Claire Blogs Day 2: An Old Man Gives Me His Number

Driving to Cong was remarkably easy. I think we found the one good highway in Ireland, a so-called "motorway". It got easier when we figured out that "junction" means "exit." The other roads are terribly narrow, which freaks Emily out, but I think I'm I'm doing OK. One of the women running the counter at a gas station at which we stopped sympathized with how hard it is to drive in Dublin, which made me feel much much better. I suspect that the Irish, though hugely friendly, just aren't good at giving directions. Despite that, we did not get lost.

I only ended up on the wrong side of the road once or twice and only on very quiet streets. Emily and I did have a really funny moment getting out of dinner and walking to the car, where we both walked to the wrong side (well, the correct side for an American car), each opened our doors, stared inside for a confused moment, and then looked at each other, like, wait, where's the steering wheel? And then we switched sides.

We found Ashford Castle and its surrounding gardens; pretended to be staying at Ashford Castle to walk around the ground floor a bit (dang. That is all.); watched falconry lessons; explored in a ruined Abbey; found prehistoric stone circles (in the middle of a cow field); spelunked (well, I spelunked, Emily watched me spelunk. You know the Irish call it "pot-holing?" LOVE); hiked around A LOT, found another cave. I maintain it was a grotto. Emily disagrees. We also found confusingly located very very very old abandoned cars.

We had an excellent conversation with a local guy fishing on the river Cong, who commented that it was really nice to hear American accents around again, as apparently tourism has been down with the dollar. I said something like "Yeah, this Euro downturn is probably bad for you, but it's kind of great for us..." We then talked about the Euro, and politics, and Irish culture in America, and "the 6 counties to the North", and various other things. Funnily, Emily and I had seen an ad on a bus yesterday for vacations in Philadelphia, of all places, and said to one another, "Who the heck goes on vacation to Philadelphia?!" Well, this guy has, and he seemed to have learned a lot about the Articles of Confederation. He described the problem with the Euro zone thusly: "You know, you can't get 'half-married'."

Dinner was at one of the two pubs in town, where an INCREDIBLY INTOXICATED guy, older than my father (mentioned not because my father is old, but to indicate how unlikely I am to call him), took a liking to me and insisted on giving me his number. It was kind of hysterical. More hysterical was the 85-year-old man named Paddy sitting at the bar who repeatedly ordered Bacardi rum on ice and then very stealthily snuck a diet coke out of his pocket and poured some into his drink. This struck us as both HILARIOUS and a little backwards. I stealthily snuck a picture.

Em and I probably overlap a lot in the blogging, but whatever.

Bed time! I can't seem to convince the hostel shower to spit out hot water, which is sad face, but the hostel is quiet and we have our own bathroom all for 20 euros per person per night, which is definitely happy face.

Tidbit: the city of Cong is where the John Wayne film The Quiet Man was filmed. I know this because it's mentioned in pretty much every building in town.