Enchanted by Edinburgh

I loved Edinburgh - loved it!  It felt like walking into history, utterly and completely.  I am sure there are villages and towns across Europe where you can feel this way- I've seen pictures - but this was my first experience of stepping into history and it felt grand.  It wasn't just a building or a monument.  It was everywhere I looked - in all directions!  It slayed me.

Hazel and I awoke that morning and took a taxi (my first! I am so provincial...) to the train station and caught a 45 min ride from Motherwell to Edinburgh.  We chatted about everything and nothing - so perfect!  But when you reach Edinburgh, you step off the train, walk a few blocks and there you are - right in the middle of a gorgeous historic town.  Everywhere you look is history!!  And not just a building but the cobblestones, the streets are just as they have been for hundreds of years.  The buildings are all shops you can go into as people have been for hundreds of years - and I added myself to that throng in history.  Every threshold I stepped across held that magic for me.  Words fail me, again. 

We stayed primarily on the Royal Mile.  This cobblestone road is a hill with Edinburgh Castle perched at the top and at the bottom is Holyrood Palace.  Holyrood (meaning Holy Cross) is a royal residence but is occasionally open for tours.  It was closed when we were there but we had some tea at the Abbey Cafe right beside it.  There has been a royal residence there since the 1300's.

Edinburgh Castle



One of the best moments for me was walking up the Royal Mile towards the Castle, with a great friend in Scotland, munching on Scottish Shortbread.  It was a divinely savored moment - a perfect moment, so rare.

While walking up the Royal Mile I kept noticing the most enchanting little alleyways every so often.  They were historically entrances between the Tenement buildings and are called Closes.  They all had names that were descriptive of their history.  For example, the Advocates Close below dates from around 1544.  Some were utilitarian, some were decorated.  I didn't care, I wanted to explore every single nook and cranny of each and every one.  Each close led to a courtyard with some that were so beautiful I never wanted to leave.  Each one a "secret garden" offering a mystery to myself I desperately needed to find.  I needed to make each one mine in some way...somehow.  But, alas, I couldn't and didn't.  I need to return. 
(I just got so excited writing about the closes that I went and ordered the only book available on them.  Close Encounters of the Royal Mile. Maybe I will have to write another - after my book about fence stiles, of course.)









 



This one is utilitarian.  I love how the stones are worn.



This one decorated.

For those of you, like me, who are Diana Gabaldon Outlander fans, it is down Carfax Close in Edinburgh that Claire finds Jamie in his print shop.  This is Claire describing the Royal Mile which mimiced a lot of what I was thinking. 
"I was here.  Really here.  Edinburgh sloped up behind me, to the glowering heights of Edinburgh Castle, and down before me, to the gracious majesty of Holyrood Palace at the foot of the city....The low, dark opening of Carfax Close yawned just ahead, across the expanse of the Royal Mile.  I stopped dead, looking at it, my heart beating hard enough to be heard a yard away, had anyone been listening." [Voyager, p.253, 254]  

Carfax Close is not a close that actually exists but it could have been any of the ones I saw.  There was an interesting one called "World's End Close".  It was called that because it used to be where the city literally ended - enclosed with gates.  The gates are no longer there but in Edinburgh in the 1500's if you left the city there was a re-entrance fee.  Many were too poor to afford entrance back into the city so they never left and that was literally the end of their world.  I love that story.  It is for this reason that I wish my street of 308th Ave. were still called its original name, Cedar Ave.  It was the rough road the loggers would go up to cut cedars for the shingle mill.  Streets with only numbers lack warmth and soul.  One of my many soapboxes that I try to keep hidden deep in my closet.



This was over a door in a close.  I wanted to live here - walk under these words every day of my life.

To be continued...I haven't even gotten to the castle yet!  Apparently, even when words fail me I keep writing...Thanks for reading!

Scotland, Hazel and Wee Katie

I was sad to part ways with the
Silver Bullet.  She felt it, too.
It rained for the first time as I was leaving
Ireland.  Regular weather pattern or
tears of sadness?  I have my theory.

It was Tuesday and I was off to Scotland!!  I was excited for lots of reasons but mainly because I was seeing my dear friend, Hazel, for the first time in 8 years.  I am lucky to have friends in my life that regardless of how much time passes it makes no difference whatsoever in our relationship.  When we meet up it feels only that one of us has excused ourselves to visit the loo (or the "toilet") and then we pick right up on our conversation - a lifelong conversation.  I am a blessed woman. 

I met Hazel first in New Hampshire when we were both working at Dartmouth college.  We didn't meet at work, however, we met at Irish dance class.  As soon as I saw her I knew she was to be my friend.  I don't even remember having a "getting to know you" period with her.  It was like one day I didn't know her and the next day she was a gift in my life.  We both liked to chat and would meet every Monday night at the Borders in West Lebanon, NH for "a cuppa and a wee blether".  But, truth be told, there was nothing "wee" about any of our "blethering".  She's a lovely person and wish we lived a little closer - the same country would be nice (and I am certainly willing to move to Scotland to make that happen!)

It was Tuesday morning and my flight into Glasgow was hair-raising (very bumpy and cloudy).  Then when we landed we waited on the plane for about 30 minutes because apparently we weren't on the radar as we were flying in.  Doesn't that seem a bit dangerous to you?  Anyway, I was there, I was excited but a little worried I wouldn't recognize Hazel - it had been a while - but I needn't have worried because I saw her and  her beautiful smile and all worries and stresses fell away.  As exhilerating as driving Ireland was and as empowering as forging my way through an unknown country felt, an innate stress accompanied me.  A good, fun stress that I didn't even know I was carrying until I saw Hazel.  She embraced me, she knew what I meant when I asked for the restroom and she knew right where they were, she knew how to drive without killing people so all I had to do was talk, laugh and rubberneck.   All I needed to do was follow her and it felt grand.  Sometimes it is good to follow and take a break from forging.

Wee Katie and Hazel's Mum.

I had been to Scotland before - about 13 years ago.  On that trip we stayed fairly rural not hitting Glasgow or Edinburgh and on this trip I was going to enjoy both with a Scottish native.  I felt so lucky.  It was a beautiful day, Hazel had a new car (Wee Katie) and we were headed to the Glasgow Art Museum and Glasgow University (Hazel's alma mater)! 

Thoughts on Glasgow:

 *I didn't take enough pictures!  Hazel and I were chatting so much my camera was neglected.  Apparently, I am not a multi-tasker!

This is the Kelingrove Art Museum and it is such a grand, stately building.  So many architectural details (see below).
When Hazel and I walked in the organ just immediately started up.  Someone was playing in the balcony.  I pretended they were playing for me.  At the Chapel at Glasgow Univ. the organ started up when we were in there too.  Narcissism runs deep - I pretended again.  It seemed everywhere I went music started playing - who wouldn't pretend?

Funny story: 

There is a little phenomenon that I experience no matter where I travel or live:  Someone will always stop me and ask if I went to school with them,  work with them, or I look so familiar how do we know each other?  I have lived in all four corners of the US and it happens everywhere, all the time.  It happened just yesterday, in fact, at the Home Depot.  It happens so often that I wonder how I don't see clones of myself walking around.  (Btw, I do have a doppelganger.  She played a prostitute on Miami Vice - I saw her when I was a teenager.)  Anyway, Hazel and I entered the Kelingrove Museum and went to the information desk to ask questions and the lady manning the booth looked at me and asked if I was an actress - because I looked soooo familiar.  I like how she went straight to the actress versus Americans always go straight to high school.  It was really sweet and what I wanted to say was: yes, I was. Could I get a VIP tour and a free lunch?

This is Glasgow University founded in 1451 AD.  These are the types of buildings I expected to see at Trinity College.  Can't you just feel the weight of knowledge?  I love it!  I also love the regional red stone.  It is fun to contrast that with the Edinburgh grey stone - next post!

Details, details.  It's all in the details!

A Scottish Magnolia.  I wanted
 a closer shot but it was down a
ravine.

After visiting the University, we got some tea.  Hazel has about a two hour limit before she needs another cup of tea.  (I want to make a drug addict reference here - something about a crack addict needing a hit.  But I won't! <grin>)  We went to this really cute tea shop that had enormous, yummy scones. I got to see parts of her life I had only heard her talk about and I loved every minute.

After that we walked some beautiful botanical gardens and refreshed ourselves at an old church cum pub.  It was the craziest, most blasphemous place I had ever been - but beautifully done.  We used this time to catch up and chat a lot!  It was great - perfect even.

As the evening went on we decided to drive to her hometown of Motherwell and have dinner.  At dinner I went for it and ordered the haggis.  It was so good.  As you can see from the picture it was a hardboiled egg surrounded by haggis and then deep fried.  Very tasty!



This is Mrs. Scot.  I didn't take this
picture - Hazel did.  Again, my mouth
was so busy I couldn't remember
to pick up the camera.  But
here they are in Ayr where the
Scottish Kennedys are from.



The Scots are lovely hosts.  Here I am talking Hazel Scot and her Mum specifically and not the country as a whole - although I am sure it would apply as well.  I had met Mrs. Scot once before in NH when she had come to visit and was delighted to see her smiling face again and receive her warm embrace.  She is such a delightful, vivacious woman. (I like the fact that they are super "hugg-y" folk.  North Carolina is like that and it felt good.  Of course, NC was mainly settled by Scots, so there you go.)   One of the first things she said to me was, "Ohh, what a lovely American accent!"  I had an accent???

Why? Are there crocodiles in there?

Monday morning I awoke and with a very heavy heart realizing it was my last day in Ireland.  The days went fast but the moments dripped like honey - sweet honey.  I had so many moments of being entirely present that I felt  the trip was well absorbed by my soul but, being greedy,  I wanted more.  On this day my Dad was leaving to return to the USA and I was driving him to the airport.  It was a lovely drive, beautiful with such great company.  Spending time with dad - just he and I - has been rare in recent years as I have lived in Seattle.  I treasured every moment. 

Dad and I (Shannon) left the Shannon Hotel, turned left on Shannon Rd. and followed the Shannon River to the town of Shannon so I could drop dad off at the Shannon Airport and in the boot was the book by Frank Delaney, Shannon.  Sorry, that was sickeningly gratuitous - apologies!  I just wanted to see how many times I could get my name in one sentence; 7 it is!

After dropping Dad off with a teary good bye, my goal of the day was to gift my letter to the River; to soak my feet and possibly take a swim.  No more messing around with meek Hello's and shy waves.  This river and I were going to get to know one another.  At least that was MY plan.

I am brilliant at making assumptions and this was mine regarding the Shannon specifically and Ireland in general:  Like in America, there would be so many pull-offs and parks that I would have a plethora of choices.  I didn't realize that the Irish aren't as into frolicing in the water as Americans.  It took me all day to figure this out.  A conversation such as this one below took place about 5 times that day.

Me:  Hello, could you tell me how I might get to the Shannon River?

Kind Irish Folk:  Well, sure, it's right over that way...

Me: Yes, but where can I get access to it?

Kind Irish Folk: Why would you be wantin' to go there?  It's dangerous...you need to be careful.

Me: Why, are there crocodiles in it?  (I wasn't being sarcastic.  It was a serious question.  I kept getting the dangerous theme over and over and couldn't figure out what about this wide, meandering river could strike such fear. As I knew there were no snakes, thanks to St. Patrick <grin>, I couldn't think of anything else that should keep people out.)
Kind Irish Folk:  Well, no but it's dangerous all the same.



Lovely Hazel!

 I couldn't get any more of an answer than this and no one knew any place to actually get to the river.  Near the end of the day I was perplexed and frustrated and no closer to my goal.  At this point my friend, Hazel, called from Scotland.  I was flying up to see her the next day and we were finalizing our plans.  I told her I was trying to get to the Shannon River.  And do  you know the first thing out of her mouth was, "Och, be careful, Shannon!"  Thankfully, I knew her quite well and felt comfortable voicing my angst.  "Hazel, WHY are people telling me to be careful?  Why?  It is a river, for heaven's sakes!   I just want to be at the river! Why is it so unbelievably hard to get to?"  Happily, she had lived in America and could see things from my side.  She finally clued me in.  She said, "we just don't swim in rivers and lakes here as much like you do in America.  Usually the weather is so bad anyway so it just isn't done." 

Once she said this it all made sense, the clouds cleared, the world was set to rights and I laughed.  I laughed because it was a funny story about a cultural difference that took me forever to figure out; I laughed because try as hard as you might sometimes things just don't work out to one's expectations; I laughed because I was going to see Hazel tomorrow; I laughed because I hadn't eaten since breakfast and was close to fainting - hysteria was obviously setting in.  I could let my goal of the day go - I gave it my best shot.  It wasn't our day to be together - the river and I.  I had one more shot for a few hours at the end of the week before I flew to America.  I wasn't giving up yet.

 It was getting late so I decided to make a quick visit to Bunraddy Castle.  It was a real, gosh-darned castle from the 14th century with period furnishings.  So awesome!  My historian's soul rejoiced.

Couldn't completely capture the height of the castle.  It was such a great spot to visit.

This is where the drawbridge would have been!  I had to rush as they were about to close!  I practically ran the whole way from the bottom to the top of the castle. I made myself sick on the twisty, narrow turrent steps.

This is one room inside the castle.  There are six stories and all are set up the same.  There is a great room and then
at the four corners in the turrets are the bedrooms, chapels, kitchens, etc. with stairs.  These tapestries were
gorgeous and huge!  I tried to capture the enormous scale but it just doesn't come across.

 

Sorry, it's a little dark, but I loved the face on the coat of arms.



This is a portion of the rock wall around the castle.  I walked back and forth many times rubbing my hand along
the moss.  I wish the picture did the softness of the moss justice.  I was in tactile heaven.

 

There was a  historic village outside of the castle and this was
one of the cottages - The Shannon Farmhouse.
They even had a peat fire going to welcome me home.



This is where I ate my dinner before heading back to my hotel for the evening.
Delicious!  Recommended by my friend, Jenn.  Thanks, Jenn!





We Americans can't seem to help but take pictures of telephone booths.  Isn't this one charming?  I don't imagine that our telephone booths capture their interest quite as much.



This is the view from the top of the castle.  There in the background is the "dangerous" Shannon - taunting me.

That night I was alone for the first time in my life without a soul knowing where I was.  I couldn't call anyone as my phone was out of power and I had left a string of electronic cords across Ireland which included my phone converter. My seclusion was complete.  It was a very vulnerable feeling but it also felt right - my sense of solitude deepened.  I had found this quote on a bookmark by Carl Sandberg before I left on my trip:
"It is very necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness;  to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'"
That was my goal and that was what I felt - utterly, completely and peacefully.

Dublin

I have been mucking about in my brain thoughts of my visit to Dublin.  In truth, it was the least enjoyable portion of my trip.  Not Dublin's fault at all - it delivered what I asked of it but I think what my body and soul craved was the countryside.  I was happiest and most content there and I didn't realize how much until I hit Dublin.  It was jarring in a way.  Another time, another visit Dublin and I will probably bond.

So after leaving Paddy Hearny's cottage from the last post, I continued my journey to Dublin - ah, the driving - fantastic.  I hit the little seaside town of Bray which is about 20 miles south of Dublin - the very end of the DART southern line (the train to Dublin).  And it is here that my ignorance of public transportation reared its ugly head.  I assumed Bray had its own train that was like a bullet train up to Dublin - no stopping.  So how shocked was I when it took about an hour to go 20 miles.  I mean Dublin Area RAPID Transit.  The Rapid part is debateable especially when the train broke and we sat somewhere in the middle for 20 minutes.  Luckily I had a great girl to chat with the duration.  Her name was Maeve and a college student at Trinity.  I made it to Pearce station and step out and see this pub:  It was a Kennedy day! (It wasn't open.)

But after that I was just really, really lost.  My goal was to visit the Book of Kells at Trinity College.  So excited to such an ancient tome.  My map said Trinity was one block away but I saw nothing but business buildings and noise and cars and noise and people and noise.  Jarring.  I walked and got "lost-er and lost-er".  I finally just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk defeated - everyone I had asked was American or Australian and didn't know where I should go either.  A kind Irishman noticed my dejected/defeated vibe.  He stopped right in front of me and told me I looked lost.  I must have looked pretty pitiful.  He walked with me BLOCKS to the front of Trinity and shared with me the best spot for a bite to eat, banoffee pie and tea.  What a dear, dear man.  I hope he is one day sainted.  The patron saint of lost Southerners.

I was disappointed in Trinity also.  I thought it would be amazing, old and weighted with so much history and learning (I am sure there are parts that are but I didn't see them). The entrance that went to the Book of Kells was like a community college - lots of concrete.  The Book was fantastic to see but I had been living in a cloud of sensory yummy-ness since arriving in Ireland (the sights, sounds, smells, food, touching the stones and engravings) that the dark room with the book under deep glass felt cold.  I didn't linger but was glad I got to see it.  But, THEN, I visited the Long Room portion of the Old Library.  Oh my!  I remember thinking, "This is what I came for!"  It was in this room that Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift and so many others studied, thought, developed.  It smelled of old leather and books, visually it was divine.  It had a high, wooden arched ceiling - the longest in the world, I believe.  Shelves and shelves of rare books (no touching, of course.)  The presence of history was so strong - I got goosebumps.  I stayed there and just sat for a very long while.  Such Joy and Satisfaction.






My question is this: Why do so many churches
have red doors? 



Batteries recharged I went to find the cafe my Irish Saint recommended and I am happy to say I found it without incident.  I had bread and soup but also the banoffee pie that at least five people said I MUST have before leaving Ireland.  It was a lovely piece of heaven on a plate although quite sweet.  It is some mixture of bananas and toffee but not crunchy toffee.  I then strolled Grafton Street which is a huge pedestrian street full of shops - and lots of people.  I didn't go into one store- I just kept thinking I wanted to get into my car and just drive.  So I left.  I found my station and my train and endured 20 more stops on the way to Bray.  My Silver Bullet was as happy to see me as I was her.  ("Reunited and it feels so good...")  I drove and listened to Gaelic radio all the back to Portumna.  I didn't arrive until about 9pm tired and travel-worn and it is here that the incident that I described a few posts back about being sat at the front of the blacktie banquet happened.  I was very happy to have food and be back near my dad.  The countryside was where I belonged while in Ireland. 

I only took three pictures in Dublin.  I think that is pretty telling of how I was feeling.  This picture of Cat Deeley was an advertisement poster in a store window.  For those of you, like me, who are fans of So You Think You Can Dance - it might mean something (although what, I couldn't say).  To the rest (and admitted majority) of you it can be whatever you would like to make of it.  I just like writing with pictures and didn't have a lot of material to work with from Dublin <grin>

It happened on the way to Dublin...

Sunday was Dublin day.  My original plan was to drive to the east coastal town of Bray and catch the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) to Pearce Station in Dublin.  It spits you out right at Trinity College.  My goal that day was to see the Book of Kells at Trinity.  I was convinced by the lovely Olive and other well-meaning Irish that taking a train from Ballinasloe would be the better choice.  The only problem I had was that no one ever really agrees how long it takes to drive anywhere.  You ask five times, you'll get five different answers.  So Sunday morning I picked a time to leave and missed the train. 

Blessed day, serendipity struck.

I love how all the signs in Ireland are in English and Irish.

I decided to go with my original plan to drive to Bray - a two hour trip.   No schedule, no hurry.  I loved driving.  Halfway there I saw this footpath sign.

It spoke to me and without hestitation I stopped.  This path was perfect - beautiful and scary.    

Beautiful because so many flowers were in bloom -


















and rivers were rambling


and fence stiles to be crossed. 

I then came to the Mill

Outside of the old mill

This walk was scary because as soon as I stepped into the old mill to check it out hundreds of crows flew straight up all around me.  It was fantastically terrible.  I nearly wet my britches.



There were so many more birds than this.  These were  the stragglers after I found my breath and my camera.



The paved area right behind him is the footpath.
You'll notice it continues around the house, through the gate.

  The thing with footpaths is that they often go through people's yards.  This one happened to go right by the front door and up the side of a home.  I felt a little awkward but continued ambling along the path for a good while.  On the way back, as I was walking past the front door, it opened and a gentleman of a distinguished age stepped out.  Being American, I immediately felt like I was trespassing and apologized.  He brushed aside my concerns and introduced himself as Paddy Hearny.  We chatted for a good while talking about how he used to lead hikes in the mountains of the area and me about my trip.  I told him how calm and peaceful and quiet my soul felt here.  He nodded and said my DNA recognized the soil.  
Was I looking for my ancestors?  he asked.
I said that the only person I was here looking for was myself. 
He smiled and said very simply and devastatingly, "Well, if you start looking for your people, you've got the look of the Kennedy's from up the road." 
My mom was a Kennedy.  Glenda Joy Kennedy.
I hadn't told him that. 

Our conversation ended a bit later with him telling me I should move here to be a tour guide as I am so nice and have such pretty teeth.  He walked with me to my car, gave me a hug and I continued my journey to Dublin.

"At the vulnerable age of thirty-five, Shannon lost her soul.  Nothing is worse;  no greater danger exists.  This was the point to which she had come in search of her lost best self.  If she could have explained clearly what she was doing, she would have said that she wanted to find the woman she had been.  If she could have described lucidly the essence of her journey across the Atlantic, she would have expressed the wish that here, in the country of her forebears, some ancient magic of ancestry might restore her.  Could it be that in the old land, of which she had so often dreamed, she might find, to begin with, hope?  But what she desperately needed to rediscover was belief....Find your soul and you'll live." 
Shannon by Frank Delaney p.3 (Again, pronouns changed to the feminine because it suits me better <grin>.  The main character's name is Robert Shannon - I left his first name out at the beginning.  Again, just to suit me. )

The Cliffs of Insanity!!

Warning!! If you are allergic to quaint thatched roof cottages please stop reading now!  The below post will be hazardous to your health and could possibly even cause death...consider yourselves warned!

I was so excited to wake up and head to the Cliff of Mohr!  I was also delighted to spend that day going with Olive and Martha.  Olive is Irish and lives in Athlone.  Her husband, Paddy, owns the Dojo sponsoring the camp.  Such lovely people - so very welcoming and kind!   Being with Olive was the first time I was able to spend some real relaxed downtime with an Irish lady.  This is what I learned:

In Ireland you can:



Olive Beaumont - my lovely guide



*use lots more words to make your point.

*cross yourself everytime you pass an Irish Catholic Church (I kid you not and there are many! - I loved it)

*Irish Gaelic and Scottish Gaelic aren't as similar as one might think.

*feel free to constantly correct yourself on the number of counties in Ireland...It's a little tricky with those extra 6 counties in No. Ireland mucking up the count.

*say "toilets" without blushing

This was taken on a hill looking down.  The rock walls
denote the serpentine road.  We stopped so I could get my
stomach back together!



Martha is American and came with Bill Hayes.  She was such great fun.  I was in the back of Olive's car, driving to the West Coast on roads that were so twisty I was seriously looking for a vomit bag.  But we stopped often and took tons of pictures of the famous thatched west coast cottages.  Getting air helped.  Some of these are new construction houses, some are old, but all are lovely.

At the Cliffs it was quite windy but that was fine. The cliffs themselves took my breath away - the wind seemed to give it right back.  "Aaassss you wiiiisssshhhhhhhhh"  (That line might seem out of place for those of you who haven't seen "The Princess Bride".  It is a great film - if you are in the mood to laugh.)



If you look closely you can see a path around the top and a few people.  The scale is massive!





Some Posh English attending the camp.  Steve, to the far
left, was the one that unfortunately for him called
me a Yankee.



When we arrived back in Portumna it was dinner time.  I really tried my best during our visit to not embarrass my dad.  Unfortunately, I think embarrassing moments tend to seek me out but I did try...However, the fact of the matter was that every night I would cruise in from a day of hiking, driving and site-seeing wearing unwashed jeans and a t-shirt with my hair blown every which way by that awesome Irish wind.  I looked  a little bit crazy but usually dinner was starting in the fancy restaurant at the hotel right when I would arrive.  Dad would save me a spot so in I would go trying not to notice the ladies with their make-up and sequins.  Each night our table was only about 10 or so of the sensei and their companions.  I'd like to think since they understood the nature of my trip that they forgave me my appearance.  The last night of camp was different, though. The previous dinners were small - about 10 people - the last night was in a ballroom with about 300 people dressed in formal attire (see picture) who didn't know who in the world I was.  My thought was to pop in and let dad know I had arrived safely from Dublin and then head to the pub for something small to eat.  But the very wickedly charming Paddy Beaumont, head of the camp, saw me and led me to the front of the room and gave me his seat next to his wife, Olive - FACING everyone.  It was like a panel of judges facing about 300 lovely people.  Nowhere to hide.  Remember, me:  jeans,t-shirt, baseball cap. Basically looking like a homeless person they had drug off the street.  Mortifying! - if only I could have borrowed a sequin or two I might have had a chance of blending - but no - no sequins, no mascara (at least none left on my eyes - there was plenty smeared under!)  Also, everyone had finished eating but a plate was found for me so there I was sitting at the front of the room chomping away at my food in my dirty clothes.  I begged to be sat in the back but I was facing the full force of Paddy's Irish charm and lost.  Awesome.  I am not sure I can convey in words the beautiful insanity of the moment.  By the end of the evening not only was I eating alone in front of everyone looking like a hobo but I had the spotlight while a gift was presented to me by the dear, sweet Irish and my Dad made a speech and expressed his joy in our trip together.   For a few minutes I didn't care a bit what I was wearing, I was just happy and grateful to be alive in that moment.