Baptized in Galway Bay: Farewell

Sunday was meant to be a free day in the city, and so no one had any particular direction for the morning.  Leta was leading a group down to the Thomas Dillon certified Claddaugh ring jeweler, and probably more shopping at Penney's after that.  I didn't go on their shopping adventure, because my stag party adventure from the night before had only just begun.

When I finally rolled out of bed around 10, it was due in part to the obnoxious noise coming from next door.  I went over to say good bye to my new friends, and discovered that they were actually heading out swimming after they checked out.  It begged the question, where the hell does one go swimming in Ireland, and they all replied, the ocean.  After a bit of cajoling, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it.  I think I am the only person on this trip who thought to bring a bathing suit (because a swimming pool seemed on my horizon for some reason when I was packing).  I threw on my togs, a skirt and my Penney's sandals (7 euro well spent!), and met the guys downstairs.

At first I was a little peeved; the seven of them were as bad as 25 of us trying to decide where to go.  Eventually, we elected taking the bus down to the Prom, because it would be much too far to walk.  I was teased for being a rich American who never has to take the bus, which required refutation.  Not only do I take the bus, but I spent probably more hours on the bus every day than they would in a week of travel.  Just saying.  It was a worthwhile experience, if purely to see how other buses work in other countries.  They give no indication of what stop you are coming to, where it is going to stop when it finally does, and the ticket they give you for boarding is a printed single use, date-stamped receipt.  In Seattle, I would be able to get back from swimming on the same fare, but, not so in Ireland.  The idea that I spent so much time commuting seemed horrendous to them, but the idea of a bus fare that you pay once for unlimited transfers within two hours did seem interesting.

So those damn shoes get me again, because as we marched down the Prom toward the lifeguard station -- Good God, a lifeguard was actually on duty! -- I was at least one inch taller than every other guy with whom I was walking.  I was the perennial American giantess.

At the beach, several people had cleverly brought wetsuits to go into the ocean.  It didn't seem so bad in the sun, but stepping into the shade made it obvious that it was just this side of a fine day.  It was low tide, so we couldn't just jump in, we had to walk in, which would have been my preference anyway, but was certainly a more prolonged form of torture.  A few guys just charged into the ocean and got soaked in the process.  Connor was among those brave if foolish souls.  James and I, and a few of the skinnier ones, went for the slow descent with loudly proclaimed commentary.  The wind was quite stiff on the water, further punishing us.

I crept in a few inches at a time.  Apparently boys/men are the same everywhere.  The entire conversation revolved around a) shrinkage by percentage, b) tiny dicks, or c) how far up inside their torsos all their balls had moved.  I thought these people were Irish, I mean, shouldn't they be used to this?  Wasn't this their idea anyway?

The ginger -- whose name I can't remember, and who called me Sarah anyway, so who cares about his name -- had managed to get all the way into the water, and was splashing all the rest of us who were still moving slowly.  Bear in mind, there are 3 and 4 year olds in their little full-body swim suits with the floaties built into the arms who are playing in the same ocean.  And a very round man in a speedo.  Just for context.

Anyway, as we were yet again remarking that this must be how one gets a vagina, it became obvious that I (the only such original owner of one) hadn't gotten wet yet past the top of my knees.  In a flash of comedic genius, I said that if I got all the way in the water, they would never be able to get the smell out of the fish.

Look, this is a joke that was once told to me by my grandfather.  In case you think I am horrible for saying it.  And they thought I was profoundly funny for saying it, and one of them laughed so hard that he tripped on a rock and fell headlong into the water.  It served him right, because he had been tiptoeing around holding his chest and complaining about how cold it was.  And he calls himself Irish.

Eventually the ginger walked backward with me until I was up to my neck, and I ducked under.  In the small moment of panic that followed, I remembered that the last time I had been in the ocean was in Huntington Beach, California.  Wiping salt from my eyes, I was met with a smattering of applause from those assembled, for I had been baptised in the waters of the Atlantic.  James pointed out the Connemara on the other side of Galway Bay, and he said that beyond that, it is a straight shot to America.  Not to get sentimental or anything, but it was actually kind of moving to "see" America from the entirely other side.  To imagine going there from a place like Ireland, and to know that the ocean water I swam in on the Prom is the same water that touches New York.  I know it's all the same ocean water all over the world, but, it seemed very symbolic at the time. 

After perhaps 20 minutes of freezing our little white asses off, we headed for the shore to collect our things and dry off.  In the sun, it was remarkably comfortable.  Then the wind blew again, and all your heat was whipped off of you.  Oh my God, my skin was so sensitive from the cold that it seriously hurt to rub my towel on my legs.  It genuinely hurt.  It was horrible.

We put on our clothes, and everyone very maturely and deftly removed their wet togs from under their dry clothes.  We began walking toward town, and the hostel, because waiting for a bus would take too long.  Thanks again, Ireland, for your impressive bus system.  We stopped and considered getting lunch, but everyone needed a rinse off, so we hailed a taxi and took that the rest of the way.  I still had a room, so while they showered in the communal showers one floor below me, I rinsed off in peace in my own room. 

We met for lunch before they all drove home to Dublin at a place called The Cellar.  Nearly everyone was having the full Irish breakfast.  I had some tea and toast, and sort of ate pieces off other people's plates.  Not one of those Irish men finished their Irish breakfasts.  Yet further evidence that these were no Irishmen at all.

Of course we had to talk about guns, drugs, the tax policy, and Ferguson, in America, and the idea that people can open carry a gun and just walk around with it was almost as terrifying as the idea that they could conceal carry.  I think I heard a few borderline Libertarians among them, but it is hard to know.  I was impressed, because one of the skinny ones had actually watched Fox News, and seemed to find Ann Coulter to be a vaugely interesting person.  I did get a little frustrated at one point, and I spilled a little tea, but no one seemed quite as worked up as I was, so I tried to let it go.  We talked a while longer, but the hurling match was starting soon, and they needed to leave for Dublin.

Helpfully, James gave me directions to Taaffes, the pub where I was meeting my group to watch the game.  I nearly walked right by it, but Toto grabbed me.  Inside, I found who but my usual group of people: Dale, Marnie, Lauren, Tanner, and Toto.  The rest of the group was going to a bigger bar.  Dale had bought a jersey that he liked while we were at Croke Park meeting the GAA, which just happened to be Kilkenny.  Kilkenny was playing Tipperary in the All-Ireland Hurling finals, and apparently, Galway is a big Tipperary-backing town.  So, needless to say, Dale was a bit ostentatious.  Everyone is very kind about their rivalry, but he was teased none the less.

I think I explained some about hurling when we went to the live match in Cork.  I have definitely decided that I prefer football to hurling, but this was a decidedly good game.  As have all of the games that we have watch, it ended in a tie, but it was a very close, very high scoring game.  There was an old man behind us whose only cheer was apparently "Come ooon, Tip!"  very loud.  Tipperary would have won, but they missed the final point by an absolute hair's margin.  Other than that one miss, Tipperary was overall a very good team.  Kilkenny had been the favorite to win, and Tipperary winning would have been a big upset.

As we left, we let Dale part the seas, and several people asked him where he is from in Kilkenny.  They were all being facetious, of course, because it is very abundantly obvious that we are not Irish.  The stag guys said that I am very obviously American, and I don't know exactly what it is about me that makes it so obvious, but I can tell when people are Irish or English or German as well, so I suppose it's something about our faces.

After the game, Marnie needed a few gift items before she flew out -- she is leaving from Belfast to get back to Seattle for something work related, I think -- so we stopped at a shop on Shop street.  I got my Claddagh ring, and for only 20 euro, not 60, like Leta's place would have been.  It is cute, instead of hands, it has little Celtic trinity knots.  It is precisely what I wanted, at exactly the price I wanted to pay.  So now, other than my hotel, taxi, food and possibly some entertainment in Dublin before I leave on Monday, I am done spending money.  (Which is the equivalent of saying, I have several hundred more dollars to spend before I go home.  Thank the Lord that the credit card company doubled my limit!)

Our group found another faction of the group, and we went in search of McSwiggins for dinner. Since this was Marnie's last meal with us all before we went to Belfast, we had our farewell to Marnie and thank you to Gabriel dinner. Nearly every restaurant we have been to in Ireland had had multiple storeys, and moreover, we are always upstairs. McSwiggen's was gigantic on the inside, and we went up at least two floors to get to our space. Dinner was delicious, and I'm trying not to eat so much, so I paced myself and had the melon and fruit appetizer and most of my chicken cordon bleu.  Somehow I was nominated to give our gift to Gabriel, which seemed to both him and I to be very appropriate, given that he only knows my name.

We had bought him a bottle of the select reserve Jameson. I think this might be on video, but I started my speech "On behalf of the University of Washington, Foster School of Business..." And Leta, who can't just relax and wait for the joke, started to correct me to give a more personal speech.  This to the girl who is basically like Gabriel's best friend that he never asked for.

I said, on behalf of all of his little chickens, we want to thank him for all that he does for us, his mannerisms and his blarney, and going above and beyond the requirements of a coach driver to really give us the best experience possible. He coordinated Trad on the Prom, and the pub crawl.  Anyway, I thanked him for everything, and he gave me a high and everybody clapped.

Then we had to give our thank you to Marnie, and Byron stepped up to deliver that one. He did a really funny job, and that one is definitely on video, because he got down on one knee to give her the Claddagh ring we bought her. I think the people near us really thought he was proposing, so the hug at the end must have seemed a little tame.  We also got Marnie some cake, and Gabriel some mousse for dessert. All in all, it was a very good send off for Marnie, and I will be very sad the day we go back to Dublin, and we really have to say good bye to him. I found out that Gabriel's son and daughter are the two little redheads in the Rick Steves travel book.  They are darling. I can't believe Gabriel made them.

After dinner, Dale and Marnie and I went to a few pubs to change 50 euros for 10s for a light payday in the morning. After that, I just went home to pack and get ready to leave in the morning.