To Bath then to London we make our parade.

And so...we left the ice.

We arrived in Bath in the evening time, grabbed some coffee, took a walk through the christmas festival and climbed into bed.

Zzzzz.

First things first, we head downstairs to eat breakfast and find we're eating among transitional living tenants.  We ate fast.

Now off to the baths!

We had a glorious day wandering around the museum, giggling over the audio selections recorded by my favorite Mr. Bill Bryson.  Megan even drank the water...

We had free admission to the costume museum along with our Baths ticket, so of course we went there too.  We tried on dresses and corsets and hats, viewed some of Lady Di's most memorable gowns, and perused some of the biggest fashion houses most recognizable styles.  Beautiful.

Onward to London.

Our hostel had a bar that offered 1 euro off draft beers and cider.  Yup.  Exactly what we needed.  We sat at our bar table with our trusty travel books and hostel "what to do in London" pamphlet and got down to business.  WHAT were we going to do with our next two days.

Day 1:  We took a walking tour all around London.  We saw the changing of the guard, parliament, Queen Victoria gardens, Big Ben, Westminster, and had a fantastic guide that kept us thouroughly entertained.  In fact, I was so enthralled, I almost forgot how frozen my feet were.  Just kidding.  I was acutely aware.

We went back to the hostel to warm up and change because we had a NIGHT planned ahead of us.

I had read that you could get into Westminster Abbey for free if you went for a service.  I then learned that at 5pm, every night, the mens choir performs an Evensong.  We took the tube down to the Abbey and wandered around to a non-descript entrance.  The usher waved us in when we said we were there for Evensong.  We walked up the intimidating hall, alone...quietly.  There were about 50 seats set out in the main chapel area of the church.  We took our seats.  The choir swished in with their beautiful robes.  We sat in awe for 45 minutes as we were transported to another time, another life.  The mens voices were so clear and angelic, wafting through the centuries old abbey.  Every monarch of Englad has been crowned here.  We were silenced by the thrill.

We walked out and both were so emotionally moved.  No time to dwell.  On to find some great Indian Food.  Marked by the tell-tale signs of an excellent Indian restaurant...christmas lights.  We found some, it was delicous.  And we had a lovely dinner of wine and curry while we watch London move along outside the window.

Apres dinner, we were going to tag along on a pub crawl the hostel was hosting.  We walked in, and were immediately turned off by the clientele.  No thanks.  We don't need half naked drunk girls screaming in our ears all night.  So, we made our own pub crawl.  We walked all the way back across the city sampling local beers and ciders along the way.  Winding up at a cozy little bar with a live band.  We danced the night away and learned authentic cockney accents whilst being serenaded by handsome Brits.  It was fantastic.

The next day was our LAST. DAY.  I think the day was overshadowed by our sadness of leaving.  Well, that and we visited probably the most depressing monument in the UK.  We walked from the hostel, across Tower Bridge, and on to the Tower of London.  Beheadings, treason, murder, and the fight for monarchy.  Light.  I think we both enjoyed it immensely....big nerds.

We spent the evening drinking cider in the bar before taking the last train to Heathrow.  We stocked up on snacks and spent the night in the airport watching Gossip Girl.  Our flight left first thing in the morning...and home we came.

And all I want is to go back.

What Happened Next...

It's been nearly one year since Megs and I took this amazing vacation together to the homeland.  I can hardly believe the year that has surpassed us.  It's been one of tremendous struggle, but I am so thankful to have such unforgettable memories to look back on.

I've been thinking about the "Eel Food" blog and had some serious anxiety over the lack of finish it....lacks.  I realized...you know nothing of what happened after we left the ice.  Let me explain...

The last you heard, we were in Dublin.  Then there was a cryptic, drunken song written from somewhere very cold....and then the sweet sonnet my dear friend wrote on my birthday.  Oh, what you missed...

So, from Dublin we took an overnight steamship to Liverpool.  Ugh.  And Brrr.  We arrived at 5am to find the train station didn't open until 7am.  We also arrived to -20C temperatures.  So, here we are....not morning people...with huge packs on our backs, wandering around Liverpool in literally freezing weather.  We walked simply to keep warm.  We tried to find a coffee shop...no luck.  What we did find was a gentleman who wanted to whisk us away to his hotel room.  No siree.  I let him have an earful and almost punched him in the face. 

7am finally came and we found our way to our train.  We boarded and were settling in...finally able to feel some of the excitement for what was to come.  Our narrow boat!  We started discussing the fun that was about to ensue.  Then the train stopped.  And they asked us to de-board.  And then we waited in the freezing cold AGAIN while we waited 2 hours for a bus to come take us to the next station.  We arrived at the station to find the next train to Northwich wasn't for 2 hours.  UGH.  More waiting.  This time we went to a coffee shop in the station and snacked on toasted sandwiches and tea.  Ok.  Let's get the excitement going again.  The train arrived and off we go to Northwich!  WEEE!!!!

Northwich arrival.  We step out of the station and wander across the street to the supermarket.  We knew we would need to take a taxi to the marina to pick up our little boat and would need groceries while we were underway.  So we stocked up on supplies and hailed a taxi.  It was like being chauffered around by your grandmother.  Adorable.  We were loving England.

We arrive at the marina.  Not to this:

But to this:

The ice is about 6 inches thick.  We weren't going anywhere.

We'd already paid, and they wouldn't refund because this was out of their control.  We boarded the boat, took their little safety course, made some instant coffee and stared at each other across the table.  What were we going to do!?  We were devastated.

We decided that since we'd paid the money, we had better see it out and PRAY NIGHTLY that the ice would melt.  It didn't.

We wandered into town (quite cute):

We ate english baps, sipped tea, and stocked up on ciders of every variety.  We did this for 2 days.  Then decided we needed to get out of there.

To my oldest and bestest, Kali . . .

. . . I wish you a very Happy Birthday!

As I sit on the floor of this hostel in Bath, I am trying to find the proper words to tell you all about my oldest and dearest friend, Kalena. People gravitate towards her as if pulled by magnetic forcefield and those of you who know her understand why. Back in college, whenever we'd go out dancing, she only had to smile, and people rallied to be near her. Being one of her friends, it was wonderful, we were always destined to meet someone new, make a new friend, or have an adventure like none other. Ally and I called her 'The Enigma;' there was just something about Kali that drew people in. Kalena is one of the most beautiful, selfless and amazing person I have ever met, but if you'd ever try to tell her that, she'd just brush it off. That is just her way, and its part of her charm. She doesn't much like to call attention to herself (well, unless its on the dance floor). But today, its her birthday. Attention must be paid. She's just going to have to deal.

This is the 17th year I have thought of Kalena on December 2nd, and Even through the years when we were far apart, or had lost touch, 'K's Bday' could always be found on my calendar, in my planner, or in my phone. 17 years of friendship is a feat at any age, and I have known a life with Kalena in it almost twice as long as not. We're lucky enough to be in England on her birthday this year, and will likely enjoy a celebratory pint or two (or four) in London this evening. We've been gone 2 weeks on the trip of a lifetime, and trip we have both dreamed about for years. Though I never thought it possible, this trip has made me appreciate and love my dear friend even more. 17 years makes you think you know someone, but they never fail to surprise...

She is an amazing wealth of travel knowledge, and seems to retain everything she reads about a place. Rather than wanting to visit famous tourist attractions, she prefers sights off the beaten path, and likes to sit and imagine what it must have been like in its prime. She is the most organized person I have ever met. She can talk to sheep, they don't listen real well, but still, she talks to sheep. She can pack and be ready to go faster than anyone I have ever met. AND still look cute. This is a feat not mastered by many. Her lyric writing has only improved with age, as has her singing. She holds her ground and threatens to punch Liverpool drunks when they loom too close. I thought I had seen all of her faces, and yet, a new face, mole face, has been born on this trip. She makes the best soft boiled eggs in the world. THE BEST. She will bust out Punjabi dancing in a club in Dublin, and rock it. She draws funny pictures of people on maps. She gets frightened by scary noises outside the boat, and imagines the worst, but is prepared to fight her way out. And if there were ever a need for a penguin to play Lisele in a remake of “The Sound of Music,” the part would undoubtedly be hers.

Happy Birthday, my dear friend. I look forward to many many more years of memories, fun, and surprises. I love you!

XOXO Megs

ICE-O-Lation

The Ballad of Anderton Marina

We're as drunk as a skunk in a moat, its nice
We're as drunk as skunk in our boat, trapped in ice.
She's been working on her accent, its posh and so fine,
before we known it, with Harry she'll dine...
Beneath the ice, it was eels we sought,
a zing zing boom and out they shot...
We call this our mole hole, because its so dark
then we open the blinds, to shout, HELLO OH HARK!
To our neighbors we smile, and spread our good cheer
and then we walk home and drink our 10 beers.
They may think we're crazy, as we're rocking the boat
and breaking in the ice, in our natural formed moat
Tomorrow, oh dears, we climb the rail for Bath,
cutting our boat trip so short...  but oh, must we hath!
Being stuck in the ice, was fun for a while,
But eventually we found, it took a bottle to smile.
And so we set forth on a new escapade
to Bath then to London, we make our parade.

Ennis Evenings and Dublin Days

For Thanksgiving, we went into Ennis (15 kilometers from our cottage) for an evening of music.  We were not disappointed.  Not only did we befriend the greatest bartender ever (Lackey), but we were witness to the most fantastic session of music.

After only a few hours of sleep, we packed up Midge and made our way up to Dublin.  Once arriving, we took a quick cat nap and made our way out into Temple Bar.  It's the "cultural" burough of the city, and quite lively in the evening and early morning hours.  We found a great little place for dinner and then, with full bellies, made our way to find more music.  We ended up in a place so appropriately named The Temple Bar.  It had, like, 8 separate rooms, all with their own bars, some were outside with heat lamps, some were cozy with tables, and some were made for standing and shouting the lyrics to some chintzy bar song.  It was here that we met one of the more interesting characters from this trip.  He really wanted to chat with us because he's not allowed into the States due to a small run in with the law in the '70s.  This "run in" was apparently a smuggling of 250 machine guns into Northern Ireland.  No joke.  We've tried googling him, but with no luck.  Was he full of it?  Quite possibly.


We were walking up the street a little later on our way to a pub closer to our condo when we ran into a group of men.  I don't remember what the line was...something along the lines of "How do you feel about a pub crawl?  It's Lads Night but we want you to join."  How do you say "no" to an offer like that?  So, they toured us around and told us great stories.  We ended the evening dancing into the wee hours of the morning.  We walked (or roamed since we were lost) home during a thunderstorm, and woke up to snow!

Today we experienced Dublin in daylight and happened upon a 150,000 person rally.  It was really actually inspiring.  It was in front of the Post Office (which is pock marked with bullet holes from the Easter Rising of 1916) and the topic was the threatened economy, a topic that hits fairly close to home.  We felt transported back in time, and felt honored to see such passion from such peaceful people.

Tonight, we sail for Liverpool.  The crossing is about 8 hours, and we'll wake up on English soil.  We will find our way to the boat in the morning...and next you hear from us, we'll be nautical veterans.  Hopefully...we've learned new disturbing facts about the eels (things like how they don't have jaws and just latch onto fleshy surfaces).

Well, if you have sheep and she has sheep, how do you know which sheeps are yours and which sheeps are hers?

Turns out...you spray paint them. The sheep of the Dingle peninsula are all shades of red, green, purple, blue, red & blue, green & purple, and on and on. We discovered this by a conversation we had with a local shepherd who then provided us one of the coolest experiences we could have wished for. More about that later though...I have much to catch you up on.

After we last wrote, we had all intention of doing a 26 kilometer walk through the Burren. The Burren is a pretty desolate area of Ireland. Almost all of the limestone underlayer is exposed from soil erosion over millions of years, and has left the land looking like a lunar landscape. However, on our way to the starting point of the walk loop, we were distracted by a road sign just barely visible in the magical morning mist pointing to Dysert O’Dea castle. Go? Well, ok. Let’s. We made a quick lefthand turn and wound around down a very small lane. The castle viewing area was closed for the season, unfortunately, however there was supposed to be a 4 mile walk that took you on a tour of some 14 field monuments surrounding the castle. We looked for the trail, but leprechauns got there before us and hid it. Boo. Instead, after thoroughly scouring the castle, we walked back up the lane to “Midge” (the car) and asked a kindly gentleman we found along the way if we could walk down another nearby lane. The mist had lifted by now and h e, of course, graciously waved us on and told us we could find a church, high cross, and holy well down the lane. Sure enough, at the end of the lane, we traversed a rock wall and found the monuments. We meandered around several fields, explored another church in ruins, and a high cross, shouted down a well (it wasn’t deep enough for echoes), and looped back up towards the car.

Realizing we’d spent a good portion of our day wandering random fields, we decided that we weren’t going to beeline for the walking point, but instead enjoy a slower ramble (“slower ramble” really means dodge numerous gravel trucks and livestock transporters on tiny one lane roads) through the Burren and see some of the pre-historic sights along the way.

The first thing we came upon was a stone fort. The walls were built about 8 feet high and the people supposedly lived inside these forts for shelter. Not a bad idea. You could see all surrounding hillsides from the fort. I can’t say I’d want to be inside at the time of attack though. It was closed for season, but we just jumped the fence and climbed a few treacherous rock walls to get inside.

After the stone fort we went on just a little bit further up the road and found the Poulnabrone Dolman. This recognizable monument is one that dates back to 4000 BC. The time is really unthinkable when you stand there in front of it. It was a burial chamber (some 33 bodies were found inside when excavated), however, whether they were originally buried here, or moved here is unknown. Megs and I sat on the surrounding limestone rocks for some time and concocted numerous stories of those who lived here.

We continued driving up around the peninsula, through towns with sing-song names like Ballyvaughn and Fanore. We stopped in Doolin for a pint, hoping to find some music and perhaps a fireplace to warm our cold toes. We found the pint, and a fireplace. However, we also found the person who has since so aptly been named “Mary Fecker”. Now, Mary was something else. She was the barkeep at Gus O’Conners, where our weary feet and thirst led us. And....she did NOT like us. Honestly, the first and only unfriendly person we’ve encountered. We seriously sat at the bar for 25 minutes after we’d finished our drinks without any acknowledgement. We made eye contact, we tried to talk to her as she passed us with her head down, looking the other way, we fussed with coins on the counter to draw attention. Finally, a gentlemen by the fire struck up conversation with us and suddenly she noticed we were there. We could only leave Doolin too quickly.

Back to the cottage via Ennistimon, we picked up some provisions at the super market and, exhausted, fell into bed with whiskey warmed tummies. We have been blessed with beautiful weather and such a wonderful place to call home. The next day would only bring more adventures...

Over to you, Megs...

Many of the locals looked at us like we were crazy when they asked where we were off to on Wednesday. We must have heard “All the way to Dingle? Today?” fifteen times. And yet, off to Dingle we went. We’ve discovered that Ireland’s a little like Seattle that way; “All the way to Dingle” is a little like a Seattlelite exclaiming “All the way to Redmond.” Armed with three weathered pages that had fallen out of a well loved Rick Steve’s guidebook, we were ready to explore this western most peninsula of Ireland. Rick had told us there were some 500,000 sheep on this little peninsula, and we were determined to count them all. After a quick lunch (and beer) stop, we began our sheep counting amidst the ‘Hills of 100 Sheeps’. We lost count somewhere around 1,673 sheep. We’ll just have to take Rick’s word for that one.

One of our first stops on the peninsula was at the faery forts. Anything Irish with the word faery in it immediately has our attention. As we looked out over the Atlantic, we wondered who these forts protected the Irish people from, it seemed unlikely invaders would be approaching from the sea, but all the same, these forts have stood the test of time and are a testament to the Irish’s resourcefulness, fortitude and superstitions - they are called faery forts because they are believed to be enchanted by faeries - which is why they still stand strong. Kali was extremely excited our next stop - the beehive huts. From below, these stone igloos are hard to spot, you can’t tell the difference between a stone fence, a hut and a pile of rocks. After parking Midge along the water, we set out up the hill, dodging sheep poop and brightly colored rams, who just chewed on their grass and looked at us as if to say, “damn tourists.” We scoured the hillside, climbing further and further, a look of disappointment coming across our faces. We had thought there would be many of these huts, and were saddened to have only seen the one near the road. Turning down the hill, we began noticing them everywhere - little groupings of 2-3 huts together; all the roofs have crumbled or caved in, but the walls still stand. Its hard to imagine what it must have been like to spend winters in these small huts, surrounded by sheep.


As we went went to pull away after the beehive huts, our curiosity got the better of us, and thank the baby jesus for that. The man in wellies who appeared to be waiting for his sheep was doing just that. He was nice enough to answer our questions about the spray painted sheep. Then he unloaded his little border collie from the back his van and looked out over the water, and asked us if we wanted to help. Like little kids at Christmas, we could barely contain our excitement. Our job wasn’t huge, and could probably have been handled by the quick working dogs, but still, we helped. We helped herd sheep. In Ireland. As the sun set over the Atlantic. And then he told us we’d make good farmers. Oh, how I adore old Irish farmers. It was nice of him to indulge the American girls on their holiday. Still, it was an experience I will never forget. As the sheep lined up waiting for direction, and the collies shot out and around the herd, listening to unspoken commands of the men, it was as though we had taken steps back in time and were a part of something so much bigger than us.
Later, we stumbled upon a gorgeous beach, watched surfers take a wave or two, and marveled at what an amazing country this is. The coastal drive took us along a portion of land where the potato fields which rotted during the famine remain untouched. The vertical furrows were an eery reminder of the thousands of lives lost back in 1846, the land a dark orangish red, stark in comparison to the vibrant green surrounding it. On the Dingle peninsula alone, the population was once 60,000 people, post famine the number hovers around 10,000. The countryside is littered with the remains of homes, and many of the towns we past through had more remains of home than homes that are currently lived it. The Dingle loop took us to another site of abbey remains, the home of the lead singer of the Cranberries (LOVE), an oratory (where road markers displaying a basic cross and a monk confused us - we set off across a field, searching for this monk’s trail, but were unable to find it), and back over the hill to the heart of Dingle Town. We felt as though we had earned ourselves a pint and a bite, so we pulled into town. Murphy’s Pub offered cider, Smithwicks, fish and chips for Kali and seafood chowder for me. We left Dingle Town warm and stuffed to the thicket; gave one last dolphin call to Fungi (the town’s infamous cetacean) and headed back to the cottage.

We chose to stay closer to home on Thursday and headed to Limerick, and the River Shannon. After days of 4000 year old forts, huts, and tombs, the architecture in this quaint city was dramatically different. St. John’s Castle, St. John’s Cathedral, St. Mary’s Cathedral and the perfect arched bridges provided miles of walking, and a new view of Ireland. We sat in the market sipping coffee as Kalena drew likenesses of the locals selling their wares on our colorful street map. There is much history to be had in Limerick, where the Lord of Ireland (St. John) lived in the 1600’s. We spent time imagining fleets invading on this small river, and wars being fought between the Irish and English towns. It was here we made this little video for you, with the castle and the River Shannon in the background. Happy Thanksgiving to everyone at home! Disclaimer: It was cold. Kalena’s brain was slow and Megan couldn’t get a word in edgewise. We are usually much more eloquent. Thanks.





There are so many little things like that have piqued our interest - little things about the way we are living here that we want to tell you about. The electrical outlets, coal fires, the various road signs make us laugh so hard we almost cry, how we have washed our clothes twice - well, three times - now because we can’t figure out how to make the dryer portion work, things like this that are making this experience all the more fun and memorable. More on those little things will be coming soon, but...

One thing we feel must be mentioned now - we are very curious about this, and want your input on it... does anyone know what this box and sign mean? Our thoughts range from “Don’t put your crying baby in the box” to “This is a safe haven for you to abandon your crying baby” to “Beware: Potato bugs live here.” We are open to all comments, ideas and suggestions - the funnier the better. It should probably be mentioned that this box is located by a bridge, its fairly large (definitely big enough for a baby or two OR a few hundred potato bugs), there are no openings, and the box was locked. Thanks much! XOXO.

Turn right on the road that further down turns left. By the old ash tree, well, it's not there anymore. It was cut down, but it used to be there. You'll know. Turn right there, then go backwards.

Well, we've arrived in Clare.  At  our cottage.  Its very remote, so our postings are going to be sporadic for the next little bit.  Internet is hard to come by, we are sitting in the lobby of the condo reception, 30 km from our cottage, on a golf course, on an Irish computer (with a funny keyboard) writing this for you. 

We made a video tour of our cottage so you could get an idea of where we are.  Enjoy!
 

We arrived here after a short drive down from Galway.  We drove through the town of Ennis no less than four times, pretty much going in a circle the entire time.  Luckily, we found a friendly bloke and he set us straight on the path to Tulla.  After settling in at the cottage, and a lovely cup of coffee with Ger, we had a plan for the night.  The condo association had a bus (of sorts) that would pick us up and take us to a local pub for traditional Irish music and fare.  We were a bit surprised to find that the owner of the pub was our chaffeuer for the evening.  After a delicious dinner of Guinness Beef Stew and Bangers & Mash, we sat and partook in an enjoyable evening of music and craic.  We made friends with two older gentleman (Seamus and Peter) who enjoyed us so much, they said they wanted to join us on the boat "just for the craic".  Best compliment ever.

Gary, the pub owner, disappeared after a bit and it turns out the bartender was given the end of night task of driving us home.  No bother for us.  We spent the evening talking with the locals about how they remove stones from the fences so the ponies can make it over during the fox hunts, about how they bale their hay, and several rounds of "this is ____, our most eligible bachelor".  My mom was right.  The Irish are full of it.  However, THE NICEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD.  No joke.  They wave to you when you are going the wrong way on the street, and I think every single person we've come across has asked us how our holiday is going.

Armed with maps, we set of for the Cliffs of Moher on Monday. We drove through LaHinch, the Irish surfing town, which looked a bit like any coastal town in California, only much colder.  We were lucky is was a gorgeous day, and not too cold, because the view over the cliffs was absolutely "awre inspiring."  Kalena wanted to hop a fence to peer out over the edge, but wasn't willing to get her shoes muddy.  After some time in the Cliffs of Moher exhibition (we were right...  there WAS a corpse eating eel, we have pictures!), and some native dancing on the virtual reality cliff experience, we were ready to head to Doolin and then off to the high crosses at Kilfenora.  Doolin is known for its traditional music scene, but it seemed pretty quiet, being a Monday, and not late in the day.  We may have to venture back later this week...  Kilfenora offered a somber graveyard set on hill.  The High Crosses were beacons back in the day when Kilfenora was originally founded in 1152. 

Back at the cottage, we made a coal fire, Guinness beef stew and had a low key night.  Driving on the road here is scary enough, neither one of us wants to attempt to traverse them in the dark, let alone after a pint. We hope to go back to the pub, Pepper's, later this week for more music, this time of the dancing variety.  Today we are off to wander Blackhead Loop, search for leprechauns (its magical out today) and see the Burren. 

Kalena & Megan