Ireland, 1998

“As long as we’re headed An Lár ….” – Jean

“There’s a random bale of hay driver.” – Jean

Jean: “Can I put it in there?”
Me: “Tooo many books.”

“Narth.”
“Excuse me?”

“I want to go to County Mayo.”
Irish person: “It’s just fields.”

“What did I do wrong?” – Brian, his screaming voice behind us

Siobhan: “Are you gonna kiss the back of my head?”
Brian: “No. I’m gonna turn you around and kiss you on the lips.”

Brian, moaning: “Oh, the shame of the Irishman!” (talking about Ulysses and James Joyce’s writing)

Me: “Say something in Irish.”
Brian does.
Me: “What did you say?”
Brian: “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”

To get to Clonmacnoise follow signs to Ballynahoun and take Paddy Kavanaugh’s bus service.

Me: “Member Glencar?”
Jean: “Was that where I saw a cow and thought it was a bear?”

Brian: “She’s probably got a boyfriend in Minnesota workin’ on a crop plantation, sayin; ‘This is all for Siobhan …’ ”

“You’re a sensitive little bastard.”
“Sensitive is the operative word.”

“Te – ha – co.” – Jean saying “Texaco”

Listed in the index of Let’s Go Ireland (otherwise known to us as “The Book”): “nuns drinking Guinness” – pg. 364

Sí¬¥ na Gigh – fertility statue, legs spread over head, Clonmacnoise. (PJ Harvey)

DJ, in thick thick brogue: “That was ‘Blue Moon’!”
Jean: “And I am a leprechaun.”

In Irish accent: “The secrets are in the Tarot!”

Jean: “We’re going up to Dung Angus.” Pause. “I am my mother’s daughter.”

Jean: “If anyone asks, tell them the bodhran is for my nephew.”

Lush green fields – w/ a sparkley sapphire pool dipped into them

Left to Sallynoggin, right to Cabintealy

Port Laoise

Caisleán – castle

Lumneach: Limerick

Áth Cliath – Dublin

An Lár!

Jean: “Oh, look! There’s a horse stadium … or … whatever … a racetrack?” Horse stadium?

Sign at a truck stop: Open 7 am till Late

Glendalough in the dark. Jean: “There’s a whole fuckin’ Glendalough village down there.”

The Wicklow gap. Sun going down. Moon rising. Lichen on the gravestones glowing white in the moonlight – as though it were ice … the sound of rushing water … and the darkening of the hills against the still light sky – the glowing sky of dusk – but we were way down in shadow … faint gleams of streams making their way down – the clear silhouette of trees climbing up almost totally vertical hills. The graveyard by dark around that conical tower, all those tilting old gravestones – massive in comparison to what we use today. Most were taller than me. All in decay with moss eating away at the stones. So fantastic in the moonlight. Darkness all around.

“The fields are so green they almost look yellow!” I said (wearing my hyper-day-glo yellow sunglasses)

Getting lost in a suburb of Dublin and in the space of 5 minutes we saw a 7th Day Adventist Church, a sign for the Irish Jewish Museum and a sign for a Quaker Meeting House – by the time that last one rolled around Jean exploded, “Quaker Meeting House?” It made her ANGRY. We were shrieking with laughter. Where the HELL are all the Catholics?

Auntie Bridgie with a cell phone

The Stillorgan

“To be perfectly honest with you, it’s really the Trapezoid of Kerry.”

Jean, dancing and twirling, singing, “Fat man in a little coat …”
Brian: “Oh, don’t get sentimental now.”

Jean: “What was his pen name? Boris Dolan?” We lost it. BORIS?

Jean kept saying “Tony Blair” in a crusty English accent. He was in Dublin for a day so we could not escape from news of him. “Tony Blair.”

Driving through the Wicklow Gap, listening to The Corrs. Siobhan: “They all look like Snow White.” Their song is about the only song on the radio over here. “And we are so young now … so young … so young now …” – and Jean, underneath it, in tune, in rhythm, as though she were a backup singer: ‘Glendalough, Glendalough …’

“So. What’s Pete’s last name?” “Power Equipment.”

Siobhan’s homestay – the little girl named her doll “Crystal Siobhan” (after the 2 homestay girls). She whipped the doll down the stairs. Siobhan expressed concern and the little girl said, “Oh, no, she likes it.”

When we got lost that night – Jean was driving – she kept asking Siobhan which way to go. “Crystal-Siobhan – which way?”

Jean and I, walking in Dublin – heard a baby (about 3 years old) – in his stroller behind us – we heard him scream out, “HOLY JESUS.” Jean and I started laughing – we couldn’t help it – the father was like, “Sh!” (like: where did he learn that phrase from?) A man walking along with us was laughing a bit too, I made eye contact with him, and he said “Well, at least he’s sayin’ his prayers!”

Sinn Féin guy: “You won’t meet too many people like me over here. You have to understand: I’m a real Irishman. I’m an alcoholic.”

Talking to Brian and Tadhg from County Tipperary.
“We come from a county in the middle of Ireland that starts with a T.”
I guessed. “Tipperary.”
Brian was thrilled that I guessed it. “Yes!” We had just come from there that day – so we all talked about Tipperary – and Jean and I later told Brian that we wanted to go to mass while we were in Dublin – and where did he recommend – he was so pleased about that too. “You want to go to mass? Really?” He told us the church he went to.

Me: “I had to buy a china Celtic cross.”
Sean: “Oh, you’ve got to buy all that shite so you can show everyone at home – ‘Look! I’ve been to Ireland!'”
Me: “Exactly.”

Sean: Have you been to Newgrange?
Me: We went today.
Sean: How about the Aran Islands?
Me: Yeah, we’ve done that.
Sean: Have you done Glendalough? Or the rock of Cashel?
Me: We’re doing Rock of Cashel tomorrow.
Jean: We went to Clonmacnoise!
Sean: Is there anywhere you haven’t gone? Jesus!

Jean and I arriving in Dublin at 6 am. It was still dark. We waited for the shuttle bus to take us to the car lot. The first streaks of dawn appearing in the sky – a clear dawn sky – only a couple of clouds which showed up black in front of the dawn. The air was cold and wet. Where the hell were we. We stood on the sisdewalk, shivering, not really talking to each other – and occasionally either Jean or I would start giggling, out of nowhere, spontaneous bursts of laughter. Everything was funny. Then the bus arrived – driven by this Irish cutie with a Caesar haircut – he was to die for. Probably 18 years old. And I got in the back first – he was blasting club music – and Jean went to climb up in the back with me and she had this huge backpack on – little Jean with this tall backpack – which added about a foot of height to her – and she missed the little step and slipped and fell. I burst into laughter, Jean started laughing – the Irish boy went to help Jean up and said, “Had some drinks on the plane, did you then?” Jean was still laughing, protesting, “No! No!” Then the drive to the car lot, with Erasure blaring in our ears through the dawn, and the 2 of us sat in the back, shaking with silent laughter. We could not stop. Jean reached down and pulled up the leg of her pants and in the glow of a streetlamp we could both see this huge gash on her leg, streaming blood. And this just made us laugh even harder.

Oh, and the way this kid gave us directions into Dublin: “Okay. You go down this road and then you take a left at the roundabout, and then you pick up N11.” (By now we are totally familiar with all the motorways – an tlarthar – etc. – but we had no idea what “N11” was at that moment – or even what he had actually said.) It took us 3 tries for us to translate – “N11” – “Oh! N Eleven! Oh – okay – go on.” “And then you need to get onto O’Connell Street – that’s a big road in Dublin – and what you want to look for is the Stillorgan – ” (By now, the Stillorgan has taken on mythical status to us. I will never forget the Stillorgan. Jean and I cannot stop saying it.)

N11 to Kilmacanogue
R755 to Laragh
756 to Glendalough

On bathroom wall, Dublin, 11/25:
In a garden of life we grow
And our beauty is in us to show
From the infanate eternal flow

“When you see a man recitin’ limericks, turn left. There’s a gate.”

Our taped-on bumper. Jean, worried: “I hope that tape won’t take the paint off.” I felt compelled to reassure her even though I have no idea whether the tape will take the paint off – I literally was about to make something up, “Oh, well, I’m sure it won’t take the paint off because that tape is made for the express purpose of …” Finally I just said flatly, “I have no response.”

Our laughter at Glendalough. It hit the 3 of us at the same moment. We lost it. Staggering, cackling, disrupting the peace of the graveyard, other people trying to commune with nature, and we were shrieking and snorting.

The “riot steps” at UCD. Siobhan telling us about a friend of hers doing an imitation of people tripping and stumbling down those steps.

Guy we met: “My wife just had triplets. She doesn’t want to be seein’ my face for a while.”

Stella Maris Hostel. The 2 guys running it made it sound like the road to Rossaveal was so bad that you would need a range rover. “Best take the ferry from Galway.” They made it sound like it would be a 2 and a half hour drive. But Jean and I actually made it to Rossaveal in less than an hour.

Jean: “Listen, lady. Just give us 5 minutes so we can take a picture of Kevin’s Kitchen with the night flash.”