Fack Off, Dublin. You’re Drunk.

Posted on March 20, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

For all you Americans who told me that Ireland doesn’t really “do” St. Patrick’s Day, Exhibit A:

Jenny has so many more photos of this day. I do not. But as a consolation I will tell you about some of it.

Ann, the caretaker of the cottage, generously picked us up early Monday morning and drove us to catch the hour and a half bus ride to Dublin. Even the busses were re-routed for the parade so we were dropped at a random point in the city. We hailed a cab and sped to the Ballsbridge Hotel (tee hee). Here, we dropped off our bags and headed out into madness.

We tried to watch the parade, but that was nearly impossible. I’ve never appreciated New York parades more. To be fair, the narrower, winding streets of Dublin looked a bit harder to navigate than our gridded Avenues. Since we couldn’t see anything and could barely move, we found a pub and had our first Paddy’s Day drinks while watching the parade on TV.

When we had our fill, we went to Temple Bar…obviously. We listened to (and I sang along with) live Irish music. I even heard Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrisson three times in Dublin in the span of 24 hours. Love you, Daddy.

There was a lot of drinking, dancing, singing, laughing, walking, eating, and even some crying. But who wouldn’t expect at least a little of that? Most of the people reading this won’t know what it means to end your night at Copper Face Jacks, but I encourage you to look it up. It isn’t for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. But when a tall, bearded Irishman drags you and your friends somewhere, at 1am, on Paddy’s, in Dublin, even if you know the place is sleazy, you go. That’s just science.

I will never forget that place and I will never, ever…EVER…go back. Thank you Jenny for experiencing that awful place and for spending 20 minutes trying to sell chicken to a man trying to get into your pants. For the record, people, Jenny and I left together and only with one another. We didn’t fall victim to Coppers like so many unfortunate others.

Hangover. All of Dublin had a hangover.

With only one night in the hotel, we got up puffy-eyed and in slow motion to face the day of touring. Two non-negotiable stops we agreed on were Trinity College Library (mine) and the Guinness Storehouse (Jenny and Jaye’s). We tossed in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral and called that Dublin. We also accidentally landed on O’Connell St., so I think that counts as paying respect to Bloody Sunday. It doesn’t. And the fact I just wrote that proves it.

Trinity’s Old Library and the Book of Kells was everything I had imagined. I must have 100 pictures of libraries all over the world saved on my computer at home. The information housed within them and all that they represent means an incredible amount to me. I want to have a library in my home, whenever I have one, so I can be surrounded by the thoughts, theories, facts and stories of history’s most respected (and loathed) writers. Each one is an escape to a new world.

The Book of Kells is an intricately illustrated and handwritten book of the four gospels. The amount of detail in this book makes my head spin and my hands shake just thinking about how much time and dedication it took to create. It makes me roll my eyes at this blog.

True story: My eyes welled with tears when I saw the Long Room:

Jenny photobombed me:

Cheeky.

To see the leather bound books stacked so high and smell each one was something I can’t explain. Everyone has their moment, and this was something I’ve been wanting to experience for a long time. As always, we exited through the gift shop.

At this point the hangover started to get worse. Significantly. After re-fueling with lunch, we made it to St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

Had the day been warmer, longer and more sober, we could have spent hours in the park here. But we had places to see! Ok, just one more place…

In all honesty, this was one of the most modern, well done exhibits I have ever seen. The self-guided tour carries you through each step of the brewing process and also explains a lot of history in innovative ways. Also, tasting.

We wanted to use our tickets to pour our own pints, but after an issue with the taps, we decided to have someone else pour one for us at their seventh floor bar and watch the sun set over Dublin.

As the sun set on our trip to Dublin, we headed for home. Back to the cottage we went. The last piece of this Irish puzzle is still to come, and I’m still not ready to say goodbye. So not ready in fact that I changed my flight so I could stay an extra three days. I needed a little more time with these rolling green hills. Part of me wouldn’t mind staying forever.

The Emerald Isle: Back Again

Posted on March 20, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

Unfortunately there’s only so much more I can write about this adventure as it’s coming to a close way too quickly. However, if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that my life’s adventures are only just reigniting and the coals will burn even hotter in coming months.

Ladies and gentlemen, the incredible, beautiful, dangerous Cliffs of Moher:

The most awe-inspiring things I have seen in this life are both beautiful and dangerous. They make your blood boil and your adrenaline pump, and they make you crave the adventure and taboo of pushing the envelope just a little bit more.

I remember the cliffs as a nine-year-old. My aunts, uncles and cousins were all over in Ireland for my Aunt Kimmy’s wedding and we took a family trip to Co. Clare to see this magical place. I remember my older cousins army crawling to the edge of the unprotected cliff edge and, with their heads over the edge, looking straight down to the icy waters below. The same fall that has claimed the lives of so many desperate and stupid souls. Of course at age nine I was going no where near the edge. I did get to climb to the top of the tower, though. I don’t think you can anymore and so I’m glad I can say I did it when.

In our twenties, Jenny, Jaye and I felt adventurous and stable enough to walk beyond the slate barriers. The danger and the beauty of the cliffs burrowed into our souls and we descended cliff edges for photo-ops.

As breezy and tourist-laden this place was, it was worth the trip ten times over.

From here, we got into our tiny rental car and drove north to Galway City along the coast. The drive had no shortage of sprawling Irish countryside…or hairpin turns:

Our trip into Galway was probably a bit unorthodox as Paddy’s Day weekend was already well underway, as was Six Nations Rugby. We walked the streets a bit and stumbled into a pub for some easy eats and a pint. When we realized we had a front row seat in a great Irish pub for the Ireland vs. France rugby game, we decided that the inside of this pub was going to be all we saw of the city.

I know, there’s so much more to do and see in Galway, but remember how I said tourists get too wrapped up in “seeing the sights” that they don’t actually see anything? This was a pub full of Irish people watching their country play for a title. Boys and girls, this was authentic Ireland. So we stayed; we watched rugby; we made friends; and we left. So long, Galway, you gorgeous girl.

Out to Killimor we went. I took Jenny and Jaye to my aunt’s house for the evening where we unwound, drank some wine and visited with Kimmy. I woke up early to write and, still filled with nostalgia and longing, to run. Being here, however magical, is intensely emotional. I only wish my Dad could have been beside me for it. Maybe he has been.

I ran a couple miles near my aunt’s farm and encountered no car or person on that Sunday morning. I found some cows though. Ok, a lot of cows. With a cleared head and a nose full of farmland, I ran back to my friends and family. Here’s Kimmy’s house:

And a door that makes me certain the Secret Garden exists:

After I accidentally poisoned Jenny (full story at end) I drove us out to Co. Meath on the opposite side of the country. Yes, people, I DROVE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE ROAD. For two straight hours. And only once did I steer us into a ditch. The girls will tell you though that it was a completely legitimate slip up with a big truck speeding up a small two lane bridge with a ditch pulling into our side. All passengers and the vehicle made it out without a scratch.

Ok, so here’s what I’ve been wanting to share. I haven’t paid for accommodation on this trip at all, with the exception of a very drunk night in Dublin on Saint Patrick’s Day. To Jenny, Ti, Kimmy, Sean, Kate and Mike, thank you from the bottom of my heart for accommodating me, and sometimes my friends as well.

We met the caretaker of our next place to stay in a “bigger” town called Kingscourt in Co. Navan. She led us to the cottage in Meath Hill, Co. Meath and showed us around. My jaw literally dropped as I walked through this gorgeous house at our free and friendly accommodation. Here are a few reasons why:

Yeah. I’m currently laying in a big bed among exposed stone walls, facing a stunning stone mantle and fireplace with lofted ceilings. Again, from the bottom of all our hearts, thank you Kate and Mike for sharing this gorgeous home with us.

That night we went down to the local for some beverages. It’s the only establishment in walking distance. The only one. We met up with Mike’s niece, Elizabeth, and her two friends who shared the cottage with us that night. After some good “craic” with the locals, we went home to rest up for the next day in Dublin. Paddy’s.

(How I poisoned Jenny : The short version is that Jenny wasn’t feeling well so I gave her some medicine that always helps me. I had no clue she was allergic to Aspirin. She stuffed up in her nose and her lungs and basically sucked on her inhaler for two hours straight. Had she not felt better by 4pm, we would have had to take her to the hospital. Yup, I poisoned one of my best babes.)

You Sound Like You’re From London

Posted on March 16, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

Too often tourists get caught up “seeing the sights” that they don’t see anything at all. Strangers tell me about their travels to New York all the time and sometimes I feel like they missed the point. Granted, tourists should see the things they’ve read or heard about and have always wanted to see with their own eyes, but the real flavor of each place is its culture and vibe.

I didn’t make it to London until two days after I had arrived. And I went into the city late because I had to try a CrossFit box in another country. (Shout out to CrossFit Huntsman in Hertford, England!!!) I’m pretty happy I waited actually because the weather was absolutely perfect each day I spent in London. Spring has sprung over here and it makes me cringe to think what I’ll be returning to when I go home.

Day one I met up with Zan at Hyde Park and we walked around there in the afternoon. I learned the chaos of Primark on Oxford Street and was introduced to M&S. We tried to see some of the British Museum, but it closed shortly after we arrived. I managed to see a killer piece by a textile artist that powerfully displayed the life (from birth) and medications taken by a single human being over their lifetime. That and, of course, the Rosetta Stone.

I left from there to meet up with one of my friends from Lake George, Steve. Steve is actually from Northern Ireland and he has been living in London a while now. We went to a killer gastro pub and had quite a bit of red wine (yum!). We both had one of my favorites to start–squid in ink–and he had some delicious melt-in-your-mouth lamb while I had the duck. Definitely the best meal I ate out in London.

Day two was filled with the traditional sights. We started at Buckingham Palace:

Walked down the Mao, past St. James Park:

Through Trafalgar Square and down to Big Ben:

Over the bridge near the London Eye and the aquarium:

And we followed the embankment all the way down to Millennium Bridge. From Millennium we saw St. Paul’s Cathedral, as well as Tower Bridge down a ways:

Near St. Paul’s I took Zan for her first fish-n-chips (not the amazing salted vinegar fish-n-chips wrapped in newspaper–we couldn’t find one in the area) in a dark corner pub. Aren’t we adorable???

That night (Thursday) Jenny and I went out for some drinks in Hertford. We had one drink at The Snug where a girl who had just returned from New York told me all about the weirdos from New Jersey she encountered at the Justin Timberlake concert that we “Jersey Turnpiking” all over the place. Of course I found this hysterical as I grew up in New Jersey, no where near the Jersey Turnpike. The amount of times I was asked in Hertford (just north of London) why I was there and not in London proper were many. It’s because I love and miss my Jenny!! But then you all already know that.

Jenny and I ended up at the Dog & Whistle where a great band was playing. We stayed until they stopped playing and then headed home to bed. A little drinking and a little dancing in a great little place. Perfect, albeit short, night.

Friday I met up with a new friend I had made. I love making new friends. As my tour guide, he took me down to Brick Lane and the market nearby, and then down to Portobello Road. Having a local at your side is so easy because it involves very little work on my part. No worry about getting lost or turned around or finding myself in the wrong neighborhood…so I had a few pints of cider. Obviously.

The next morning we were to leave (by 6am) for Ireland…again. Our friend Jaye came over that night and we watched PS I Love you to get us into the right frame of mind. The one that allows me to believe Gerard Butler in all his sexy, confident glory was waiting for me in Galway. (Spoiler: he wasn’t.)

So we got up and made our way back out to the Emerald Isle. Check back for that update! The pictures are killer!!

Also, obviously:

London Takes a Backseat

Posted on March 14, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

I’ve been in England for four days and have yet to write a word about it. I must be having a good time, eh? Well, here it is.

Four years ago I boarded a plane…and then another…and then another…to get to Perth, Australia. If you’ve never heard of it, look it up. Surely my schoolmates were lying when they told me I could dig a hole to China because Perth seems to be the real planetary opposite of New York. You can take two routes: New York —> Los Angeles —> Sydney —> Perth; or New York —> somewhere in Europe —> Dubai —> Perth. By the time I got there I was nearly in tears just from flying.

I kind of knew when I arrived that this was going to be something I would remember for the rest of my life, but I’m not sure I expected to make some of the best friends I will likely ever have and for this lonely continent to change my life. There are so many stories from Perth to Sydney, to the Whitsundays and Bali and back again. Too many to tell now, but since I’ve been in England I’ve been taking the longest route down memory lane.

Until Monday, I hadn’t seen my friend Jenny in four years. I knew her for five months, she lived a couple units down from me on campus in Perth, and she was one of my best friends in Australia. When I told her I was planning a trip to Ireland, we both decided it had been too damn long since we’d seen each other and so she basically threatened me if I didn’t come out to London. She really had to twist my arm there…

You know those people who you won’t see for weeks, months or years and the moment you’re back together it’s like no time has passed? That’s my Jenny. I have lots of friends spread over several continents like that, and I’m not sure they know how much they mean to me. You know who you are and I want you all to know that I miss you and think about you often, and the moment I get a chance to visit I will be there.

So I hopped off the plane at London Stansted and as I walked out of “customs” (there was no check at all, so I can barely count it) I heard a cheeky remark from this small girl standing alone. My Jenny ❤️

This is a really long way to tell you all that, rather than sightseeing that day, Jenny and I spent the first four hours, at least, of my first trip to England just talking. Talking about everything from Perth to Crossfit to her inevitable move to Australia and my upcoming adventure in Korea. Jenny, I know you’re reading this and I want you to know that this has been such an amazing time…and we haven’t even made it to Ireland yet.

So yeah, I’ve been too busy to write, but not because Big Ben was calling, it’s because nostalgia was. We went back to her parents house in Hertfordshire and there she has a scrapbook from Australia and it nearly made me cry (I’m a complete mush with sentimental things). There’s a photo in there from our last night together in Oz and our faces are hysterically perfect. We aren’t crying or smiling, but straight faced, holding each other and staring off into different directions. You can read our expressions that say “I don’t want you to leave” and “I don’t want to leave,” respectively.

Here’s her page of me from the scrapbook:

So even though I “convinced” Jenny to come with me back to Ireland for Saint Patrick’s Day (no convincing necessary), she took two days off of work Monday and Tuesday. Monday she showed me around Hertford, where she lives, outside of London. We checked out a CrossFit box (I’m obsessed), got some food and cider, and later that night her awesome boyfriend Ti made us a KILLER meal. SO delicious.

Coincidentally, a girl I worked on my university newspaper with is traveling and our time in London has overlapped. Zan came with Jenny, Ti and I on Tuesday out to Stonehenge. For £15 we didn’t know what we were going to get, but I think that this was inevitable:

The audio guide told us all about Stonehenge, as much as we know about it at least, and about the surrounding area rich in pre-history. Not the warmest or sunniest of days, but we learned a bunch, laughed a lot and had a great time.

When our ears were good and numb and our noses runny, Ti drove the lot of us back through Oxford where we walked around, had a meal and some drinks, and looked on in awe at how stunningly beautiful this town is. Sorry New Paltz, but you look like Bed Stuy in comparison.

That’s Ti and Jenny walking through campus. Here’s a few more shots of where these incredibly lucky and intelligent students get to call home, take classes and live for their university careers:

Definitely my favorite thing in Oxford was this:

Because we all judge books by their cover, this bookstore wrapped these up in brown paper with an anonymous description/recommendation written on them. Fucking brilliant. Oxford, you are quite smart. Zan chose one she found interesting and even after opening it she judged it by its cover. She resisted at first, but now she can’t put it down. I say again, Oxford, you’re brilliant.

We headed back toward London and after dropping Zan off we went to pick some things up at Jenny’s parents’ house and I was privileged to meet the awesome lady that made her, Mrs. Lynne Cumming.

So by the end of Tuesday I hadn’t been in London at all…and I was having a BLAST. I did make it to London though…so keep reading to find out how all of that has gone down.

The Great Agi-Tater

Posted on March 10, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

Because I love puns and word play, here’s a piece of historical propaganda from the Famine Museum

Also, this is some pretty gross deli meat:

But the greatest part of Ireland is…

Home.

Home Sweet Home

Posted on March 10, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

Probably the best thing about Ireland so far has been all the people asking me how long I’m “home” for. In a stark juxtaposition to New York, the Irish are, as to be expected, some of the friendliest and most welcoming people I have ever met. I’ve never felt so much like family to pure strangers and I’ve never received so many compliments of character.

That being said, I did get a chance to meet real cousins out in Leitrim. Seamus and (go figure) Kate are sweet people and they’re my blood. Though the Irish mist is ever present, we did get a sunny day over in Drumshanbo at the Mulvanerty residence over the weekend.

My aunt Kimmy, or Adrienne as the Irish call her (her real name), and I visited Seamus and Kate’s house and heard the sad, but hopeful, story of their pup, Fred, who was found emaciated, unable to climb out of the drain he was dumped in at the end of their drive. He was skin and bones, filled with worms, and had his tail chopped off, according to the vet, with something similar to a cleaver. They got him sorted and he’s the sweetest.

The next day, after a rough night out by myself where I made friends and ultimately returned to our hotel at 4am, Seamus and Kate met us at my Great Grandfather’s house in Keshcarrigan (?). I can trace my paternal lineage back centuries to this house.

We even made an equestrian friend along the way.

Pretty damn cool that I really did “come home” to see the house I stood next to at age 9 with my late father, where our blood had lived for centuries.

We returned to Killimor in Co. Galway where Kimmy lives with my uncle Sean, who is largely unintelligible to my American ears. Both sweet as can be, they live far in the country on a sheep farm. I joined them for mass on Sunday in the church where they married 16 years ago, where my father walked her down the aisle. (Side note: for those who know me, you are certainly laughing at the fact I went to mass. Don’t worry, it was only a 35 minute commitment.)

As we were leaving, Kimmy handed me a book of hymns with this inside:

For those too dense to realize, this is for my father. It felt more and more like home every minute I was there. And you better believe I shed some tears in that church for him.

A kind, funny, very drunk fellow named Martin taught me to Waltz and intended to teach me to jive at Treacy’s, the pub where Kimmy and Sean’s wedding reception was held 16 years ago. He didn’t teach me the latter, though all the twists and turns looked like fun. Next time.

We drove out to Shannon Airport after a lunch at the golf course and I am currently awaiting a plane to London where I will be reunited with one of my best friends from my time in Australia. Jenny Cumming, you best be ready because I’m coming for ya! The best of all is, after I’ve seen a bit of London, she and our other friend, Jaye, are returning to Ireland with me.

Steve Cullum and Zan Strumfeld, I will be finding you, as well.

Having homes all over the world where I’m happy, comfortable and welcome makes me one lucky girl. ‘Tis a Blessing to be Irish, I suppose 😉

Jolly Green Kate

Posted on March 6, 2014 by juicethesqueeze

New York—>Paris—>Dublin…then a bus to Ballinasloe, and a drink stop, and then once my aunt arrived, two hours in a car on those precarious roads (left hand side) to Carrick-On-Shannon in Leitrim.

It’s been quite the journey, but I watched the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower and I capped the night with some drink and a Trad Session. I had some lounge time in Paris with a cappuccino and perfect croissant and I can’t complain.

Falling asleep in a strange city is eerily comforting. Nearly anonymous and free to do whatever I want. That includes accidentally walking through the back of a pub through the men’s room…

Even if Ireland smells kind of like sweet meat (peat bogs and the burning of peat moss) I’m happy to be in the homeland. Goodnight from the Emerald Isle.

Juice The Squeeze

Ensuring with each step that the juice is worth the squeeze.

Category Archives: Ireland & England