Well, after some more adventuring I made it to my destination in Ireland. I hopped onto a bus bound for Ballydehob, only to be told that the bus would be stopping halfway. I don't carry a mobile phone or a watch or anything so I had no idea how to get a hold of the family to tell the not to expect me. I figured I would just sleep in the bus station in Skibbereen until the morning.
As the bus crawled through the ice we passed more and more fields and small towns with growing distances in between. I started to get a funny feeling about my own ignorance. Sure enough, the bus station I thought I would sleep in turned out to be a sign on the side of a 5-and-dime store in "downtown Skibbereen." D'oh! I just laughed at myself as I went to the nearest pub to think out a strategy.
When I walked in it was like a recreation of an old west movie. The door slammed, everyone turned to look at me, and there was complete silence. I walked up to the bar and asked if I could use a phone or find a hotel. Convinced that the bartender was deaf, I used hand signs until he looked somewhat receptive. When he spoke back to me I busted out laughing. I couldn't understand a word he said!
Eventually I managed to get in touch with my hosts and booked a nice little room above the pub through the previously mentioned gentleman. Having nothing else to do, I came downstairs for my first beer in Ireland. I bumped into Mickey at this point. For those of you who are familiar with my escapades in England last year, you will recall that there was a man named "Mad Mike the Spike" involved. Well, it looks like I found his Irish brother. I am being completely serious when I say I did not understand a single word he uttered. I told him I was from Texas and he started to mutter something along the lines of "Jack Ruby shot Kennedy." To my shame, he and a few others bust out into a tear-jerking version of "The Yellow Rose of Texas." I don't even know the words...
The unique thing about Mickey is that he knows every word to every Elvis song ever recorded. He sang and danced the night away in between buying me pints of Murphys. By the time we split ways, I got a hug and an invitation to visit his house the next day to witness Ireland's history. In fact, the next morning I dove into a full Irish breakfast and never made it to his door.
Arthur and Lydia met me in Skib to take me to their home in Bally-d. They are the sweetes little family with 3 kids. Roisin, Ciara and Jackson (Roisin is at boarding school and I won't meet her). Jackson is a mile-a-minute 3 year-old and Ciara likes to quiz me on American facts that I don't know. Her project on America was handed in today, but not after she gave it to me for an education. Who knew that the Statue of Liberty was modeled after the Greek Goddess Libertus? Not this guy.
Along the way to the house we traded stories and family lines. My name in Gaelic is Saiore and it means "Freedom." Booyah! Gaelic is spoken by 10% of the population but all of the road signs and legal procedings are still conducted in the ancient language. If arrested, one can choose to be booked in Gaelic.
The family lives on a small farm that was once a mining community. The main house is surrounded by little "bothys" and outbuildings. Arthur manages a local estate and Lydia is trying to get her first book published. The like to host helpx people because it brings the world to them. Or first dinner was "Dublin Coddle," A stew of bacon and spuds washed down with a Guinness. Mmmm...
For now I am doing odd jobs around the house and spending time with Jackson. It is below freezing but I am holiding up OK with the hot teas and great hospitality. I will have to wait to post pictures until the end of the trip as internet access is limited. Thanks for continuing to follow along!
-Sayer
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