Don't Hold Your Breath

What kind of ingrate goes on an all-expense paid trip to Ireland and Iceland, then waits nine months to blog about it? You’re lookin’ at her. OK, so you’re not – you’re just reading the first of her very belated blogposts about the trip.

After our very inspiring and character-building 200-mile hike on the Camino de Santiago in the fall of 2010 – about which it also took me months to get around to writing, I figured 80 miles on the Kerry Way in Ireland would be a relative piece of cake. So when Kathie told me that Kathleen was planning the trip and asked if I would like to go…well, really, what would you say? 

We took off on Friday, August 12^th, for Dublin. The overnight flight was the crampedest – yes, that is now a word in my dictionary - I have ever experienced. I mean, really, Delta? We’re not 3 feet tall.  A few more inches between rows would not kill you, would it? Or maybe those seats should have been reserved for leprechauns. 

Upon arriving in Dublin on Saturday morning, we caught a bus that stopped right in front of the Portabello Bed and Breakfast, a lovely Victorian row house on South Circular Road, owned by Paul and Eileen Coughlin. We dragged our stuff in, chatted with Paul a bit, got situated in the front basement apartment (1 room with 3 beds and an itty bitty bathroom in a closet-sized space – which is not really so unusual in Europe), grabbed some euros at the ATM across the street, and hopped on the bus to downtown. Later we found out that we could easily walk there, but taking the bus this time was a good thing because we met a young lady who recommended Taste Food Co. for lunch.   

 

I had the roasted Mediterranean vegetable something or other (the menu description: “toasted focaccia buttered with our own hummus, topped with rocket tossed in balsamic dressing, mozzarella, basil pesto & roasted med veg”), which was quite tasty.

Then we wandered around a bit on our way to the tourist office. Along the way, we passed this sign for McDonald’s.

(Whaddya think – is that a hoot or what?) Then picked up some tickets for River Dance on Sunday evening.  We finally made it to the tourist office where we bought tickets for the hop on-hop off bus and got the scoop on Molly Malone from the tourist office lady.

According to Wikipedia, “Molly is commemorated in a statue designed by Jeanne Rynhart, erected to celebrate the city's first millennium in 1988. Placed at the bottom of Grafton Street in Dublin, this statue is known colloquially as 'The Tart With The Cart', 'The Dish With The Fish', 'The Trollop With The Scallop(s)', 'The Dolly With the Trolley', and 'The Flirt in the Skirt'. The statue portrays Molly as a busty young woman in seventeenth-century dress. Her low-cut dress and large breasts were justified on the grounds that as ‘women breastfed publicly in Molly's time, breasts were popped out all over the place.’"

In Dublin's fair city,
Where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She was a fishmonger,
But sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
(chorus)

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone. Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"
(chorus)

Apparently U2 did a version of that.  Huh.

So we hopped on and off the hop on-hop off bus – which is obviously what you’re supposed to do - to get the lay of the land.  Somewhere about halfway through the route, the three of us started nodding off.  Having slept all of 3 minutes on the flight, we were pretty tired puppies.  When the route ended, we were not sorry to hop off for good and get some dinner at O'Neill's, where Paul had recommended we get the fish and chips.  The fish and chips were so-so, but what do Yankees know about such things?

When will I write about the rest of the trip?  Who knows?  It might be tomorrow…or it might be in another nine months.  Don’t hold your breath.  It's been so long since I've blogged that I have to catch up on all the new Blogger tricks.  Oy.