Galway and Beyond

Tomorrow the Mart/Yratas will strike camp and make our way to the Carton House outside Dublin. I am reliably informed by AI that it was first designed and built in the 1700s by the 19th Earl of Kildare, Robert FitzGerald. 

Galway was fun, but not quite as I remembered it. I recall it being heavily touristed, but now, even in the shoulder season, it feels a bit like Killarney. As I mentioned previously, we stayed a couple miles out of the center of town near the Salthill Promenade (or Salthill Prom) which is a walkway that runs from the town a few miles along Galway Bay. You can see the 12 miles across the bay to Ballyvaughan in Clare. Unfortunately for me (and I assume lots of other folks), the Steve Earle song “Galway Girl” has been running through my head for the entire 2 days we have been here:

Well, I took a stroll on the old long walk
Of a day-i-ay-i-ay

I met a little girl and we stopped to talk
Of a fine soft day-i-ay

And I ask you friend, what’s a fella to do?
Because her hair was black and her eyes were blue

And I knew right then, I’d be taking a whirl
Around the Salthill prom with a Galway Girl

Here is the Salthill prom from my window:

There is a steady stream of walkers and joggers on the prom. Not only that, but now and again you see folks in swimsuits jump in the water for a presumably bracing swim. I should mention that it’s been about 50 degrees here, but it feels much colder with the wind whipping off Galway Bay. I don’t know if these swimmers are hardy or suicidal, but I won’t be trying it myself.

And just for the sake of completeness, here is the Old Long Walk:

At first it seemed atmospheric, then annoying, and now maddening. It only got worse when I stumbled upon this:

And there she was, in bronze, the Galway Girl. If the song doesn’t stop playing in my head tomorrow, I may be forced to beat my head against a dolmen.

It’s actually worse than that. There is a peculiarity about the way my brain works. My plucky spouse just interjected, “Just one?” She can be very sarcastic in a low-key, deadpan way. I recall that some years back I had an MRI of my headbone, I think because of some atypical migraine symptoms. I came home and announced that the MRI was completely normal. Kay raised an eyebrow and asked, “Then how do you account for your behavior?” But back to my memory for lyrics. I remember the themes of shows that no one but me seems to recall. Does anyone remember “My Mother the Car”? It ran for one season in 1965 and starred Jerry Van Dyke.

You can probably figure out the basic plot from the title. I think I may be one of 5 people who actually saw it. But I do recall the title song:

Everybody knows in the second life
We all come back sooner or later
As anything from a pussy cat
To a man-eatin’ alligator

Well, you may think my story
Is more fiction than its fact
But believe it or not, my mother dear
Decided she’d come back

As a car, she’s my very own guiding star
A 1928 Porter, that’s my mother dear
She helps me through everything I do
And I’m so glad she’s here

There it is, bouncing around my brain-pan. Why is it taking up space in my head that should have been filled with calculus? Dunno. Another example? Sure, I never tire of talking about myself (“We know!” I hear my millions of readers groan.) The Pruits of Southhampton ran the following year, starring Phyliss Diller. It has been rated as one of the worst sit-coms in history. But again, here are some of the lyrics; it was sung by Phyllis Diller and Reginald Gardner, who I believe played her husband:

DILLER: Howcha do, howcha do, howcha do, my dear
What a lovely surprise, nice to see you here

GARDNER: All the bills have been long overdue my dear

DILLER: File them under I.O.U.

DIller: Howcha do, howcha do Well, HELLO, it’s you
Like my dress, like my beads, Aren’t they marvy-poo

FREEMAN: They belong to the Internal Revenue

DILLER: And they’ve got us eating stew

CHORUS: The Pruitts Of Southampton
Live like the richest folk . . .
But what the folk don’t know is
That the Pruitts are flat broke

Again, why do I recall this? It is a mystery indeed.

I’m going somewhere with this. Over the years I have listened to a good deal of Irish music, some traditional, some less so. But it seems that every time I drive past an Irish town, there is an associated song that starts to thunder through my head. Let’s take a little musical excursion:

Dublin

The Rocky Road to Dublin

One, two, three, four, five
Hunt the hare and turn her
Down the rocky road, another way to Dublin
Whack fol-laddie-roll!

KIllarney

Christmas in Killarney

The door is always open
The neighbors pay you call
And Father John, before he’s gone
Will bless the house and all
Our hearts are light, our spirits bright
We’ll celebrate our joy tonight
It’s Christmas in Killarney
With all of the folks at home

Castlemane

The Wild Colonial Boy

There was a wild colonial boy; Jack Duggan was his name
He was born and raised in Ireland in a place called Castlemaine.
He was his father’s only son, his mother’s pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy

Tralee

The Rose of Tralee

The pale moon was rising above the green mountain.
The sun was declining beneath the blue sea.
When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain,
That stands in the beautiful Vale of Tralee.
She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer.
Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me.
Oh no, ’twas the truth in her eyes ever dawning.
That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee.

Galway

The Galway Races

As I went down to Galway Town to seek for recreation
On the seventeenth of August, me mind being elevated
There were passengers assembled with their tickets at the station
Me eyes began to dazzle and they off to see the races

Does it sound nice to have a soundtrack in your head? Maybe, for the first 10 minutes or so. But it keeps running in the background until a new song is triggered. Please, please make it stop.

But back to Galway. Kay and I took it pretty easy today and just strolled around the Latin Quarter. Galway is not a town with many famous sights; you can go check out the cathedral and the university quad, but at this point in my career, I’ve seen lots of both. It’s good to have some time off to just sit in a coffeeshop or pub with no particular agenda.

We stayed in a self-catering apartment, which was interesting, although Kay and I never really got the hang of the technology. One thing I’ve noticed is that everything in Ireland beeps at you. The electric kettle, oven, heating units (which we never quite figured out), and washing machine all emit a bewildering variety of sounds, and their significance is not always apparent. Our rented Skoda is the most dramatic. Like a lot of American cars, it has a rear camera and starts to beep if you get too close to whatever is behind you. But the Skoda is very emphatic. It starts out reasonably enough:

beep, beep, beep…

Then it starts to get a little concerned:

Beep, Beep, Beep…

Then it goes into freakout mode:

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I never let it get beyond that; I didn’t come on vacation to have to do psychotherapy with a car having a full-blown panic attack.

I think my day-to-day chronology may be a bit confusing at this point, and that is because I really am confused. For example, I was surprised to find out that today is Friday. My son’s in-laws went home today, and Jon, Joselyn, Kay, and I drove back to Dublin to drop off the rental car and check into our hotel. Actually, Jon drove; after navigating Boston traffic, Dublin isn’t much of a challenge for him. We will spend a couple days in the city before the kids go home. Kay and I are headed up to Belfast for 2 days before we come back to Dublin and fly home. Stay tuned.