However, it is a very busy place, and not so hospitable at times. Tourists seem to be somewhat reluctantly welcomed in places, but we were lucky to find a nice hostel right on the Liffey, the central river bisecting the city. Other than the guys at the counter at the hostel, we really hadn't really talked to anyone. Finally, on Tuesday night we wandered toward the port and found a nice pub where we met Neil, an engineer from Galway who we had a nice chat with. He immediately suggested we skip town and head for Galway, a small town on the western coast. After hearing his description of the beautiful surroundings and atmosphere of the town, we decided we'd head out in the morning. And here we are.
After the busy, dizzying maze of Dublin, it feels wonderful to be in a small Irish town. The cobblestone streets are small and lined with scores of small shops, and while there are cars, it seems most people walk everywhere. There are pubs on virtually every corner in the city center, and many more tucked in between the shops. The bus ride yesterday was a three-hour journey through the heart of the country, miles of deep green fields dotted with white sheep, rainbows pouring out from the ever-present grey clouds. Ruined churches surrounded by lichen-covered gravestones wreathed in gaelic designs. Galway is a university town; the vast majority of the people here are young, which gives the town a very lively atmosphere. Every pub has groups seated before pint glasses, engaged in animated conversations. It's easy to talk with people, though the main topic seems to be Bush's warmongering.
Wednesday was fantastic: we arrived in town and found a bed and breakfast tucked away on a small side street, the proprietor a nice, rather hectic Irish woman who fixed us a pot of warm tea and cookies. After we settled in we headed out to the coast and wandered on the beach, marveling at the distant hills covered in a patchwork of fields. Multicolored wooden boats reminiscent of viking ships lay on the docks, the quay populated by a flock of fifty or sixty white swans who paddled around us primping and fending off the seagulls and ducks who thought we might have some bread.
As evening approached we walked over the bridge into town and headed into The Bunch of Grapes for a pint or two (I fancy the darker beers, Guinness, Kilkenny and Beamish stout; Debbie is partial to the lighter ones, Carlsberg and Smithwicks). We ended up heading to Taffe's Pub for an evening of traditional Irish music and singing, where we met a nice couple from Minnesota, the husband a writer, his wife a judge, who showed us their films of Connemara and the wild Irish coast north of here. One fellow asked if he could play a tune, and the bar was soon singing 'Piano Man' loudly and clicking pint glasses together. It was a blast. We finished off the evening in The Kings Head talking about God and the Catholic church with some fine local chaps, one of them a Greek scholar who is studying variations in translations of the Bible. A night of heady revelry.
Unfortunately this internet cafe won't let me upload my photos, so I'm hoping we find one in Dublin tonight, where we are heading in order to catch a flight to Spain in the morning. So far everything has gone well and we anticipate much wonderment down south. Postcards should reach everyone soon. Sliante!
