Athlone

I shared a snack with a buddy at Clonmacnoise.  He only spoke the Irish so I had to put on my best Leprechaun accent so he would understand.  Bless his heart it looked like he had been through quite a time - he was covered in stitches.  At least someone loved him enough to put him back together again.  When life hits you like a fast moving car, having someone help you stitch yourself back together is priceless.  Many people have done that for me in different ways but a special place will always be saved especially for my Dad.  It was here that I learned that when you order a sandwich with salad it does not mean you get a lovely salad on the side with your sandwich.  What it means is that you get a few wilted pieces of lettuce stuck between your sliver of meat and your 1/2 inch of butter on your bread slices.  My friend here ate most of my meal.



My butter sandwich with "salad"



A beautiful, colorful street in Athlone

After leaving Clonmacnoise I decided to test my driving chops and head to the big city, Athlone.  I was terrified!  Driving in the country was demanding but it didn't have the extra issues of people, lots of traffic in many directions and traffic signals.  The traffic lights are placed differently than in America and so on top of "keeping my arse in the middle of the road" I needed to really watch for the lights.  It was important I get there because on my  "must do"  list was Sean's Bar.  I wanted to go there for a few reasons.  First, because it is my son's name and he would get a kick out of seeing it and secondly it is the oldest pub in Ireland (many claim the title but the Guiness Book of World's Records has given it to Sean's Bar.  They dated the walls to about 990 AD).  My day revolved around the Saints (St. Ciaran at Clonmacnoise) and the Sinners (this pub being set up about the same era). 

I park at a shopping center and heave a big sigh of relief for not killing or maiming anyone - there were some close calls.  I needed to use the restroom so I headed into the mall area to find a place. 

The search for my name took me to
shameless places - the back of a
"toilet" door

Funny story:  I walk into this fast food-ish type place, order a drink and ask where the restrooms are.  The conversation went something like this:
"Where are the restrooms?"
"The what?"
"The Restrooms?" (in a louder voice)
"The restaurant?"
"The bathrooms?" (me trying a different angle)
"What?"
"The...the...(it was here that the word WC and loo eluded me)
Girl employee walks by and slaps the Boy on the arm:
"She means the Toilets, you idiot!"

 The boy and I sighed in relief.  In Ireland and in Scotland bathrooms are called "Toilets".  I didn't know this and now I do.  However, it was hard for me to ask for "Toilets" - seemed a bit blunt - but when in Rome...So from there on out I did the best I could to remember to ask for "Toilets" but blushed a rose color every single time.

The Shannon

The Athlone Castle was closed for renovations but as the river Shannon cuts right through the town I got to see more things devoted to me!  She is lovely and slow moving.  I kept looking for a park to get close but there was none.  I was really getting perplexed as to how I was to reach her/swim in her/touch her when she seemed so out of reach.  But no matter, Sean's Bar called.



I thought this use of my name was awesome since I am
a Water Commissioner here in my town!





I became pretty proficent at walking into bars in Ireland.  It requires a bit of bravado on my part.  You see there are eating pubs and drinking pubs - but make no mistake they all sell spirits but some also gift you with food.  Being a woman traveling alone it was awkward walking into a drinking pub filled entirely with men.  I have rarely in my life felt more out of place.  Not even in the countryside of rural Japan.  But out in the country in Ireland, as I mostly was on this trip, "toilets" (it seems toilets even written require me to put quotes - I obviously have issues - but being the offspring of a man who calls chicken "breasts" chicken "chests", I think I might be doing just fine) were hard to come by.  I came to be pretty good at figuring out which were eating pubs but not always.  Sean's Bar was a drinking pub.  Dark, sawdust floor, low-ceilinged, full of men.  I was hoping I could get some soup there.  It was one of  "those" moments - sink or swim.  I walked in and all conversation stops, all the men at the bar turned to look at me.  Holy Crap.  It was 2 in the afternoon so I was hoping it would be empty.  I was wrong.  I girded my loins and walked straight up to the bar, leaned in between two men (saying a very polite "excuse me, of course) and asked for a water (with ice!) and a cup of soup and soda bread.  I did it, I got it, I ate it and I think they were happy to see me go.  They were super nice but I noticed their conversation was much more stilted and contained, proper, when I was there.  I thought it was a fantastic place and would go again regardless of who I make uncomfortable.

This picture doesn't do the soup and bread justice - totally yummy!  Although I couldn't tell you what kind of soup it was...veggie, maybe?

 Final funny story:  That night I was chatting with some karate folk from England with a few of the Americans I had met.  There were a couple of conversations going on and I hear to the side, "I'd like to get a picture of the Yankees."  Only half understanding/listening the only thing that registered was "Yankee".  Now, I have been called a few nasty things in my 40 years, but being Southern, never in all my born days have I been called a Yankee.  Where I come from it journeys far from "not polite" conversation.  So, of course, I immediately turn and say, "Did you just call me a Yankee?"  "Yes, why?" asks the very kind and perplexed Brit.  "No one has ever called me that.  I am from the South and it is rude."  "Oh right," he says "the whole war thing - so sorry about that."  "No, Silly!  Not THAT war.  I am fine with that one because we totally kicked your butts.  I am talking the Civil War!"  I was so full of...."tact" that night.  Regardless, he is now the best educated Brit regarding things that get Southerners knickers in a twist.  I told him "Yank" is fine, but add those double ee's on the end and all bets are off.  Bless his heart.

Isn't this the loveliest gate? Don't you want to walk through it every day and know that everything on the otherside is placed, chosen and awaiting your pleasure just as it has done for generations before?  I do.