Galway

Now is as good a time as any to blog about my latest adventure; this time it's a trip to Galway. The city –– the third-largest in the Republic of Ireland –– is situated on the west coast of Ireland, directly opposite Dublin, and it took €10 and a 2.5 hour coach ride to get there. Essentially, Galway feels less like a city than a large town. I think this is really what Irish cities tend to feel like most of the time. The proportion of tourists must be just as large as in Dublin, but even so it's much more staunchly Irish, and not as cosmopolitan. I think this is what attracts so many people to Galway, an authenticity that refuses to dissolve under the relentless stream of foreign travelers. It's nearly impossible not to stumble upon a trad music session spilling out of a pub in the famous Latin Quarter. And the Irish Gaelic language commands a larger presence here than in Dublin. A typical tourist probably will not be able to pronounce the names of half of the pubs, neighborhoods or streets in which they find themselves.

It's also deeply entrenched in its own history, a history that's contributed so much to the wider world. The famous Claddagh Ring, worn by lovers and Irish-enthusiasts across the globe, was born here. One of the Medieval structures of the town, Lynch's Castle, takes its name from a town sheriff so committed to upholding the laws of the city that he was forced to hang his own son for murder, thus originating the English verb "to lynch."

In any typical midwestern American town you'd find avenues and front yards festooned with American flags, and occasionally a pennant from the state university football team. In the Galway I saw, pubs, houses, storefronts, and every other flat surface was plastered in the maroon and white checker pattern of the Galway hurling team, or colored with the blue and green of Connaught Rugby.

Checking in to our hostel on the first day, I was met by Declan, a short and friendly greying hostel-keeper originally from Achill Island. When he saw my Ohio driver's license, he asked immediately "Are ye from Cleveland?" When I answered "Yes," he went on to explain about the connections between the Cleveland-Irish and Achill Island, and that lots of his wife's family immigrated to Cleveland (or "Little Achill") and have been there for years. When I asked what gave me away as a Clevelander, he said "De curly hair."

The second day was our trip to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. We hopped on a day trip coach south out of Galway. The farther we went the wilder it got –– the more the crumbled stone fences were overgrown with weeds older than me, the more frequent the ruined farmhouses and abbeys, the smaller the towns got that punctuated the two-lane road. There are nearly always mountains in sight in this part of the country, partially obscured by cloud or mist, and you wonder what you'd find in the shadow of one if you got that close.

The sea views from the Cliffs of Moher were stunning, but it was the Burren that fascinated me most: a region of County Clare where naturally-occurring limestone slabs stretch as far as the eye can see, and arctic, alpine and Mediterranean flora coexist in the cracks over hills and plains. The landscape is completely unique. In some places it's almost lunar. It's a wasteland, but not forbidding; it just admits no human influence or intervention. But when you look up into some of the hills, it's hard not to imagine a million gravestones, rows of stone terraces, or seats in an enormous stadium. The Burren is untamed, yet visitors feel connected to it; it's inexplicably deliberate. When the coach stopped we skipped across a honeycomb of limestone rock to see the Poulnabrone dolmen, an 6000-year old Neolithic tomb. What was it that brought prehistoric cavemen out into this inhospitable and utterly wild landscape?

These are just a couple of highlights. Galway is a lively city surrounded by lovely countryside that demands a visit of anyone who finds themselves in Ireland.