affliction that most people who actually live in touristy places have, and that is lack of knowledge of said touristy area outside of nightlife. Finally we decided on the Guinness Factory. Dave had to stop by a local hostel to ask for directions. You may judge him. The British guy who gave us directions did.

Now people who know me well know I don’t like beer. And it’s not for lack of trying. Especially in Asia where beer is 30 cents and wine is 2 dollars. You do the math. Add to that the beer drinking culture (Hey everyone, let’s get a pitcher! – oh sorry Kelly why don’t you get a separate check) and it’s actually really annoying not to like beer. So I’m not a beer hater ; I just don’t pretend it tastes like anything other than ass.

So don’t think I am biased when I say that the Guinness Factory is kind of crap. That’s because what could be communicated in one floor they stretch to seven floors and then charge you 15 euros for it (11 of you’re student).

Let’s not kid ourselves people. Beer is beer. You brew it, money exchanges hands, and then we drink it. There’s not really much else to it. But not according to the people at Guinness. Oh no. Did you know for example that:

If you can’t read that it says “The story of transporting Guinness stout is the story of transportation itself.” You don’t say! Walk a few more steps into the “viewing room” and you see a video clip of a horse with a guy talking about how the horse was the first means of transporting Guinness stout. Really? Fascinating!

It was like this for six floors. Look! Paraphernalia with the word “Guinness” written on it! I have an ashtray just like that one only mine doesn’t have the word Guinness printed on it. Hand me my camera. And over there, it’s a record of speeches made at a Guinness fancy dinner in 1959! I have the 1952 speech but it’s not nearly as good. So glad I paid 15 Euros to see it in my lifetime (below is a picture in case you think I’m exaggerating).

And if by chance you haven’t reached yet your saturation point for all things Guinness you can sit at the media booth and watch Guinness commercials. I don’t know about Ireland but people in the states pay good money for technology to avoid commercials and here I was, spending money to watch them.

So as we ascended to the top floor to admire the view from the rooftop bar (which in all fairness was very nice) I was pretty disappointed to have paid 15 Euros to see a beer suffer from delusions of grandeur. We made our way to the bar to get our complimentary pints of Guinness or, in my shameful case, a coke.

As I watched Dave take a sip of his pint I asked him eagerly if it was the best Guinness he’s ever had.

"Meh, I’ve had better.”

I felt my heart break, just a little.

the (tiny) heart of ireland

So despite the fact that we were out till 5 the night before, Dave had to drive to his hometown of Longford (located right dab smack in the middle of Ireland, hence the heart of Ireland) for his parent’s wedding anniversary the next day at around noon and he was taking me with him. Armed with some strong coffee we headed out on the 1 ½ drive where I experienced great Ireland weather in all her fickle glory.

One minute:

The next:


And then back to sunny/rain/sunny/rain at the drop of a hat.

When we finally arrive in Longford I realized that Dave is actually a country bumpkin. His town is seriously small. Below is a picture of the road we took to get to his house as proof:

I was a little nervous about having a family lunch with a family not my own but it turned out to be quite lovely where I ate way too much, engaged in the great national pastime of chatting (behind drinking that is), and got to witness uncle Dave handle his 1 year old niece more gently than he would a pint of Guinness filled to the brim.

After lunch Dave and I decided to walk off our huge lunch through his small town which basically consists of a street. In the middle of the tour it started raining (of course) so we went a bar/grocery store/funeral home (I’m not kidding – had it also been a hospital you could spend your entire life in the building and never have to leave) in the town.

The bar was quaint and filled with old men who you could tell spent nearly every Sunday of their lives sitting in the same stool drinking the same beer and watching football. There was a random young black guy sitting at the bar like he owned the place that I kept looking at cause he was so out of place but karmatically it was ok because everyone was staring at me in the same manner. One guy even shook my hand, welcomed me to Ireland and then asked me if I was Dave’s wife which should have been fine but in the context made me feel like he thought I came from a catalog of the mail order bride variety.

Alas I was still so full from lunch I couldn’t manage a drink there so we left and headed back to Dublin where I met up with a couple more people I knew from JET for another pretty heavy session. So heavy in fact that Dave’s cousin Myles promised to cook me a grand dinner of monkfish later in the week. Dave countered with promise of a proper fry up the next morning with the Irish staple black pudding.

These two men are some of the biggest drinkers I knew in Japan to which the only culinary skill I’ve seen from them is the opening of beer cans. I couldn’t wait to see how they were going to pull off these drunken promises.

dublin or bust

So I had a random week off at my school last week so I decided to visit Irish Dave in Dublin for it. But first I had to satisfy certain conditions. 1. Irish Dave was ok with me coming to visit. 2. it was financially feasible to go since I am a broke as hoe, and 3. I was allowed to travel on my student visa before getting my residence card.

1. I emailed Irish Dave letting him know of my decision and he said it was ok as long as I was ok with coming with him to two functions. His parent’s wedding anniversary lunch in the town of Longford where he grew up the first Sunday and a fancy dress party the following Friday. He also stipulated that he did in fact have a job and school and was all out of vacation days so I would have to entertain myself on the weekdays. I agreed and made note to pack my fancy dress. Check.

2. There’s a really cheap budget Irish airline here in Europe called Ryan Air. They are so cheap sometimes you can fly for like 2 euros (I’m not kidding, my flight back on Sunday was actually free). However, you have to pay the tax and fees which usually comes out to be more than the actual flight itself doubling your initial estimate. And Ryan Air really loves the add-ons. Like checking in at the airport is an extra 5 euros. Checking in your luggage is an extra 25 euros. Still it was pretty cheap so I wouldn't break the bank. Check.

3. I asked the international graduate coordinator if it was ok to travel before getting my carte de ce jour (residence card). She shook her head no. Leaving would be ok but getting back in might be a problem...

I booked my flight anyways.

See there's this thing I noticed in France where I feel like there's a lot of rules, but also people break the rules all the time. The French kind of run on a don't ask don't tell policy. I've learned that you kind of have to use your own decretion on weather or not to follow the rules.

So yeah, I left Saturday not really knowing if I would be able to come back. I'm such a bad ass.

Anwho Ryan Air utlizes a smaller airport called Beauvais. If you look at a map Beauvais lies between Rouen and Paris so I figured there would be a train or at least a bus that goes there directly. However, having never flown out of Beauvais before I choose a later flight on Saturday to give myself time to find the place.

I know it sounds ridiculous but I gave myself 7 hrs to get there (I wasn’t doing anything on Saturday so I figured if I was early I could just sit in a café somewhere and read my guidebook). It takes 1 hr to get to Paris by train so one would think it would take between 30 minutes and an hour to get to Beauvais. Add in a little wiggle room for the unknown factor of when the train/bus actually leaves and I’m thinking at the most it’ll take 3 hours.

Actual time it took me: 7 hrs.

How did this happen? Well, turns out there is actually no public transport that takes you from Rouen to Beauvais you have to transfer through Paris. So I basically had to get a train to Paris which takes 1 hour and then I have to switch stations and get on a train to Beauvais only to go back from which I came for another hour because the train to Beauvais isn’t an express train. Add to that wait times for trains, wait time to buy tickets on a busy holiday weekend, transferring stations and you get 7 hours. It was infuriating.

Especially when I finally got on the train to Beauvais at around 5:30 (it puts me in Beauvais at 6:30pm and my flight was at 8:50pm) and was freaking out that I would miss my flight because the train doesn’t actually take you the airport, just the train station and I was meant to take a bus from the train station to the airport. Having never been to this airport before I had no idea how far out it was of the city and it could be an hour out for all I know and if that were the case I would’ve been seriously screwed and how the hell did this even happen, I f-in gave myself SEVEN hours to go 501 kilometers.

ME.

Fortunately I made friends with a guy on the train and he was going to the airport as well so we split a cab. Only took 15 minutes so I was fine.

For those of you who don’t like reading I have illustrated what I went through below along with my accompanying mood during the trip:



Anywho I finally arrive in Dublin where I was greeted by rain and Irish Dave (I think they just call him Dave in Ireland) where I requested he take me to a pub immediately. He obliged but first we went and got the most delicious pizza ever (I was starving).

And so began my time in Ireland – filled with rain, pubs, and greasy food.