Day one - Part 3, Gort to Sligo

The helpful fellow at the Hertz desk advised me that I would probably run into a diversion in Gort. There was something about that name which struck fear into me. Gort. Sounded like something very medieval - you know, dirt paths, ox carts, village idiots - that sort of thing. Add flooding and it couldn't possibly be good.

Just as Flannery at the Hertz counter had predicted, there was a wee sign in Ulster orange diverting traffic from the (relatively) modern N18 to the blood-curtling N66. (On the map, the N66 is colored orange - not a good sign). It was on the N66 that I came to understand why all rental cars in Ireland have bits missing from their left sides. Imagine driving on a road that varies from 12 to 16 feet wide with opposing traffic (and those breathing on your bumper) all trying to maintain 100 kph. Now, factor in that straightaways are no more than 100 yards long and that the edges of the road have been nibbled away from years of terrified tourists trying to avoid the mammoth tour buses, finally throw in the patches of N66 where the road has given way to erosion from the recent floods and you have a general idea of what things were like.

By the time I reached the N6, which would eventually take me back to N18, for which I had grown strangely nostalgic, the clock was screaming that I had already been up in excess of 24 hours. This explains why I made a left turn into the right lane causing a car full of locals to lose that rosy-cheeked look and start talking to Jesus. No bother, though, I missed them by many, many millimeters and I was off on the N6 and they were off to buy new underwear at the closest Dunnes Store.

In Craugwell, about halfway along the N6 between the N66 and my rejoin point on the N18, I pulled off at a service station to give my fellow motorists and my beleaguered gastro-intestinal system a break. At the counter inside the store stood a beautiful young woman with flowing red hair and a thick Irish accent - straight out of central casting. I only noticed because I felt guilt over what I was about to do to her undoubtedly inadequate facilities. Without going into detail, let's just say that I have made a mental note to never again consume a giant bag of trail mix on a trans-Atlantic flight. Still feeling guilt (but otherwise marvelous), I quickly exited the store after buying about four Euro worth of drinks I didn't want. I made a swift egress from the parking lot, but not before hearing a biker gassing up his Honda Valkyrie complain that he had run into some black ice as he traveled the path I had just covered. Ohhh, THAT's what that was. Fun times.

After experiencing the lovely little diversion through the Irish countryside, I finally rejoined the N18 just outside Galway for my continued journey north. The N18 turned into the N17 which took me another 80 km or so into County Sligo. Still not completely trusting the Brit in the box, I reluctantly followed her advice through Sligo town onto the N4, then shortly thereafter the N15.

Here's a fun fact: Addresses in Ireland are more "casual" than we in the U.S. are used to. That is, they don't really feel compelled to use house numbers, which of course, doesn't work that well with GPS. The address of the B&B where I was to end up was "Glach-a-Mara Bed and Breakfast, Moneygold, Grange, County Sligo". That's it. So, I drove to Moneygold, Grange, County Sligo...several times. I drove there from the south. I drove there from the north. I repeated. Finally, remembering the Texaco station in Grange, I landed there, shut off the engine, went inside to get a drink, then stood next to the Opel and had a smoke.

At that moment, I had a hunch. I whipped out my handy iPhone (still in airplane mode, but with wifi turned on) and hunted for a signal. Sure enough, the Texaco had a wifi connection and it was wide open. So, I went to the Glach's website and snagged the phone number, then put into use my second Ebay purchase - the Irish cell phone provider's SIM card that was in one of my inventory phones at my side. I called the number, but no answer. I waited 5 minutes, called again and still no answer. It was 1:30p local time (8:30a Houston time, now in my 27th hour).

I had another smoke and then decided to look at the website again to see if there was another number. It was at this point that I discovered the names of the proprietors - Christina and Tom McGarry. McGarry - like my paternal Grandmother's name. Her people are supposed to be from County Leitrim, the next county over from County Sligo. Could they be family? Hmmm.

No time to consider geneological possibilities - my Irish cell phone rang. It was Christina! She gladly told me that I was close and that they were only 3km from Grange, but if I went too far, I'd end up in Cliffony and they were only 3 km from there, too. She advised that I give it one more try and if I couldn't find the place in the next 4 minutes, call back and she'd come get me.

I did manage to find the Glach on my own, but not before passing it one more time and ending up in Cliffony. See, this is an example of the "casual" address. Sure, they're only 3 km from each town, but 3 km from which part of the town? The beginning? The Texaco station? The church? Oh, sure, I found a B&B. Then another. Then another. The whole friggin' country is lousy with B&Bs! Turns out (ha ha) that theirs was the one B&B on the N15 without a sign. Sweet.

Christina warmly greeted me, showed me to my room and even brought me a proper afternoon tea setup. I told her that I was going to lie down for a nap. As I lay there, brain still rattling from the events of the previous 28 hours, I drifted off to sleep thinking that I now understood the writing of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.

Day One - part 2 Shannon to Gort

The first thing that I noticed is that the silver Opel Astra was missing the left (passenger side) rear door trim and hubcap. Obviously, this was the "tourist" model. The next thing I noticed was that, in fact, the steering wheel was actually on the right side of the car. That's where I expected it to be, but you don't really think such things exist until you see them for yourself.

Moving on to the shifter, I confirmed that the 5-speed manual had the same shift pattern I was used to back in the States - gears one through five progressing from left to right. Of course, this meant that I would be moving the shifter toward me as I moved up through the gears, instead of the way Henry Ford intended, but I was prepared for that. I'd been "mind-shifting" between Newark and Shannon and had it down pat.

The last thing that I thought as I cautiously left the Hertz position at Shannon International Airport was "I can't believe that they are actually letting me take this car. Don't they know that I have NO clue what I'm doing?"

I immediately proved my complete lack of competence by making my first wrong turn within one-tenth of a mile of the airport. I did stay on the left when I made the turn, but I somehow missed the giant sign with it's giant arrow pointing toward Galway. The fact that I drove on the right during my approach to this wrong turn shouldn't count against me, since I was the only one on the road at the time.

The wrong road actually turned out to be a pretty smart move in the end. Instead of immediately being thrust onto the N19 (the 120 kilometer per hour western-Ireland version of a freeway), I made a soft landing on a completely empty four lane boulevard that appeared to be intended for airport industrial traffic. This gave me the "15 year old in a parking lot" driver's ed experience I needed to get used to shifting with my left hand, driving on the left side and looking left when every fiber of my being told me to look right and vice-versa. I also found a nicely vacant parking lot where I was able to stop, collect my thoughts and set up my Ebay Magellan GPS with Irish maps. The only drag was that the voice was British. Damn it.

I eventually determined that I was not on the correct road and with the help of the GPS, I doubled-back and started my approach to the N19, but not before encountering about a half dozen "roundabouts", lovely little feats of traffic engineering, known in other parts of the world as a "glorietta" or "traffic circle". Ever driven around one of those? Clockwise? Now, there's something that will get the adrenaline pumping early in the morning!

Driving north on the N19 was fairly low-stress. Staying in the slow (left) lane and watching for signs to Galway, I even had time to turn on the radio. The N19 changed to the N18 - a "dual carriageway" (two lane blacktop road). The N18 wasn't too bad, but I did lose my beloved slow lane, so I was not under some obligation to make an attempt to stay up with traffic. Every once in awhile. I'd pull over and stop on the hard shoulder to let the 1000 or so cars that had backed up behind me go by, but all-in-all, it wasn't too bad.

Until I got to Gort.

Day One (and then some)

(NOTE: I didn't have an adapter for my netbook when I was in Sligo. Now in Shannon, I found an adapter and will catch up)

November 27/28:

My day began at 6:00 a.m. Central Time. I got up, took a shower, got dressed and finalized my packing. My brother picked me up at 8:00 a.m. sharp and we were on the way to the airport. My flight wasn’t due to blast off until 12:05p, but being that this was Black Friday, I had no idea what kind of crowd to expect at the airport. Fortunately, IAH was pretty much empty, so we got to the airport in about 30 minutes and I was left with 3, I had no idea what kind of crowd to expect at the airport. Fortunately, IAH was pretty much empty, so we got to the airport in about 30 minutes and I was left with more than 3 hours to kill.
Checking in was no problem and I jetted through security quickly, too. The flight to Newark was like every other flight to Newark I’d taken in the last few years – 3 hours and 30 minutes; up and down like clockwork – no surprises. We arrived about 20 minutes early and I had plenty of time to saunter over to gate C133 for my 7:30p flight to Shannon.
This is where time and space start getting a little squirrely. The flight to Shannon took off on time and we even arrived a bit ahead of schedule. The first mistake I made, however, is that I assumed that I would get 3 or 4 hours of sleep on the trans-Atlantic leg of my trip. It ended up being closer to 30 or 40 minutes.
I could see that the tarmac was dark and wet. The couple next to me asked where I was going and I replied ‘Sligo’. The man’s face appeared to be a bit stunned. “Sligo?” he said. “Oh, so you have someone picking you up?” “No, I’m going to drive”. More stunned silence. He continued: “It’s just that some of the roads are flooded”, and his wife cheerily offered “yes, it’s been the worst flooding in 800 years”. Now, it was my turn to be stunned. I didn’t know what stunned me more – the vision of leprechauns floating face-down in the water that covered my route, or the fact that I was in a country where they tracked anything for 800 years.
I deplaned in Shannon, whisked thru customs and immigration and emerged right in front of the Hertz counter – so far, so good (except for the 800 year floods). At the rental counter, I quickly determined that the rental car I had chosen was going to cost much more than the $300 I was planning on. “If you want the ‘walk away’ insurance, that will be 35 (euro) per day, or the ‘lesser’ insurance will be 25 (euro) per day, but declining the insurance will mean that we will have to put a 3000 (euro) hold on your card.” I went with the “lesser” insurance, but at 25 Euro per day, that would be about 275 Euro, or $400 additional. Shit. I had money in certain piles for certain things and this screwed everything up. I did manage to get things re-arranged (with a major assist from my Brother back in the States) and I was finally out of the airport. If you’re keeping score, it is now about 7:30 a.m. local time in Shannon (2:30 a.m. back in Houston). The car was an Opel Astra. Right-hand drive, 5 speed manual transmission. It had 92,000 km on the odometer and was missing the left rear door trim piece and hubcap (this must be the designated car for tourists). Stickers on both the left and right corners of the windshield reminded the driver (in English and German) to “drive left”. I also saw road signs with this message, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

...to be continued...

Weapons of Mass Consumption

It seems logical to think: "I have money. I will use some of my money to get to my dream location and will use another portion of it while I am there. I have enough money to accomplish this. I am now done thinking about money."

Yeah...no. From the Bank of America freakout over a 20 Euro charge to alien PIN numbers and "world currency", this, like many other things surrounding international travel, is a process (or, as my Canadian co-workers insist on pronouncing it "PROcess").

This picture illustrates the extent to which I am going to move my existence temporarily from the western to the eastern hemisphere. I am taking three lumps of cash: Good, old, American dollars; European Euros (they take this stuff everywhere, right?) and English Pounds. I am taking the dollars because I am stopping (twice) in New Jersey and you never know when you might need to buy some gabagoo or have someone whacked (friends of ours only accept dollars). Also, I find that as an American abroad, if I speak loudly and wave around dollars, I can get whatever I want and the locals seem to enjoy my display of western capitalism.

The Euros are going to be used all over Ireland - Free Ireland, that is, because they are not accepted in Occupied Ireland. Neither are dollars, apparently, which brings us to the reason to have a smattering of otherwise useless British Pounds. According to Fodor's Ireland 2009 travel guide, if you do manage to find a place that accepts dollars or euros in Occupied Ireland, the locals like to give you your change in even more useless Northern Ireland bank script - think Confederate dollars. Sweet, huh?

I am also taking check cards from my two favorite banks - Bank of Imperialist America and J.P. Morgan Chase Manhattan Huntley and Brinkley, as well as a charge card from B of IA. (Funny sidebar: On Saturday night, I was hanging out with my brother - the old one - and he called to order pizza, which seemed like a good choice to accompany us while we spent the evening watching two guys from Hollywood pretend to rough it while riding motorcycles from Scotland to South Africa. Everything was going fine with the pizza order until my bro told the young lady on the phone that he would like to put the order on his charge card.
"I'm sorry, sir, you want to do what?
I'd like to put the order on my charge card.
You want to put the order on your what?
Charge card - can I put the order on my charge card?
Um, like, just a minute, 'kay? I have to ask someone."

After a ridiculous amount of time on hold listening to Pappa John's life story, she came back on the phone and said "Ohhh, you mean 'credit'?".

And 45 minutes later, we were in carb heaven.

So, back to the whole money discussion. The salient point here is bring lots of different colored cash (I'm thinking I may get some Yen and Rupees, too). Oh - here's a fun fact which Chase neglected to tell me and B of IA almost forgot to tell me - if you try to get money from an ATM over there and your PIN begins with a '0', it won't work! Apparently, no one in the entire eastern hemisphere has a PIN that begins with a zero. Guess who does, though? Yeah - times 2. So, now, I have to change a PIN that I have used since ATMs were invented just to use these machines. Of course, I will do this with a song in my heart, because this is a big deal and I only sweat the small stuff.

Next (or whenever I get around to it): Drive left, shift left, look right when it doesn't make sense.

Visual Aids

My Brother suggested that I add an overall map of Ireland to give a sense of scale (or lack thereof). So, I'll start with a map of the whole island. And, yes, it really is an island, not connected to the European continent.

I have added some color to clarify the difference between good and evil. The (good) green arrow points to the approximate location of Sligo.

Some months ago, I began my online search for accommodations in Ireland. After slogging through heaps of travel sites and systematically eliminating the more froo-froo star-system mega-chain mondo-lobby selections to which I have become accustomed in recent years, I started to look at Bed and Breakfast establishments. I found the best deals at: http://www.goireland.com/ . That's where I found the Glach-a-mara Holiday Homes Bed and Breakfast in County Sligo.

The "Glach", as I fondly refer to it, sits on the N15, just 10 miles north of Sligo city. It's obviously very near the Atlantic, but it's unclear to me at this point if you can actually see the ocean from the B&B, but for about $50 a night, who cares?

Shoes - The monochromatic collection

As a kid, I remember thinking "why should shoes be so uncomfortable?". Like most kids I grew up with, I had two pairs at any one time - one pair of "soft" shoes (tennis shoes) and one pair of "hard" shoes (dress shoes). My old Converse tennis shoes were great, but I could never seem to find a pair of "hard" shoes that were comfortable. I think I believed that if you just bought enough pairs of a great variety, you'd surely find a pair that made your feet smile. Add to this the fact that - on my own, mind you - I had an epiphany of sorts about 20 years ago, realizing that black shoes do not, in fact, go with brown pants, plus some years later, my daughter recoiling in horror to see me in black shoes with a brown belt, and finally the fact that I NEVER return anything I buy that doesn't work out, and you can easily understand why I have 30 pair of shoes.

Knowing that I have 30 pair of shoes, you should be quite impressed that only two pair of shoes are going to make the trans-Atlantic journey with me. I'll be taking the white Nike walking shoes (a coworker once recognized me across a crowded restaurant by these shoes) and the seldom seen, reserve pair of black Nike shoes, to which I have assigned the role of "driving/sitting shoes". Both pair are well suited for their assigned roles, so there should be no need to bring more than two pair to Ireland. Of course, I make no guarantees, expressed or implied, about the number of pairs of shoes I will bring home.

This is really happening, isn't it?

Ok, so 'm 9 days out and it's just now beginning to hit me that this is not only actually going to happen, but it's gonna happen pretty damned fast. I'm getting myself psyched up by listening to a fine little Irish band from Boston called Dropkick Murphys. I particularly recommend "Flannigan's Ball" from their "The Meanest of Times" CD. A fine little ditty, it is.

Oh - I solved the whole trans-Atlantic telecommunications crisis. I bought a SIM card from Irish cell phone company O2 on Ebay and subsequently discovered that one of my "inventory" cell phones (an old Motorola V400) was shipped from the factory unlocked, so I just popped the Irish SIM card in and I had an instant Irish cell phone. Cool. Of course, there was much drama surrounding the "topping up" of the phone, but the details make my hair hurt, so I'll spare you. I did get to speak to O2 customer service in Dublin. The woman I spoke to was appropriately aloof, bored and possessed an accent the thickness of which I feared had long left the old country. Yeah, this is gonna be cool.

My itinerary is not solidified as of yet, but I do have a general outline. Of course, I'll be based in Sligo, in northwest Free Ireland. From there, I can make day trips to Dublin, Galway, the southwest and southwest coasts - all of which are in Free Ireland. I also plan to do day trips to Belfast and Derry in Occupied Ireland - just to piss off the English.

My dedicated pile of "take with" stuff is growing nicely. I now have three (maybe four) pairs of flannel-lined pants, a nice wool hat, full sized headphones, a GPS unit with maps of Free and Occupied Ireland, voltage converters and adapters, a spare battery charger thingy, a really cool National Geographic camera bag that's big enough to hold my Nikon, two lenses, GPS, netbook, sunglasses and at least two packs of smokes.

Now, all I have to do select my shoes...