Hellooooooo!

It's been several weeks, (my, how time whooshes by!) and Joe and I only now have sat down to update the blog. We're giving you a shout out from the town of Oxford, where we're hanging out with Joe's sister and her family.

However, when I last left off, we were still in Ireland...(cue wavy visual effects and harp music)...

Seeing the countryside

We had just run into the lovely Mrs. Nuala Morrison Stack (her first name is pronounced "Noola"), a kind and enthusiastic woman with plenty of ideas of things for us to see and places to go around Killeagh. "You can either speed off down the main route," she said, "Or you can stop and get a proper look of what's around." Further advice from her: "If you want to know what there is to see, jest talk to the locals. Just pretend yer lost and they'll be mar than happy tuh help ya out."

So, we took her advice and visited the sites she recommended. We stopped briefly at the beach in Garryvoe; awed the pottery at Stephen Pearce's Pottery Emporium (quite good, do google them to check it out), inspiring us to throw some clay ourselves -- we even caught a glimpse of Mr. Pearce himself in the warehouse, a rather peculiar man who's self-declaredjob in life is to "bring beauty into yours", mm hmm; we found and explored the Penn family castle, as promised, behind the catholic church, which we wouldn't have even seen, let alone identified as once belonging to the Penns had Nuala not pointed it out; and zipped into the Ballymaloe Cookery School just before closing.

(Penn's castle is, well, falling down. It shares a wall or two with the church, but was recently bought by Mr. Pearce, who had/has ideas of renovating it, but has fallen out with the priest as to what to do. These ideas are, evidently, only partly-realized, and the castle has become a curious mix of old stone and new, somewhat kitsch, cinderblock/concrete construction. Grafitti on the interior attested to its current role as a local hangout (hey, we got in with no problem too), but the character of the ruins still pervades the scene.)

(Two highly-relaxed little dogs who teetered around slowly on legs that looked as though they were not designed for walking -- indeed they were more made for wobbling drunkenly in your general direction, bearing their owner's weight just long enough until they could crash down at your feet and, upon surrendering their load, stick out at obtuse angles from around their plump bellies, for shameless fawning and caresses -- greeted us with forlorn eyes and stomachs turned skywards ("for no one ever feeds us or pets us or looks after us!" they claimed, lies that we only encouraged with our coos and petting) at the little picket gate of the Ballymaloe Cookery School (www.cookingisfun.ie), a world-class organic farm, gardens, and cookery school complex catering to those who can afford it -- 200€ for a day-long class, 10 000€ for a 12-week course -- run by Nuala's friend Darina Allen. The grounds were bright and cheerful, with a little shop selling cookbooks and yumminess by the ounce, the cookery school to the rear, and gardens all around. Inside the shop, we found all kinds of organic-and-homemade-this (jams and cordials and spices and...) and DIY-that, including a very fascinating book over which Joe and I drooled by a John Seymore that's all about back-to-the-basics house and farm skillz (like cheese-making, shingle-making, chair-caning, and the like). We met Mrs. Allen's son, who is also the grandson of the woman who started the complex as a restaurant way back in the day, when she created delicious dishes with local ingredients. The place was successful and grew and grew to its present-day success, where world-class chefs come to train. This impressed Joe and I, but made us think as well: while we were glad to see people encouraging organic cooking and farming, does such catering to the upper classes leave everyone else out of the picture, or serve as inspiration? Is there a sort of "trickle-down" effect? Is this ironic, that organic farming/cooking, once the norm and even the domain of the poor, has become chic? In any case, at least they are promoting an eco-friendly form of cooking and food production!)

While out in the county, we reflected on whether or not we should call Nuala and accept her invitation to spend the night. She was, after all, a complete stranger, and while we were eager to get to know her and learn from her, we didn't want to impose either. In the end, we excitedly phoned her -- wrong number! "Hmmmm...perhaps it's our French phones that won't send the signal." We asked a small group of people for help dialing ("Aye, that's a county Cork number."), but the number still wouldn't go through. Then the people offered to dial the number using their phones! When the number still didn't work, they insisted for a good five or ten minutes to continue trying! We thanked them for their help, touched by their generosity, and found a nearby hotel to ask for a phone book. "Would you like to use our phone?" the woman at the desk asked. "Oh, I know a Nuala Stack from Ladysbridge," said another woman. Turns out a "4" was recently tacked onto the front of the local phone numbers, and even the phone books didn't reflect this change. This was our last try, and we dialed her up again. "Yes! Come on over whenever you like!" was Nuala's response.

From Ladysbridge, a tiny little village, she gave us directions, and we found her house in the country rather easily, as she cheerfully greeted us from behind the hedge like a mother welcoming home her children. They'd used to welcome students on exchange from France, so she showed us to a lovely room all set up for young visitors. While we freshened up, her husband Amon came home -- ("After he retired, he decided he didn't want to stay home, so now he leaves at five in the morning to drive a cement truck!"), and we all sat down to a warm-your-soul dinner of fish and home-grown potatoes, finished off by ice cream with raspberries, and then sponge cake and tea. We talked about all kinds of things -- politics, schools (Nuala's got a D.Phil and was in the middle of correcting exams), local and national Irish history and customs, Ireland's close ties with America, Gaelic sports...! The list could go on and on! Essentially, this was our crash-course in everything-Ireland!

Franco-Irish relations

During tea, the evening news came on, and who else was there but Mr. Sarkozy, visiting Ireland with the goal of convincing the Irish to accept the Lisbon Treaty. Fat chance. You shoulda seeeeeen all the protesters. Someone was even arrested for throwing eggs at him. (We've since spoken with a number of Irish about this, and some of them have said that they feel that they've benefitted well from aid fiven by the European Commission, and that Ireland should sign the treaty -- protesters, in their opinion, are afraid of losing autonomy, the ability to remain neutral in war, and their anti-abortion stance (This last one is especially controversial: "The Irish Constitution denies some human rights," one woman said. An especially shocking case recently involved a young rape victim who tried to go to England for an abortion, but was stopped by Irish officials and was brought back to Ireland.))

After dinner, Amon took Joe and I for a quick tour of the area as the sun set. We went to a nearby cemetery where Nuala's grandmother was buried, as well as the poet Spenser's wife in the adjoining church. After Spenser died, she returned to Ireland and remarried; thus, on her tomb are two statues of women kneeling next to the outstretched figure of a man. Amon pointed out details on the statues, like the lace on the women's collars, particular to time and place. The church itself, suffering from a loss of parishioners, was closed a while ago and stripped of its roof and floors, but bits and pieces are being restored.

Afterwards, Amon took us to the coast to see the Ballycotton lighthouse. Many years ago, there was also a lightship anchored nearby to warn passing ships of the dangerous rocks. A fierce storm broke the ship's tether, and the rescue mission to save the men on board, in which Nuala's grandfather took part, took days, he explained.

From there, we went to see an overlook of Youghal (remember: pronounced "y'all"). Interesting facts: it was quite an important port in its day, and is where Sir Walter Raleigh sailed from; also, part of a 1950s version of Moby Dick was filmed there.

When we got back to the house, Amon found an old copy of the history of the local area, and in which we read about the nearby castle and about Spenser's wife's second husband's family. They also found a few volumes of poetry by Spenser and Yeats, which we flipped through for a while (things to read when we aren't cycling!), and, pouring over our maps, they gave us very useful tips on routes to take after Cork ("Killarney is rather touristy...").

Some more things we learned about Ireland

Joe and I brainstormed and jotted down as much as we could remember from our conversations with the Stacks, but alas, they were so filled to the brim with juicy nuggets of information that I don't think I will even touch on everything they taught us.

1. Irish language -- From time to time, Nuala and Edmond spoke in Irish, which sounded sooooo cool. But: "What's the use of it? Everyone speaks English. If you speak the language, you get grants." On the Irish-only signs near Ring: "They're so bothersome!" Hmm. Food for thought.

We learned a few bits and pieces of Irish:

- Kil (or Cil in Irish) (such as Killarney), Rath (as in Rathmore), and Lis = fort

- Bally (or Baile in Irish) (like Ballymaloe) = town

- Mac = son

Combine them and you get towns with names like Ballymackeelthat mean "Town of the son of Keel".

There's much in a name, as well. Amon taught us that the local town of Ladysbridge got its name from a local legend: a woman, in search of her husband, desperately needed to cross the river there. As there was no bridge, all the women laid down their brooms across the river so she could get to the other side.

The English names of Irish places also don't necessarily sound phonetically the same as the Irish name, we learned.

2. Irish History -- We've already listed a few facts we learned about Ireland from the Stacks in the last post, namely that Ireland has pretty much been under constant English rule until the early 1920s, and that any Irishman born up until 1948 could obtain a British passport.

They also talked about how many young Irish went to London following WWII -- there simply weren't any jobs to be had in Ireland. They went to London for a few years as well in the 1960s, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It was there that Amon learned about JFK's death -- "He had come to southern Ireland and had spoken just that spring in 1963. When I heard about his death, I said, 'I saw him only a few months ago!' but no one believed me until I convinced them."

3. The Great Famine -- One sees cemeteries and memorials to this major event all over Ireland. Indeed, this one event in the 1850s greatly shook Ireland. Those who could, left. "We're the ones who couldn't get away!" said Nuala. According to her, people saved as much as they could and walked ("Why, of course they walked. They had no other means.") from all over Ireland to take a ship from nearby Cobh (pronounced "cove") to America. Those who made it to the poorhouse, though it has a terrible reputation, are those who survived.

4. Gaelic Athletic Association -- exclusively for the sports of hurling and Irish football. The Irish are nuts about their sports! Athletes come from each county to play these traditional games for love of county and sport, and despite all the attention, are not paid for their participation. "They're quite tribal on the pitch, but you know after the game they're all down drinking together at the pub!" Joe and I learned about hurling, and later watched a match, a game that looks much like a combination of field hockey, egg-spoon racing, soccer, basketball, wrestling and baseball, and requires an incredible amount of skill and dexterity. Each man is armed with a long paddle with a curved end, and they score by getting a ball much like a baseball either into the goal net or over the goalposts. These men somehow manage to bounce this ball on the end of their paddle while running at full speeds down the field, being pursued by the other team, who will commence to beating him if they catch up with him. At the last minute, with the other team breathing down his neck, the player grabs the ball with his hand, tosses it into the air, and whacks it with his paddle in a desperate attempt to score. Should the ball hit the ground, players either swing at it like in hockey or golf, or they magically scoop it back up onto their paddle -- without using their hands! -- to start off running again. God bless the poor goalkeep, who, from time to time, must somehow stop this small leather ball whizzing by his face with some part of his body.

Does the word soccer come from Ireland or the US? We don't know, only that the Irish refer to their own form of football by that name and to soccer by that name. Ha-ha! Justification!

It being very late at this point, we all fell into bed. "I probably won't see you in the morning, so I'll give you a toot if I see you on the road tomorrow," said Amon.

July 22 - Day 22

"Yer just like my children!" said Mrs. Stack, when Joe and I finally pulled ourselves out of the comfy bed and into the kitchen late in the morning. Our exhausted bodies simply wouldn't let us get up earlier. "I've been hard at work all morning just to make you feel guilty," she said with a wink. She showed us her "children," -- piles and piles of exams she was grading. She insisted on making us an Irish breakfast of porridge, bacon, sausages, black pudding (sooo good! it's mixed with barley to give it a breadiness), and brownbread with jam.

After breakfast, we washed a few things (whew!), packed our bags, and then looked at her family photos. She told us her daughter had been nervous about our staying overnight, which we thought was quite a normal reaction: Nuala laughed, "I told 'er I took in some strays! She said you could've been serial killers, but then, so could've I! Well, I'm sure yer mothers would be glad to know someone was lookin' after ye." (She refused to let me take her photo, "Dressed like this? No no!" but rather gave me a photo of her and Amon with one of their beautiful grandchildren.)

Nuala's and Amon's kindness and generosity both surprised and pleased Joe and I to such an extent, I believe it will forever remain with me.

Irish directions

"Now, you take the A42 until you get to the light, and then you go straight -- you won't see it, but you'll pass the railway station on your left -- so you keep going straight until you get to the next light, and you go straight there. Keep going straight, and then at the third light -- you'll know it by the town hall on the right -- you go...straight."

Directions are given in such an illustrative manner, that you think there's no possible way you could remember all these landmarks and details. With time, you begin to build up the image inside your mind, and once you're in a town, you see exactly what your direction-giver meant.

"I know all these names!"

We hadn't realized just how many people came to the US from Ireland until, reading signs and tombstones, we recognized many, many names of friends and aquaintances from America. In fact, listening to the Irish accent, we heard characteristics of the American accent, and I've also reflected on commonalities between Irish and American hospitality.

Stars and Bars
We were surprised to find that people County Cork, as "The Rebel County," fly the Confederate Stars and Bars from time to time, and especially at GAA matches -- not because of its ties to the American South in particular, but more because of its rebellious spirit.

Farls

Joe: "Irish bread gives French bread a run for its money." Mmm hmm! We loooove the brown soda bread, but stumbled upon white soda bread, which is like a giant buttermilk biscuit, and the heavenly goodness that is a farl. Our favorite roadside snack: chocolate farl sandwiches.

The Jameson Whiskey Factory

In Midleton, we stopped by Ireland's best-known whiskey factory.

Kilometer 1000!

Crossed just before Cork!

Cork

Because of all the time we spent in Midleton, we got to Cork around 6pm -- "We're closed," said the guard at Penney's, when I started to go in to buy a new jacket. Oh, frustration! Cork, however, was a charming, buzzing, pedestrian-friendly town, and with the help of a friendly mustachioed biker ("Don't go up there, that's a landfill, but go straight and you'll find a park."), we found a campsite not far from town.

July 23 - Day 28

In the morning, we were super-efficace (efficient) as we walked around the compact town to do our much-needed errands. Bam-bam-bam! we knocked things off the list.

Klaas, the Dutch Irishman and the Cork Outdoor Store

In one small outdoors-store (we were delighted to find several in Cork!) we stumbled upon a friendly, very tall man working there who went out of his way to give us fantastic advice about where to go. He agreed with Amon that Killarney was touristy, but that the road there was definitely bike-able -- even with baggage -- and the lake and park all around it were well worth visiting. He recommended going everywhere in southwestern Ireland, especially along the coasts. "Outdoorsing in Ireland is amazing, and the people are so friendly," he said. "You can camp most anywhere," and, like Nuala, said that you need only ask people if you can camp in their field. To our surprise (his accent was so good!), he said that he was actually from Holland, where he had worked for Apple, Inc., but had decided ten years ago to move to Ireland on permanent holiday, and he leaves the city as much as possible to be in the countryside.

He also filled us in on the building boom in Ireland -- according to him, there's much corruption in the government ("You've got it in the states, where do you think it came from?") that pushed the development through. Those profiting from it have been on trial for years, but no one ends the tribunal process because so many are making money from it.

Additionally, "Recycling is just talk in Ireland."

Cork Outdoor Store

Cornmarket Street

Coalquay, Cork

On the counter, we saw a small flyer for the Cork Cycling Arts Festival for th 27/28 July -- curious! But we were eager to get cycling again towards Mallow. We were on our way to Shandon Church to hear the 6 o'clock bells chime, at Nuala's recommendation...

Vaccination sheet -- don't leave home without it!

...when I stepped on a nail. Aie! Hobbling over to sit down and pull it out, I saw our trip being delayed even more by a swelling toe, foot...amputation! Turns out 'twas merely a flesh-wound, but having drawn blood, I stopped in a pharmacy (conveniently open til 10pm) for advice on tetanus. Fearing my tetanus shot was expired, a quick call home confirmed that I was in the clear.

"We're on a cycling tour of the town, would you like to join us?"

Greatly relieved I wouldn't be spending the next few hours in a clinic, we were strapping on our gear when up rolled a great huge group of cyclers. "Is this critical mass?" we asked ourselves. No! It was part of the Cork Cycling Arts Festival! At the girl's invitation, we glanced at each other, and said, "Sure!" We learned about Shandon Church (it's said to have four lying faces), the butter market, past the opera house, up to the city wall, and to the old military barracks held by the English over the town until 1922. At each stop, our guide gave us a bit of history about the particular spot and, to our delight, he sang a traditional song associated with each site, getting us to join in at the chorus! We also biked (and push-biked) up some of the fiercest hills we've yet seen (Joe: "I thought I did damage to my bronchial tubes."), cheered on by passers-by and cars alike, and I was even helped up one particularly grueling hill by some friendly fellow bikers. The guide astonished us with the fact that there're annual bike races up and down that hill! That would take buns of steel to go up, and nerves of steel to go down!

The whole thing was very crunchy (read: fantastically alternative). You can check out all the activities they'd planed for the week at www.cork-cycling-arts-festival.org, and plan something similar in your town!

At the barracks, we decided to part ways, as it was getting dark and we didn't really want to climb the hill out of town again. Just north of Cork, we tried asking for a tent-site in a field, but met a kind yet regretful, "sorry, it's not our land," so we found some woods instead.

July 24 -- Day 29

This was our biggest biking day yet. We headed off for Mallow early in the morning, nose to the pavement, and made it there in just two hours. We found our way to the town castle, under whose shade we ate our lunch and plotted out the rest of our journey. The castle, it turns out, has a very bloody history, like all of Ireland, and the family at Mallow seemed to have a particularly bad lot. One story that we remembered in particular though: one lady of the castle was Elizabeth I's goddaughter, who received white deer from the queen upon her marriage at the age of 12. The girl died at the age of 28 after giving birth to eight children, but the deer can still be seen from time to time, if you're lucky.

Anyway, it was here that we decided to go both to Killarney (for the national park, not the town), to head on to Galway, and then, time being tight, to take a bus to Dublin. We absolutely were in love with Ireland and the Irish, and wanted to stay as long as possible.

Back on our bikes, we pushed ourselves to the max, and arrived in the Killarney National Park before nightfall. That's 105 km we biked that day, yessiree. And despite the crazy road conditions.

Spider-owls

I should take a moment here to curse the reflectors on the edge of the road. Okay, perhaps they've kept people from swerving off the road, but they are our boon! Big lumps of metal and plastic inserted into the pavement at all-too-regular intervals right in line with the paint on the shoulder of the road, they force us to ride either just to the left of the paint (which isn't a problem when there's a shoulder), or squeeze us out into traffic on the right when there isn't a shoulder to ride on. If you happen to hit one, God willing your wheel won't become misshapen from the shock. Seeing them very often, our imaginations have meditated on their images, and have decided that they look like spiders, owls, and even (my favorite) storm troopers sent by Darth Vader peering up at you from the pavement.

Muckross Lake and Killarney National Park

This is the most-visited part of Ireland, and understandably so. Happy to find it is completely legal and acceptable to pitch our tent anywhere we wanted in the park, we found a gorgeous, secluded site in the forest right on the south side of the lake, from whence we could watch both the sunset and the sunrise, watch cormorants drying their feathers, and ducks paddle by. This park is unbelievably gorgeous, mountains surrounded by lakes, cut by waterfalls, and containing every possible shade of green, but also mauves, purples, and browns. It serves as the leaping-off point to the Ring of Kerry, the gorgeous drive around the peninsula that we were unable to tackle due to time and weight constraints. It's quite possibly the most beautiful natural place I've visited east of the Atlantic.

Killarney

Kitsch.

July 25 -- Day 30

We slept in late, packed up and stashed our stuff in a cave near the lake, and cycled 'round the park sans stuff. We did a loop around lake's edge, climbed up the Torc Waterfall (I fell in a wee bit!). In the afternoon, we did some errands around town, lunching in park, then headed back to camp, eager to clean up and go into town for a drink in an Irish pub. Unfortunately, all the pubs were a bit kitsch, the Guinness was watered down, and in the end, we cycled, blinking, home in the dark (luckily, there were bike paths and then the moon rose).

Change in diet and habits

I should note that our diet has changed considerably over the past month. We definitely no longer eat the famous 5000 calorie diet. Our staples are bread, canned veggies (in Ireland: beans and peas are virtually the only ones we found), chocolate, and granola, supplemented by fruit, fish, pasta, soup, and powdered mashed potatoes. We're learning how to eat cheaper, too!

We've also gotten A LOT more efficient at setting up and breaking down camp, and bike much farther than we used to.

July 26 -- Day 31

Another day of furious biking, we wanted to make it to Galway as soon as possible. We bid a sad farewell to the beautiful lake, ran into town for a few quick errands (where we learned about a talented local photographer...I'll see if I can find her name...and her photographs of dying trades, such as green grocers and the like), and got onto the road. We crossed the Shannon River by ferry (chatted with the conductor), and camped in a nice, dry spruce forest after biking nearly 100 km.

July 27 -- Day 32

Irish Stew from a can

Not too great. We missed farls.

Couchsurfing

A fantastic idea for travelers on a budget, or for those wanting to meet new and interesting people! www.couchsurfing.com

Hurling!

Passing through Gort, we heard cheers coming from several bars, so poked our heads in to see that there was a big hurling match going on between County Cork and County Clare. We joined in for the second half, downing half-pints of beer and gaping with awe at the talent with which these young men dashed up and down the fields dribbling the ball on planks and then whacking it with a quick toss in the air. Yep, it's very much like quidditch. Or, like running with an egg on a spatula while being attacked and pummelled. A great game, they should bring it to the states.

What exactly is a vegetable?

We tried thinking of some, but are stumped. Most things we traditionally think of as veggies are fruits or roots or legumes. Any ideas?

Spruces again

We found another, smaller national park to camp in underneath some spruce trees, oh, how lovely!

Biking straight into Galway, we were almost there when Joe's tire started wobbling violently. Upon examination, he found that one of his spokes had broken, so we got closer into town before trying to fix it on the side of the road. In town, he noticed that, oh, his other tire is flat, for the second time on the trip! We fixed things enough to get into town to a bike shop, where we left it to wander around the city.

Galway is another compact city on the edge of a bay (yeah, Galway Bay), traced with canals and streams. The town center itself was a wee bit kitsch, but on a whole was lively and fun to walk around. We found our way to the cathedral in town, which was gorgeous with its green dome and simple, slightly occidental paintings on the interior -- we were surprised to learn that it had been built in the 1960s, in fact, as its design lended it to be much older.

We stayed in a campground that night, Joe took a dip in the bay, and we took much-needed showers.

July 29 -- Day 34

When we woke up in the morning, it was pouring rain, so we couldn't leave town as early as we would have liked. Leaving our tent to dry, we got groceries and did our laundry in the sink. We chatted with other campers, including a few kind and friendly Irish, and struck up a conversation with a German couple from Cologne doing the same trip as we were. The man owned a bike shop, and he gave us tips on bags (apparently, it's helpful after all to have four bags, two on each wheel, in order to help with the balance), locks (you want one that costs at least 50€ and weighs at least a kilo), and bike geometry (our racebikes aren't the kind of geometry that's ideal for this kind of travel). It was fun to compare experiences! Then, he came out to check out our bikes, and it turns out that Hygina is made of cro-molybdenum, a super-lightweight strong alloy -- woohoo, go Hygina! Who'd have thought?

More bad luck...

We biked into town to catch our bus to Dublin -- the last bus for the day, in fact. We hurried through the grocery store and were leaving when it started pouring rain. Not wanting to miss the bus, we got on our bikes anyway, when my tire went flat! We didn't have enough time to change it and make the bus, so we walked in the rain to the bus station, with just enough time! We got off about 50 miles outside of Dublin, not wanting to arrive there at night and be unable to find a campsite, and shivered as we patched my innertube in a sheltered alley. We cycled not far out of town and decided to try our luck again.

Irish warmth

Our bad afternoon turned into a warm evening when we stopped to ask if we could camp in someone's field. The older couple were more than helpful: "Well, it's not our field, but we'll phone the people across the road to see if you can camp there, they're an elderly couple and might have gone to bed already, but they get frightened, you know. No trouble at all! Will you need water in the morning? Here, here's the spigot! Sure enough, they said it's fine for you to camp there, they usually do, you know." As we set up our tent under a tree, the woman yoo-hooed at us from the back of the house, "Would you like a cup of tea?" A few minutes later, the mister brought us our cups, handing them to us over the back wall. "Just leave the cups here on the wall when you're done."

With tea in our bellies and gratefulness in our hearts, the chilly, wet night was much warmer, and my tire, though flat again, was less disappointing.

July 30 -- Day 35

The next morning, we woke up again to rain (just couldn't outrun it!) and my flat tire was staring us in the face (wassuuuup?).  We were in the middle of fixing it when, lo and behold, Joe's tire pump was busted.  Oh, yes.  

So, we hoofed it the twenty minutes or so, in the rain, back into town to catch the bus the rest of the way to Dublin.  Bummer.

We did, however, get to chat with a small group of other folks waiting there for the same bus.  Again, friendly Irish!

Bus ride -- uneventful.  

We spied (out of our little eyes) a bike store as the bus pulled into the center of Dublin, and we pounced upon it!  But, oh, haha!  Things were a bit dear there, and Joe found that he could fix his tire pump on his own.  Power to ya, my biking buddy!  Turns out my front tire, however, was dry-rotted (dry-rotten?), so Joe gave me his old tire to put over a fresh innertube.  All fixed up and ready to go, we snagged a map of the city from the tourism office (pointed out to us by the friendly bike-store guys), and zoomed off to check out ferries.  

Well, the zooming took a little longer than we expected.  Docks are long here.  Quite long.

We got a deal with Irish Ferries called Sail and Rail, which would take us across the Irish Sea to Holyhead, then on to Shrewsbury for just two more euros by bus/rail.  Dude!  We got a late ticket so we'd be traveling overnight and would arrive in Shrewsbury in the morning, annnnnnnd...we could chill all afternoon in Dublin!

So, we zipped back down to check out the James Joyce Center and Oscar Wilde's house.  

I'm a fan of Wilde, and Joe's a fan of Joyce, so we swapped literary factoids, and I almost bought a book by Joyce...but then held myself back, knowing that I have half a book waiting for me in my bags that I've hardly touched the whole trip.  

This was the extent of our site-seeing in Dublin.  The city is quite cool, though, and I know I would make a trip back just to check it out.  

We bade farewell to Ireland (sadly, oh, so sadly!) as we borded the Ulysses (the fast ferry owned by Irish Ferries is called the Jonathan Swift, yuck yuck).  

Dramamine was not necessary this time, thank you very much.

The boat was pretty empty except for some German teens, a few families, and a bunch of truckers.  Joe slept, and I let myself get sucked into The Mask of Zorro, though I could barely hear the voices (who can resist a sword-wielding Sir Anthony Hopkins?).

Three hours later, we were in the hold of the ship, cycling out with all the trucks into midnight rain.  Where's the rail station?  Not there!  Here it is!  We shivered on a bench for about forty-five minutes with our books, until Joe asked a station boy if we were in the right place.  Nope!  Turns out that most pedestrians disembark via a gangplank that herds them nicely to the proper bus station, which we, being pedalers, missed.  Fortunately, our bus (bus? where's the train?) hadn't arrived yet.  It showed up at 2am.

We caught some Zs on the bus, then changed to a train in Chester, where we squeezed our bikes into a tiny stall that must have been a loo in a former life.  Exhausted, we slept a wee bit, and jumped out of our seats as the train pulled into Shrewsbury.

We made it to England!

Well, more to come!  Installations about our stay with friends in Shrewsbury and Redditch, and a list of all the famous actors we got to see in Stratford-on-Avon!  Right now, we're chillin' in Oxford with Joe's sister Nancy, where we'll be for a few days.  

Gros bisous!