A Gaelic Trek

Ireland, the land of milk and honey, of Guinness ale and whisky bold, of famous writers both young and old, where fairhaired Mollys wared there goods, and young O'conners here once stood....in Dublin Town.

It all started believe it or not at 4 o'clock in the morning when I told my son that without my pocket knife and lighter in my pocket I would surely walk in circles, being unbalanced you see.

Be that as it may, I made it through the metal detector at the airport ok but still had my bag throughly searched because my toothpaste tube was too large. My son went through the same ordeal mainly because his son put something in his bag that triggered an alarm. After they searched both him and his bag and discovered a Gameboy plugin all was forgiven. And so we were off. We flew Ryanair on the cheap and so discovered why it was so. They have found a way to pack more people into an aircraft then was thought humanly possible. The take off was smooth and the climb rate to 30,000 was something a fighter pilot could envy. We broke through the swirling mists and saw the sun for the first time in days. We were flying from England you see, anyway we enjoyed seeing shadows for about an hour or so when the pilots' radar spotted the target below and down we dove before it could get away...the airport that is. And with a thunderous bump the pilot planted that aircraft solidly down on the runway without blowing any tires at all.

Of course our first stop on landing was the tourist information center where we told a lad where we wanted to go and asked how to get there. He was very friendly and helpful which in retrospect offset his lack of knowledge of the bus systems within his realm. Stating that no bus could take us to the hotel directly but could get us close enough for us to get a cab the rest of the way. He wrote down the name of the hotel of the cabs and the town where it stood and sent us on our way. We approached the Airbus driver and told where we wanted to go and even showed him the directions from the lad inside the terminal. All is well, the driver foresaw no difficulties and so we loaded up. We wandered all over the town it seemed and disembarked all the other passengers along the way. Then we stopped some place where there is no hotel, cab service or structure and are told here you are! Of course after looking over the lay of the land we were somewhat curious as to where we were. The driver pointed in a direction and with a vague wave of his hand told us our hotel was down there somewhere and if we followed a more or less a southwest course we were bound to run into it. The driver had a friendly demeanor and was helpful (to an extent) but also adamant that this was the end of the line and we would walk from here on. And this we did, lightly weighed down with our carry-ons. Light of burden, innocent of heart and with a certain gaiety in our step we set off for what would be a four hour ordeal into the hinterland of Dublin suburbia. Questioned strangers smiled and waved off to an uncertain point. Friendly shopkeepers drew maps and so with renewed hope we walked and walked. Into the shadowless land of friendly smiles and obscure answers we wandered until we finally happened upon that mirage of all hope, the oasis of the burdened and the savior of penny pinching Yanks...The Goats Head Pub! And here we experienced our first pint of genuine Guinness out of a tap. The first taste of that well earned brew is beyond description and no attempt will be made here. Somewhere within the second pint of this fine brew our brows were cooled and the fatigue washed away. Within the third pint we found a song in our hearts, renewed strength in our limbs and the strength of will to sally forth once more into this beautiful country....so we called a cab. End of Part one!