Wednesday and Thursday, days in transit
We woke up at 4:20 am to catch a shuttle to the Gatwick airport from our hostel. We were there pretty early for our flight and the Ryanair check-in desk hadn’t even opened yet for us to do our Visa checks so we could get out of London/back into Ireland. So we sat on the floor for over an hour. Sara actually managed to get some more sleep, but I just couldn’t do it. I’ve slept in public places, not so nice places, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell if the people walking by and staring at her looked on impressed or as if she was homeless. I just gave them a look like “Yeah, that’s my best friend. She’s really tired. Do you have a problem with her sleeping spot?” Luckily I was able to pass out just as well on the actual flight. The ladies sitting next to me gave me a small smile that I returned and I rolled over towards the window and immediately konked out. The next thing I heard was the pilot saying that we were landing soon. It was pretty sweet. You know how they say the best nights are the nights you don’t remember? Not so sure that’s true, but it’s definitely true that the best flights are the flights you don’t remember.
We landed in Dublin and immediately headed towards the bus stop to go to Belfast. We were not quite done with our last trip of the semester. Upon arrival in Belfast, it was pretty clear right away that this was not nearly similar to our adorable Galway. Once again, we had the walk to our hostel and I went through the questions in my mind. Just how bad is this place going to be? None of the hostels in Belfast had very good reviews, this one was supposed to be one of the best. But I was still very skeptical. We walked in and the first impressions just kept coming. Tom, the guy at the reception desk, had clearly just been sitting there watching a violent movie on the communal TV. He was wearing a beanie despite it not being very cold out and that he was inside. He handed me a ring with three different keys on it, two for the front door (questionable) and one for our actual room, and gave us a quick tour. “This is the uhh hang out room. If you want to watch TV there’s TV, if you want to read a book, there’s books. If you feel like playing guitar, go ahead.” There were in fact, two (communal I suppose?) guitars propped in the corner of the room. We crossed the hall to the kitchen. “This is the kitchen. Breakfast is included. It’s just cereal and uhh toast or whatever, and coffee and tea, but go ahead in the morning from 8 to 10. There’s the fridge. If you put something in it, just put your name on your beers or whatever.” As if the only thing you can put in a refrigerator is beer… “There are spices and stuff on that shelf that you can use if you cook something. If you want to smoke, just go outside.” And what exactly have you been smoking, sir? “Your room is Room 8 on the top floor. So just go 15 staircases up…” Hah. Hah. You’re hilarious. “Nahh. Just kidding. Third floor. Enjoy and let me know if you need anything.”
As we filed up the stairs, awaiting the moment of truth as to the condition of the beds we were expected to sleep in that night, the judgments all three of us wanted to share were palpable. As soon as we got into our room, a six person female dorm, the opinions just spilled. “I feel like these guys just decided while they were smoking pot one day that they would open up a hostel in their grandma’s old house.” “It’s like being in a hostel run by our most spacey peers we can think of at home.” “Where are we?” Luckly the beds and the rest of the room were clean enough to sleep in for a night. And yet as semi-horrified as we were, we just collapsed into laughter at the whole situation. I think I forgot to mention that this place was called Global Village. It was a place made by hippies, to house other hippies. Running jokes already ensued. Does anyone want to go downstairs and just play the guitar? Put your name on your beers, guys. This was no longer The Generator hostel in London that was seriously prime hostel accommodation.
But we locked our stuff up in the drawers under the beds and headed downstairs to ask our new friend Tom to call us a Black Taxi Tour. This was a very political-focused tour that reminded me just how little I know about history, especially more current affairs. Every name our guide mentioned, I had no idea who he was talking about. But I certainly learned a lot. Fun fact: the Europa Hotel in Belfast is the most bombed building in the world, at 33 and still standing. Our guide told us that there is some sort of list to get into staying there. Lord only knows why you’d want to stay in a place that had that many bombings, but apparently no one has ever actually been hurt in all of them. We also found a member of the IRA with the last name O’Riordan, so potentially Sara’s distant relative. Best keep that hush hush I suppose. I didn’t realize just how much of a problem there is between the Protestants and Catholics still in Belfast. There’s actually an enormous wall built up between them, but people still throw bricks and stuff over it and there is still a lot of violence between them. People still get killed over these things, which is sad to think about. We made sure not to mention to anyone that we are Catholic. Best to play it safe and not risk starting anything at all. Perhaps my favorite part of the Black Taxi tour though, was the Peace Wall. People from all over the world have written their peace messages on it, from the silly to the profound. Our guide gave us a marker to write our own. He comically added that everyone likes the wall a lot, “especially the Germans. They’re jealous. They don’t have a wall anymore.” As serious as the tour’s topic was, our driver made sure to insert jokes. He pointed out a puppy in someone’s yard saying, “See that. That’s a Catholic dog. It’s been trained to go to the bathroom on the other side of the wall.”
He was also nice enough to recommend a pub for us to go to dinner. I really just wanted a burger and a Smithwick’s anyway. We stopped on our way back to the hostel to pick up snacks for our tour the next day and called it an early night. As we sat in the hostel relaxing, we heard a key in the door and each held our breath, awaiting a view of our new roommate for the night. It was a middle aged woman from New Zealand. She was perfectly nice and frankly I would rather have her then some crazy (but it’s still weird to see real-person adults staying in hostels). She went off to get her tea and I was asleep before she even got back. It was ten o’clock and just getting dark out but I wanted to sleep. I didn’t even bother going for a shower in this hostel. After I saw in the bathroom that there were shelves for communal shampoo, body wash, and deodorant, I thought I would go ahead and pass. This place was a little too hippy for me.
We got up early to give ourselves time to get breakfast in case it was really gross downstairs. It turned out okay, but I was glad that I found out that people washed their own dishes after I had finished using mine. Kind of gross. Anyway, we left earlier than we had to, opting to spend the extra time in a Starbucks so Sara could get her coffee and I could pick up some juice. As I was paying, and the cashier commented on how heavy my credit card is (this happens basically every time I use it) he asked if I was from America and then where specifically I’m from. I told him Massachusetts. A woman behind me in line commented: “I could hear the New England in your voice.” Umm. Heck no. Where are you from? “Detroit.” Alright. She just doesn’t know then. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t correct her. I am from PIttsburgh and in no way have a New England accent. Yuck. I take great offense to this.
We set off for the Europa Hotel where our tour bus would pick us up. (Yes, the Europa Hotel that’s been bombed over thirty times. I would have been fine not being within a mile radius of that place.) When we got on the Paddy Wagon, I could tell we were entering a stressful situation. It was 10 am and the bus driver announced that the people on the bus had been there since 4 am starting from Dublin and hadn’t been able to use a bathroom. It was like entering a stress factory, except I couldn’t get out. Luckily our first stop was not too far away.
The Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge is just off the north coast. It connects a small island that fisherman particularly liked to fish off of, so they built the bridge. This coastline was really beautiful. I was quite impressed by the color of the water, which looked much more tropical than you might expect. I will have to post a picture so you get the whole effect of how precarious the bridge looks, though.
From there, we were off to the Giant’s Causeway. From a visual point of view, this is just a strange rock formation that juts out into the ocean. Each rock is sort of hexagon-shaped and they all fit together perfectly. From a scientific point of view, this is what happened when a volcano erupted and the lava got into the ocean. (What volcano is my question?) Now for the true. The truth is this: There once lived a giant named Finn MacCool who lived with his wife in Ireland. One day, Finn noticed that there was another giant across the sea in Scotland. The two began to shout obscenities at one another and Finn got really riled up. He decided to build a causeway out to Scotland so that he could really give this other giant an earful. So he built what is now known as Giant’s Causeway. However, once Finn got over there and came face to face with the Scottish giant, he realized that it was three times his size! So Finn ran home to his wife with the Scottish giant not far behind. He told his wife his problem, and being the wonderful woman she was she sat and thought up a clever solution. Mrs. MacCool formed the couple’s bed into a crib of sorts and dressed her husband as a baby. Moments later, the Scottish giant came knocking at the door. Mrs. MacCool invited him in for tea and the Scottish giant asked where Finn MacCool was. She informed him that her husband was not home, but the Scottish giant pressed and asked to see more of the house. When they got to the couple’s bedroom, the Scottish giant merely saw a baby in the bed. Who’s baby is that? he asked. Mrs. MacCool replied that that was Finn MacCool’s baby, of course. Looking at just how large the baby was and fearing the size of its father, the Scottish giant flew out the front door and back across the causeway, breaking pieces of it as he went so that Finn MacCool could not follow him. And that’s how the Giant’s Causeway actually came to look how it does today. It really is very naturally beautiful. The stones rise up like steps, which makes for easy climbing, but we had to be careful the further out we went because they got very slippery from the sea water.
When we got back on the bus after Giant’s Causeway, there was a bit of drama. The driver counted everyone and realized that there was an extra person on the bus. He announced that there was a stowaway and that was fine, but he would make them get off. After only a minute of driving, he pulled over and walked down the aisle, with aggressive, long strides to the back of the bus, “get off me bus!” I was a little alarmed. Several people seemed involved with the issue, as they started yelling “Russia! Russia!” Before we knew it, the driver had kicked off ten people to their continued chorus of “Russia! Russia!” As he got back to his seat and started driving again, he got on the microphone and told us that the people were misbehaving so he kicked them off. I still have very little idea of what happened but was glad to not be involved. Northern Ireland seems like an aggressive place.
We had about a two hour ride back into Belfast and I still felt a little sleep deprived. It is very possible that I fell asleep on the shoulder of the Turkish man sitting next to me and even if I did not, I came extremely close. The fact that Sara had to ask me if I did makes me wonder a little bit…But he was perfectly nice and when I woke up we conversed in the little English he could, that yes, I had had a nice nap and I certainly hoped that I hadn’t bothered him.
When we got back to Belfast, we still had two more buses to take, first to the airport to take the bus back to Galway. We arrived in Dublin just seven minutes before our bus would leave for Galway, so we had just enough time to switch. We didn’t have much for dinner, but I wanted sleep way more than I wanted food. We didn’t get back to Galway until 11:30 pm and it was pouring. I was tired and cranky and there was no way that I was walking home in that rain. For the first time in all our travels, we took a cab back to Gort na Coiribe from the bus station. It was a great last trip but now it was time to enjoy our last days in Galway.
Cheers for now ♣
CheersGalway 