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"Who knows what the Australian anthem is?" our tour guide Gaberielle asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror of the bus.
I sense that this is a trick question, but answer anyway "...errr Advance Australia Fair?" "Wrong!"
"ahh..Waltzing Matilda?"
"Shep love don't ya know your own anthem? You must, come on... You know we belong togeeeether, you and me forever and ever, we're walking on air, just to know"
"Just to know!"
"You are theeeeeeeeere"
The Americans stare at us in confusion as we sing the Home and Away theme song, Gaberielle with a lot more gusto than my timid backup vocals. Thus begins our 2 day Paddywagon tour from Dublin to Galway.
Gaberielle has been running tours for 14 years and is an absolute ball. He has the perfect timing of a top class comedian, but even more importantly, he is incredibly passionate about his country - both it's history and it's future. Over the next two days he drives a captive audience through the middle of the country and out to the western coast, singing us traditional Irish songs relevant to each town we pass through, becoming sombre and proud speaking of the struggles of the Irish, and knowledgeably discussing Ireland's economy.
He is also incredibly passionate about Home and Away. "Oh shep love, that Alf Stewart, we adore the man! He's a national hero! If the toilet is blocked, Alf will unblock it. If theres a crime, Alf'll solve it. And if the bushfire is raging, he'll save the whole fecking town!" When he finds out that Rochelle was once an extra on the show he just about dies of excitement, but pulls himself together in a hurry to text all his friends and post a photo of him with the highly embarrassed Home and Away 'star' on the Paddywagon Facebook page.
We spend our first day travelling through the rugged and beautiful countryside of Connemara including Cong, Lough Corrib, Leenane and Killary Fjord. This country never ceases to amaze us with it's unreal scenery - words and photographs can never do it justice.
One of our most impressive stops is the Kylemore Abbey, a sanctuary for nuns who fled Belgium after the war, which took 100 men four years to build. The Abbey appears eerily out of the mist - the washed out grey contrasting beautifully with the deep green pine trees it is nestled in. It sits at the base of a hill and next to a wide, clear lake, where it's reflection shimmers amongst the lilypads like a Monet painting.
We also stop at a much smaller, much older abbey in a state of disrepair but no less interesting or beautiful. Uniquely, only those who didn't live in the town were allowed to be buried there, and as we walk through the old stone structure we're mindful not to tread on some of the worn slabs marking graves, while others are more prominent or well maintained.
Now, unfortunately I cant remember which town this is relevant to, as I'm writing this a couple of weeks later and after a few Jameson and ales...but at some point we drive past a phallic looking monument that had been dedicated to a ruler named Cormac O'brien. O'brien was not a very popular leader - a bit of a douchebag really, who brought in many self serving laws including one that decreed that all new brides on their wedding night would sleep first with him, before their new husbands. This law in particular has led the locals to dub the monument "Horny Corny's last erection".
After a full day's sightseeing, we arrive in Galway in the late afternoon. After some free time to stroll through this energetic little town, we meet the group at a pub for a delicious dinner and a few drinks. We are entertained throughout dinner by some fabulous Irish dancers - the male dancer performs the brush dance which is unique to Galway, and the pretty Mandy Moore lookalike manages to change Mark's feelings about Irish dancing. Win win, I say. They move so fast I can't get a single clear photo - each one is a blur! Well, it's that or the pints of Guinness...maybe both.
After dinner we kick on with some of the group to a few more pubs and clubs until, mindful of the bus ride in the morning, Mark and I are some of the last to wander home to bed. The short glimpse we've had of Galway is enough for us to agree that it lives up to all it's hype and we will definitely be back, for longer, when we tour Ireland next.
The following day we head first along the coastlines of Buuren, where large boulders are scattered across flat grey sheets of rock that stretch out to the lapping waves of the ocean. We step across the thin crevices which drop deeply between the sheets and clamber over rocks before finding a nice smooth boulder to sit on. Even with the large bus group, with our back to the road it's as though we are alone. It's all grey - the rock, the sea and the sky - but instead of dreary it is peaceful, beautiful and calming. I could happily sit there for hours, but after 20 minutes it's time to keep moving.
We head past a small cemetery, the first of many like it, where Gabe points out the numerous large rocks scattered there amongst comparatively few headstones. He explains that these are Famine graves, and that those with headstones are far less because, simply and heartbreakingly, there were very rarely any family members left to return after the famine and erect real headstones.
Only 160 years ago, Ireland lost half of its population to a devastating famine which was triggered because of a disease that spread through Irelands staple food, the potato. The Irish population dropped from eight million to four million. Two million died in Ireland, usually on the side of the road after being evicted from their homes. The other two million tried to escape on the famine boats, which were quickly dubbed the coffin boats. Refugees were crammed into the hulls of fishing boats for the 3 week journey to America, with only whatever food and water they brought themselves, and the doors remained shut until they arrived at the final destination. Too often, the doors would open and not a soul would emerge.
Of the two million that left in a boat, only one boat ever made it to America with all passengers still alive. The difference? The passengers were allowed on deck for an hour each day. There was a doctor on board helping to further stop the spread of disease. And maybe irrelevant, but, the boat was the only one with a female captain.
What makes this more devasting is that there was more than enough food to feed the entire country, yet the English continued to export and deny their own people food (Ireland was part of Britain at this time). Eventually international pressure mounted and the English began to feed the Irish again - with conditions. Large soup kitchens were built, and women and children worked there to earn their food. The men were made to build pointless stone walls, and after a full day of lugging stones in an already famished state, they were given one bowl of soup, and one piece of bread. Just another in a long list of mindless, meaningless monstrosities that people inflict on other people. Terribly, terribly sad.
We arrive at the majestic Cliffs of Moher. It has started to rain, which is a real shame as this is the site I've been most looking forward to - but still the view is wonderful and now and then it clears. I seem to be the only one of us willing to pay 2 euro to climb the tower which gives a commanding view. The rain clears temporarily and for a while I have it all to myself..until some inconsiderate couple bust in and he proposes. God. Get a room! I take some happy snaps for them, it's really very sweet, and he picked a spectacular location! Now run along and give me my tower back ;-P
As we leave the Cliffs, the rain (or "liquid sunshine" according to the eternally positive Gaberielle) really starts to pour down. Our rather dysfunctional bus was already suffering from a busted gear box and a busted door (Gabe had to tie it shut, and at one point one of the American girls sat on the doorstep holding it closed). Now, it starts to leak. A couple of unfortunately placed passengers do their best to redirect the flow using plastic bags and jackets, while poor Gaberielle simply pulls his hoodie on and now and then asks the girls behind him to wipe his steamed up glasses. By our next stop he's dripping wet but accepts our laughter with typical Irish good humour.
When we arrive at our final stop of the tour, Dunratty castle, the rain is so bad that I'm sorry to say, only two people on the tour brave the walk to actually see the castle, while the rest of us sit in the restaurant and drink hot chocolate. I get a glimpse from the balcony, and truth be told it's not impressive enough to lure me back out there.
After this we wave goodbye to our tour mates who are continuing for another day, switch buses and sleep right through the 3 hour journey home to Dublin. Before we know it our 9 days in Ireland are over and we are on the plane to Belgium, plotting our return next year - next time Northern Ireland, and a valid drivers license! Oh the never ending list of next time...
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