Rambling About the English Countryside

December 26, 2012:
On Boxing Day, we finished doing nothing all day just in time to catch our bus to Leeds. When we got there, we were dropped off at an insignificant-looking part of a road. And although we had looked up directions on Google Maps, we took a number of wrong turns until we stumbled across a cab and decided to give up. Instead of getting into the cab, we had to call the switchboard in order to reserve a different one. Finally, we arrived at our Couchsurfing host's appartment building.

Talaira called to tell him we were almost there and fell in love with his voice. Unluckily, it was his maybe-girlfriend (probably, sort of?) who welcomed us to his home because, as we knew, he was away for the weekend. Luckily, she was great. Talaira got over the loss pretty quickly. I, on the other hand, instantly fell in love with his apartment. My life wish list now consists only of having an apartment that is nearly as well laid-out and decorated as his. It wasn't "fancy", but it was perfect. We settled in and watched the 40-year old Virgin. My life wish list would additionally include Steve Carell, if there was a remote possibility of that ever happening.

December 27, 2012:
Our Couchsurfing host also lent us his friends, Luke and Johny. They picked us up in the morning and led us the 5 minute walk back to where we'd got off the bus the night before (oops!). We only took one wrong turn. We started off at the history museum of Leeds which was pretty cool. The first thing we came across was a map, with my last name on it!

I always feel kind of famous when my last name is on anything. Like Fisherman's Friends (check it the next time you're at the grocery store. It's a thing.) I sometimes wonder if I have ridiculously rich relatives. Or if any of them are royalty or anything. But, in all cases, all I know is, a region of Leeds is called Lofthouse. Chillin'. As a city in the north of England, there was some pretty interesting history about the development of industry and how Leeds was once part of the Roman Empire and all that jazz.

We had lunch at a fairly "Indie" restaurant called Ruby Jeans. The boys joked that it was the most American-style restaurant they could have taken us to in the city, but we were both so satisfied by the prospect of baked mac & cheese that we didn't mind at all. The atmosphere was convivial and we really liked our pseudo-hosts.

Lunch was followed by a look around the Modern Art Gallery, but as I generally lack an appreciation for modern art (because I don't understand 90% of it), we didn't stay long. (I think it's generally that I don't have the patience to think critically about every piece of art or to try to analyze them based on my limited knowledge of art technique. And, really, who can be bothered with statues?). Something else I didn't really understand was the Yorkshire accent. Johny had spent some time in America, so he played it down a bit for us North Americans, but for almost an hour Luke was almost impossible. It got easier as we got used to it. They showed us the Corn Exchange and an indoor market downtown and then we parted ways...

Rather than continuing to explore, Talaira and I did what we do best. We watched Bridget Jones' diary. She's so comforting and hilarious. Later in the evening, we made our way from the flat, without getting lost, back downtown to meet up with Chrissy and the boys at Fibre nightclub for 2-for-1 drinks. This is the best nightclub marketing scheme ever. The second best nightclub marketing scheme was the Pizza Kitchen Bar, where you can order what-I-call "drunk food" as you drink. Genius! We ended up doing a bit of a pub crawl which included trying a shot of chili-flavoured alcohol (not my brightest moment), and it led us to an amazing bar playing a Spice Girls medley and then a Grease medley, and then Hairspray, and no guys were bothering us.... I should have immediately clued in that it was a gay bar. Thankfully, I am not so shortsighted that I overlooked the drag queen DJ at our final bar. What a night!

December 28, 2012:
In preparation for the transportation between the remaining four cities on our five day galabant, we printed out the 50 million train tickets before we left Leeds for Manchester. We had a Wetherspoons breakfast, and at 11:30am in the morning, there were men in the restaurant drinking at the bar. This was our first impression of Manchester. I had an easier time understanding the Spanish man at the table to my left than the English men at the table to my right. Beginner Spanish is evidently paying off! Too bad about my being a Native English speaker. Between rain drops, we got to see a very small part of the city (and it seemed nice!), but we were off to Gloucester (pronounced "Gloster". Don't look at me! I wasn't the British genius that decided "ces" is silent in place names...) By the time we got to the Gloucester Cathedral, soon after 3:30pm, it was dark.

My camera's night-time feature sucks. Being in a Cathedral after dark was really cool though. Gloucester Cathedral was used for a bunch of different scenes from the first two Harry Potter films, including the scene where Ron and Harry see the troll pass to the girls' toilet on Hallowe'en, and the scene where Mrs. Norris is found hanging from the wall during the Chamber of Secrets. They even water-damaged the floor when they flooded it for those scenes where the blood is painted on the wall. There was only so much we could see as it was technically after hours and there was no hope of a proper tour, so we set off to do some errands. I found a dress for New Years and then we waited an hour at the train station for our train to Bath. As a way to pass the time, we people-watched and decided we found Saul's doppleganger-in-10-years. It was creepy on a few different levels.

Once in Bath, we met Amy, our Couchsurfing host, and bought pasta supplies. We had this strange easiness with her. She reminded us of our roommate from first year university, Nicole. The three of us had been the greatest procrastinators, and also the greatest friends, for that year and it almost felt as though we'd gone back in time to the land of first-year student living. We watched Love Actually and went to bed.

December 29, 2012:
I woke up to the pouring rain. I didn't bring my umbrella. By the end of the day, my coat was soaked all the way through to my clothes. I looked like I was attempting to compete in a wet t-shirt contest. And I had puddles in my boots. It poured rain ALL DAY.
We saw the Royal Crescent...

...Jane Austen's apartment, the Abbey, and the entrance to the Roman Baths. We caught what we thought was an amazingly well-priced trip to Stonehenge. Turns out, the cost was only for the bus and the "tour" to get to Stonehenge which took about an hour, but didn't really teach us anything interesting. To add insult to injury, the bus dripped rain water on me. We had to pay extra to actually get in to the viewing centre and access Stonehenge. When we got there, I really didn't care much about the stones, to be honest, because my hand was too cold to hold the audio guide to my ear and there were tourists EVERYWHERE.

The best part of this day was when we got back and stopped for lunch at an authentic Moroccan restaurant called Cafe du Globe. It was exceptionally good food. Amy also told us that Bath is known for its shopping... so we shopped! We're so "with it", we even got hit on by what appeared to be an 18-year old sales boy. Ooohhhhhh yeeeeaaahhh. We had pizza for dinner and watched American Beauty (which I highly recommend) before bed.

 

December 30, 2012:

Despite the rain, Talaira had managed to fall instantly in love with Bath. I, on the other hand, was more sceptical. Sure it has beautiful buildings from the Georgian period in England and I'm sure there is a lot to love, but I could not get over the rain. Amy also mentioned how the cost of living is unbelievably high and how the residents of the city voted against having a Primark in the city (it's sort of the equivalent of a Walmart that only sells unbelievably cheap-but-nice clothing). To be fair, it is rumoured that they use child labour to produce their clothing, but I suspect the vetoing of this chain in Bath had more to do with maintaining the bourgeois atmosphere than any moral concerns. Either way, Primark doesn't have the power to stop the rain.

 

All of my stuff was finally dry by morning so I packed it, put my poncho on over my coat and said goodbye to Amy. I got tons of funny looks on the bus. We couldn't be bothered to go to the Jane Austen Museum as we had planned. Instead, we wandered around and had a bakery breakfast next to the train station.

 

When we arrived in Oxford, we checked our bags at the hostel. Our goal was to see as many Harry Potter filming locations as possible -- the Bodliean Library, Christ Church college and New College, at least -- one of which had a line-up till kingdom come and the other two were closed.

I checked the websites before we left to be sure they wouldn't be closed over the holidays, but there was a computer-paper notice on each door saying that they were closed until classes started back in January. Talaira chastised me for not knowing this because it was "common sense" that an extremely famous university and tourist destination would be closed between Christmas and New Year. It was at this point that I decided that I kind of hated England. I had taken my poncho off on the train and forgotten it in my backpack when we checked it into the hostel, so I was drenched. Wet t-shirt contest 2.0. Thoughts running through my head included, "No wonder they felt the need to conquer so many awesome countries. Their own country sucks." It made sense to me that Lewis Carroll (who attended Christ Church) had to make up Wonderlands in his head to avoid the drizzly closed-tourist-attraction bore-zone of his own country. I may have changed my mind in hindsight, because it can't be like that all the time... I hope, for the sake of the British.

 

Dinner at Wetherspoons was a saving grace. We bought stuffed peppers and soup at the train station for dinner, got the lock on the second try once we made it back to Mortlake in London and watched Miranda's holiday episode! (You only need to watch the first minute or so of video montage to see why we were excited for a new season). Good night!

Christmas in London, England

For most of you, I wouldn't need to specify that the London that I meant was in England. For my friends from Southern Ontario, however, it could have caused a stir. You see, they might have wondered why they had heard from me if I had been home for the holidays. London, Ontario is the closest city to my hometown.

December 24, 2012:
So, I spent Christmas in London, England and Christmas Eve, I had the pleasure of reuniting with my friend, Claudia, who I'd had the pleasure of meeting in Lyon.

Unlike all the fakers, Claudia is a local Londoner. She showed us ALL of the touristy things. In the pouring rain. Big Ben, which is actually the name of the bell in the tower which is officially named the Elizabeth Tower:

Westminster Abbey:

(Another side of it looks suspiciously similar to the Notre Dame...)

Covent Garden Market:

And the Tower Bridge (which is not called London Bridge à la Fergie song):

 We got the Tower Bridge and the Tower of London after approximately five hours of walking (which was splendid and included many other sites including  the Globe Theatre, the Christmas display at Fortnum & Mason's, and Buckingham Palace). We had first stopped for a hot chocolate and when we came out, we had the first glimpses of sunshine we'd seen all day. Talaira and I were soaking wet; Claudia, as usual, came prepared with an umbrella. It was perfect weather for picture taking in any case.

I had the pleasure of briefly meeting the family we were staying with. They had just gotten in that afternoon from Scotland and were headed off early the next morning for Miami (what a life, am I right?)

December 25, 2012:
Christmas Day was a lot harder than I thought it would be. It was hard watching photos go up of my family cutting down the Christmas tree, making Dad's Sugar Cookies and generally knowing that they would be together for Christmas without me for the first time in my life. So, waiting for a reasonable time to call them on Christmas Day was difficult. We didn't expect anything to be open all day, there was no public transport and we were staying in a part of the city a bit too far from the centre to be walking around, so we opted for a day of rest.

Talaira and I exchanged gifts in the morning and we had been hoping for a marathon of Christmas movies -- the Grinch, Love Actually, National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation, Home Alone, those creepy stop-motion films about the land of misfit toys or whatever -- but there was nothing! So many options and British television channels failed us miserably. We ended up watching a marathon of Friends reruns. So whatever. I was really excited to call my family. And it made my heart ache, physically, because I really do miss them. Happily, they received by presents in the mail so that they could open them that morning. Calling them was like soul food.

Followed by a quiet Christmas dinner consisting of Chinese food left-overs, vegetables in cheese sauce, smashed potatoes (as Talaira calls them) and wine. Lovely!

Wales

December 23, 2012:
The morning of Day 9 we caught a taxi and, for the first time in my life, I accidentally went to the driver's seat rather than the passengers because they were on opposite sides of the vehicle. What's worse is that I got in and didn't realize I was on the wrong side until I noticed the steering wheel in front of me. Even after a month in Australia where I actually drove a vehicle, I couldn't keep it straight. The taxi driver and Talaira thought that this was just about the funniest thing ever, and at least it broke the ice and made the drive to the ferry port less awkward for everyone.

When we got there, the sign said that the last passenger boarding had already taken place. We freaked out. The taxi driver took care of unloading our bags while I ran in to implore them to let us on the ferry. They were so casual and seemed confused as to why I was so worked up. Luckily, our tickets had been mailed to me in France before we left and we only had to trade them in. We boarded with no trouble and explored our luxury cruise liner. We had a porridge breakfast in the sunshine. Talaira fell fast asleep and I decided to read on our way to Holyhead. The ferry left at 8:20am.

We got our first glimpse of land at 11:45am. We realized we were getting off in Wales. We're obviously very organized planners.

At 12:50pm, we took a train from Holyhead to Crewe which arrived at 3pm. We were supposed to spend nearly five hours in Crewe, but luckily asked one of the train managers who said he didn't even know if there would be a train then (which is what our tickets told us) so we were allowed to take a train after only half an hour from Crewe to Nuneaton. Finally, we took a train from Nuneaton to London Euston station. We got in at 8pm rather than 10:30pm. You may be asking why we opted for the version of travel that would take us approximately 14 hours when we could have flown. Our tickets cost us £38 each, which was much cheaper than a flight at this time of year. Also, we managed to have amazing weather and saw quite a bit of the Wales countryside. It is practically unheard of to have sunshine in Wales. I had a Welsh student in one of my drama classes choosing the sound of falling rain as representative of his childhood.

Our arrival at London Euston was not the end of our journey. We took a train from London Euston to Clapham Junction. Talaira had a transport card (called an Oyster Card... the names of public transport cards confuse me), but I hadn't manage to figure out how the machine worked in order to get a transport ticket all the way to Mortlake, our destination. We had to get off the train at Clapham Junction, I bought another ticket and we got back on the same train for the last leg of our journey. We had to walk 10 minutes to get to Talaira's family friend's house. It was a really difficult ten minutes.

Travelling is so hard on your body, no matter which option you take. Even if we would have flown, the impact on your body of being at such a high altitude and moving so quickly would have been comparable to what we experienced going at a much more "human" speed. And even though we might have had more time to recover if we'd have flown, we would have missed out on some spectacular views of the countryside. All the travel was enjoyable except for the delay on our train from Nuneaton to London Euston. We were so tired by the time we arrived; we bought Chinese food at the end of the street, wrestled the door open, put on our pajamas and went straight to bed.

Ireland in 6 Days: Dublin, part 2

December 22, 2012:
The ride back to Dublin the next morning was punctuated by Gabe's live renditions of songs he wrote. Without wanting to infringe on his copyrights (if he has them), I'll just tell you, Dear Reader, that they were of questionable taste and ridiculously funny.

The last stop on our tour was the Guinness factory. It went into detail about how the beer is actually made and what sort of special efforts they put in to make it taste the way it does. We did a quick taste tester and it was strange how, after having done that part of the tour, you could actually taste the individual parts that they had talked about. Probably psychological, but still cool.

There was a section on advertising through the years which were entertaining and interesting. It reminded me of the kind of epic advertising they do for Molson Canadian:

The tour finished with each of us getting a free drink from the bar at the top of the factory (which is in the shape of a pint of Guiness)... non-alcoholic for me, because it turns out alcohol does not cure sore throats. We had a beautiful view of the city from this vantage point.

After 6 days in a bus, we were ready to break apart from the tour group and to check back into Barnacles hostel. We were checked into the same room with the exact same beds as the first time!

We had an Italian dinner with Liz, Tim and Mel which was a nice break from all of the pub food we'd been having at The Italian Connection (95 Talbot St). I highly recommend this restaurant. It was amazing food. We had a teary separation from the remaining members of the Ace Gang. And at ha'passhhht (another Gabe-ism) we tucked in to bed and prepared for the long journey we still had ahead of us.

Ireland in 6 Days: The West Coast

December 19, 2012:
By the morning, that slightly dizzy feeling had turned into an extremely sore throat and an inability to keep my eyes open on the bus. I tried my best to listen to Gabe's stories, but thankfully, he let us get away with sleeping between stops most of the day.

Our first stop was the grave of William Butler Yeats. This was pretty cool considering I studied "The Second Coming" in my first year of University. He's one of the most influential poets in the 20th century and was the first ever Irish-nationalist Nobel Peace Prize for Literature (he won just after Irish Independence from England).

 Upon arrival in Galway, I passed out on my bed wearing my winter coat and all my clothes. I went to the bathroom when I woke up and realized that my neck looked funny at which point I realized that I probably had more than a sore throat. I had the pedetriac nurse confirm that my glands were swollen. I opted to skip the Pub Crawl that night, even though I'd be missing the opportunity for a Christmas-themed dinner. Liz was even wearing a reindeer onesie. I made it through dinner at An Pucan and said goodbye to Nathan and Kate who were leaving the tour a few days early and then went straight to bed.

December 20, 2012:
I was no better by morning and I didn't have an opportunity to find a pharmacy to buy ecchinacea before we left. Our bus also had some new additions... and surprise! That meant more Australians and a South African. Our first stop was what Gabe called the "Mini Cliffs". The Cliffs of Moher are often foggy so he took us to a set of smaller cliffs that weren't first, just to make sure we got to see some cliffs at all. There was water crashing up along the rocks and it was really striking, but in my state of semi-delirium, I was more interested in a cow near the tour bus. I couldn't stay out for longer than 10 minutes and waited for everyone else to rejoin the bus by trying to fall asleep in my seat.

Sure enough, when we got to the Cliffs of Moher, you could barely see a metre in front of you. We went into the visitor centre where I nearly fell asleep during the "virtual cliffs experience" which was a video aimed at giving you motion sickness. Talaira and I walked out to the end but couldn't seea thing. A few minutes after we left, Liz and Tim said the fog cleared and they managed to get some great photos.

After a buffet lunch in a cute little restaurant with real fireplaces and cushions on the seat, we stopped at Blarney Castle, famous for the Blarney Stone. There are a number of myths associated with the origin of this stone, involving the goddess Clíodhna, witches, Robert the Bruce, etc etc. The stone is said to endow anyone that kisses it with the gift of the gab. "Blarney is something more than mere flattery. It is flattery sweetened by humour and flavoured by wit. Those who mix with Irish folk have many examples of it in their everyday experience" according to John O'Connor Power. Winston Churchill is an example of someone who has kissed the stone. And now I have, too!

The castle itself is stunning and we got to walk through some of the rooms. Afterward, we explored the Poison Garden next to it which is one of the coolest gardens I've ever been through. Each of the plants is poisonous and had an explanation of how it relates to myth. There were so many plants from the Harry Potter series that I hadn't realized were real plants.

We arrived in Killarney fairly late and my first opportunity to get some sort of medication for my throat turned up some vitamin C and some pain killers, but no echinacea. Liz, Tim, Mel, Talaira and I bought ingredients for pasta at Tesco, but I was in too much pain to really eat any. At dinner, a man who was a bit dodgy.com claimed to be a Scottish killer on the run. On that note, I went to bed early again.

December 21, 2012:
Gabe let us sleep in an extra hour in the morning and we set off on horse-drawn carriages around Killarney National Park.

The views were fantastic and they taught us a bit about the type of plants and things that grow there. Apparently there is moss there that can only grow in areas of the world where the air is pure. You could almost smell the purity.

We set off to Dingle and made several stops along the way: Inch Beach - according to Gabe this is one of the most beautiful beaches (apart from the weather) that he's ever seen but he might be biased -,  the Sleeping Giant island,

and a Celtic Church (totally abandonned with no sign of exploitation for tourism purposes). The church had acient Celtic writing and a window called the Needle Eye. According to legend, if you're able to pass through this slim hole in the wall, you will be able to pass on to Heaven. I couldn't be bothered. I was still too sick to really have any energy. We also got a glimpse of a famine house from the bus windows.

That afternoon, we had free time in Dingle so I finally managed to find some echinacea! We ate soup for lunch and I started a regimen of echinacea and vitamin C every two hours in addition to the masses of water I'd be drinking every day since it started.

Before dinner, I had a run-in with the shower. It was an electrically powered shower where you have to press power and set the temperature, etc. It seems fairly high-tech, but I was in the shower before I tried the power button and it didn't work. I tried several more times before I got exhasperated, put on a towel and asked the girls in my room if they knew why it wasn't working. Finally, I realized that there was a master power switch OUTSIDE the bathroom. Because that makes perfect sense!

Feeling fresh, we ate a sup-par dinner at the hostel restaurant (which also doubled as the bar) and went out to see if any of the other bars in town were worth visiting. I was feeling much better. All of the bars in town seemed to have two or three people that all new the bar tender. I wouldn't be surprised if the village we were staying in only had the four bars we went to visit. After we left one of them, all four or five of the young people who'd been at one of those bars came to the hostel bar. They must take advantage of the opportunity to "meet" tourists whenever they see the Paddywagon Tour bus pull up. That night we had karaoke at the bar and I was prescribed Irish Carbombs by the future doctors on our trip because alcohol is an antisceptic and kills bacteria... I can just picture my mum rolling her eyes.

Talaira and I rocked a medley of Grease songs and Liz took on Gagnam Style, which must be the most difficult song to sing karaoke to unless you are Korean. The only smart thing I did was leave long before the end of the night to try to get some rest.

Ireland in 6 Days: Northern Ireland

Alternative titles for this series of posts included "Six Days on a Bus Tour Around Ireland with 22 Australians, a Kiwi and an American" and "The Australian Cricket Team Goes to Ireland" (I'll explain later), but I thought these was a bit cumbersome and opted for one that was short, sweet and to the point. This rarely happens. I hope you appreciate the opportunity you've been afforded here!

Day 3:
Bright and early on December 17 (and when I say bright, I mean dark because it was long before 8am), Talaira and I packed up our bags and walked off to find our tour. We nervously sat in the tour office glancing around us and sizing up our companions for the next six days. We had booked a tour with Paddywagon Tours, and we were faintly hopeful that we'd made a good decision based on the fact that every time we emailed them a question they responded to our emails with "Thanks a million for your question!" which, I personally feel, is hard to resist. Who doesn't like being thanked for asking questions about information that is probably easily located on their website? It felt sincere, anyway.

Our hopes were answered in the form of Gabe, an Irishman who had been giving tours with Paddywagons for 14 years... happy days! He was full of songs, questionable humour and irresistible turns of phrase. He taught us that "feck" is not, in fact, a swear word. You can choose to believe what you want... and in the meantime, you can watch this video.

Another favourite of Gabe's was "shep". Gabe explained it as meaning anything. It can be positive or negative. It can be an adjective or a noun (a shep or a shepina). And it can be used in any situation. Having looked this word up upon my return, I can say with good confidence that he invented it, but that doesn't make it any less catchy. I'm part of a scheme to bring it to other English-speaking nations. (Start using it now, you sheps and shepinas!) Some of his other sayings included "wakey wakey", "okey pokey", and my personal favourite: "bingo, bango, bonk, off down the road". Please don't ask my why. I just find it incredibly amusing. It's tight, like, you know. By the end of the trip, I know longer knew what the word "tight" even meant or it what contexts it could be used, and so with the tone of our trip set by our colourful tour guide, we began introductions. You may have guessed that we were approximately 22 Australians, 1 New Zealander, 2 Canadians and an American. All but 8 of us were teachers (and I'm a teacher candidate...) on summer holidays.

Soon after we left, we stopped for a quick photo opportunity of Dunluce Castle which is now really just the ruins of the castle on the edge of a cliff over the ocean. "At one point, part of the kitchen next to the cliff face collapsed into the sea, after which the wife of the owner refused to live in the castle any longer. According to a legend, when the kitchen fell into the sea only a kitchen boy survived, as he was sitting in the corner of the kitchen which did not collapse." (Wikipedia) It is a striking sight.

One of the first proper stops on our tour was in Belfast, Northern Ireland, which is a part of the U.K. It was a visit to the site of Titanic's construction and a view of the massive cranes and dry docks that were used to construct it. The size of these things was mind-boggling.

However, our tour really began with a harrowing recounting of the history of violence by the famous Black Taxi Tour company. The drivers were incredibly informative explaining the origins of the dispute and the influence of different historical events, and adding personal elements to those explanations. We saw the murals on buildings in neighbourhoods flying the Union Jack and heard stories about innocent men being shot in a bar simply for being Catholic or for being Protestant. Each religious affiliation tends to link to a feeling of patriotism. Catholics generally feel Irish and Protestants generally feel British.

The conflict dates back to the conquest of Ireland by Oliver Cromwell which was brutal - immediately following the war there was a bubonic plague which led to famine and all the Irish people had their property stripped from their possession in favour of British immigrants. They estimate that anywhere from 15-50% of the Irish population died or left Ireland as a result and approximately 50 000 Irish were deported from Ireland as indentured slaves. The tours brought us to the Peace Wall that was constructed to keep the Catholic and the Protestant sides of the city separated and we signed it.

Our tour group had dinner at Ryan's Bar and Restaurant and got to know each other a little better, followed by a few pints at a local pub. On our way to this pub, however, we noticed that a part of the road had been barricaded and that there was an active police duty there. There were sirens heard all over the city and our new friend, Nathan, decided to ask the police what was going on. Apparently, riots had broken out in the rougher part of the city. The tension was due to controversy about the flying of the Union Jack on public buildings.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-20654329

The police assured us that we were safe on the side of town that we were on, so we weren't too concerned. The bar had live Irish music and real live Irish men. We became friends with Liz and Tim, a couple of med students from Adelaide, and Nathan (teacher) and Mel (project coordinator). Through the course of our time at the bar, we amused ourselves with people watching and soon notice that two "gentlemen" had taken an interest in our table. Specifically the end featuring 16 female teachers. The men took turns approaching the table and speaking with the women at the end. Eventually, they overstayed their welcome, and those crafty teachers decided to tell them that we were in Belfast for a cricket tournament as we were, in fact, the Australian cricket team. This was a hard sell, so they called on Nathan to play the part of our cricket coach (who also insisted they were not to accept drinks from strangers). They could not have chosen better. We decided that any non-Australians had chosen to go to Australia because it had the best women's cricket program. Our game was we-didn't-know-where at an unnamed time in the morning and our main aim was to try to increase the popularity of cricket in Ireland. After a while, even I was convinced, and the whole charade concluded with the older man telling Nathan that he hated him because he had the best job in the world.

Talaira and I chose this moment to return to the Paddywagon's hostel accommodation and to get some sleep. However, we got lost on our way... (of course, we were bound to get lost the night that there were riots around the city). We found our way to the University and from there it was smooth-ish sailing. We'd only taken one wrong turn. We tucked ourselves in and tried to drown out our snoring roommates.

Day 4:
The next day was jam-packed. We were off early in the morning to the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge and we were lucky to have gorgeous weather for the occasion. This rope bridge links the mainland to the tiny island of Carrickarede. It is 20 metres long and 30 metres above the water and rocks below. It was originally built by salmon fishermen. From this area, you can see Rathlin Island and we had our first glimpse of Scotland. The views were breathtaking.

 

 

 

Our next stop was the Giant's Causeway:

"Legend tells of an Irish warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill, who built a causeway to Scotland. One version of the legend tells that Fionn was challenged by a Scottish giant, Benandonner. Now Benandonner was much much larger than Fionn, so he tried to think of a way out. His wife, Oonagh, came up with an ingenious idea. When Benandonner crossed the bridge looking for him, Oonagh disguised Fionn as a baby and tucked him in a cradle. When Benandonner came, Oonagh told him that Fionn was out woodcutting, but he should be back soon. She showed him 'Fionn's son'. When Benandonner saw the size of the baby, he had no desire to see the father! Benandonner fled home in terror, ripping up the Causeway behind him, so the 'enormous Finn MacCool', would not follow him." (from Wikipedia)

This tourist attraction is a UNESCO World Heritage site and was formed by volcanic activity.

For lunch, I had a hearty Irish stew at The Nook restaurant. Pub food was still a novelty at this point. It was delicious. Our afternoon drive brought us to Derry/Londonderry (I'll explain soon). It was legen... wait for it... DERRY! We had a bit of free time so we went to the Christmas market to look for souvenirs and something to eat for snack. There were some Irish boys serving baked potatoes with various toppings and at first we didn't think there was anything special about them... but then they spoke. I don't like to be on the bandwagon of girls that swoon over an accent, but there I was goggling at them like they were the most interesting people I'd ever met. If only my accent had the same effect on them....

We peeled ourselves away from the food stand in time to see a model of the Delorean Flux Capacitor in a souvenir shop. It was not worth the time it took to walk there, and they charged money for you to take photos of it, so if you ever find yourself in Derry and someone suggests you go and see it, don't.

We checked into our hostel and met our hostel host, Stephen, who doubled as a tour guide on a walking tour of Derry. Derry is an anglicisation of the Irish name Daire or Doire meaning "oak grove". In 1613, the "London" prefix was added, changing the name of the city to Londonderry. The majority of people in the city call it Derry, but Londonderry is used by the Loyalists and is still the legal name. "Derry is the only remaining completely intact walled city in Ireland and one of the finest examples of a walled city in Europe." (Wikipedia) Stephen told us that these walls were built in the 17th century by the Irish to defend against the Scots and Brits. Despite being generally less equipped for battle than the Brits or Scots, the Irish were good at making friends. He told us the story of the Siege of Derry where 6000 French soldiers came with King James I to help him regain his territory after the "Glorious Revolution" (when Mary and William of Orange, Protestant rules kicked him out of power). Basically, they fought for 105 days in which time the French had given up and the city was relieved by British war ships.

In a different tone, he told us of the discrimination faced by Catholics in Northern Ireland because of the Protestant government in place there until the Civil Rights demonstrations of the 1970's and Bloody Sunday (similar to the situation of the Québécois in English-ruled Canada until the introduction of French language laws in the 70's, which also followed a Civil Rights movement). In England, the Irish were treated as lower class citizens than Blacks, even by the 1960's, and they were inspired by the work of Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Black Power Movement in the United States to fight for their rights. The British government recently issued a formal apology for the events of Bloody Sunday, which Stephen described as having been felt deeply by the Catholic population in the city. Although the city has been increasingly divided into Protestant areas and Catholic areas, there are efforts going on currently to encourage tolerance.

He concluded, however, on a positive note. Even though the majority of Protestants on the "Catholic" side of the River Foyle seem to live in a gated community with wire fences around them, Derry recently built a peace bridge that measures traffic between the two sides of the river and it was much higher than anyone expected, meaning that people do pass from one side to the other. And, he remarked that the city has changed profoundly. Previously, only members of the Irish Republican Army (IRA) had served as role models to the children growing up. Now, Derry can boast that it is the hometown of Damian McGinty who won the Glee Project as well as several famous footballers (soccer players) who play for the Republic of Ireland football team.

That night, we had dinner at the Ice Wharf, a restaurant similar to Wetherspoons, which was cheap and delicious. We bonded more with Nathan, Mel, Liz and Tim, and built the foundation for the makings of an Ace Gang. We went to a bar with Gabe, and it was at this point that I started not feeling the greatest. I went to bed in the hopes that it would pass by the time we took off in the morning for Galway.