My Adventures with Haggis

While in Scotland I had a very interesting meal. The kid I was staying with is a pretty decent cook and is willing to take chances and tackle tougher meals. So, after learning about the traditional Scottish meal of haggis was my friends and I joked around about having it for dinner, not knowing that someone would actually take us up on it. We all committed to it not wanting the shame of backing down but in all honesty I did make a mental note to remember to be well stocked with alcohol in case the dish was as awful as it sounds.
Haggis is sheep heart, liver, and lungs minced up with oatmeal, onion and spices inside a sheep stomach. You boil the stomach until its warm, cut it open and mix the meat with mashed potatoes and whisky and enjoy. It is not a difficult meal to prepare and most of the work is already done for you. When psyching myself up for this meal I reminded myself that hotdogs aren’t quite that different than haggis. They do however have the added advantage that to this day I am blissfully unaware of what exactly is in a hotdog. It’s a don’t ask don’t tell relationship I am very happy with.
So, after soaking the white stomach in hot water for 45 minutes we took it out and prepared to cut it open. As we made a slit though the greasy lining, brown stuff that looked like ground beef oozed out. Being inappropriate and immature college kids, we quickly commented on how it looked like certain bodily functions not normally associated with the preparation of food which didn’t help with my eagerness to eat the stuff.


There she is.

What it looks like coming out. We had two of them.

Finally, after hours of anticipation, I spooned out the meat onto the potatoes, added whisky (I assume it is used to get you a little drunk), and mixed it all up. I added a lot of salt because salt makes everything taste better. The moment had come and I took my first bite. As it turns out, haggis isn’t that bad. It didn’t taste great but it didn’t taste awful either. The potatoes, salt and spices kind of dominate the meal. As the mood lightened we started slinging back beers and laughed at what we were eating.
Well, that night the four of us were joined by our host’s Scottish and English roommates and we sat around drinking for hours. After the bars closed we went back and picked up right where we left off and merrily partied until the very early hours of the morning. Around five though, the familiar drunk sensation of hunger crept in and we all got the munchies. After searching the fridge we concluded that the only thing worth eating was, you guessed it, the leftover haggis. With no mashed potatoes or vegetables to mix it into, we were going at it this time in the bravest way possible. I wish I had a picture of it. In the middle of the kitchen stood three guys taking turns holding the greasy sheep stomach like a bowl, spooning out large bites of haggis with huge smiles on our faces. This time the haggis was transformed into one of the greatest things ever. Between the nostalgia for Scotland we were feeling after a great night, the saltiness of the meat, and our own ravenous hunger, haggis was the perfect meal for the situation. As my favourite travel writer, Tony Bourdain, often says, you don’t know a place until you know what they eat. Well, now I think I know Scotland a little bit better.

Edinburgh, Scotland

They actually bagpipe here.

This weekend I graced the town of Edinburgh, Scotland with my presence. I was happy to go but I wasn’t expecting much. Although I had been there before, I didn’t remember too much of it, but how different could the country be from Ireland? The climates of both countries are relatively the same, both of them have history of hating the English, and both love to drink. Well, although these things are true, Edinburgh is nothing like any Irish town I have seen and my experience this time was much richer than my visit when I was 13. It was awesome.

The front of Edinburgh Castle.

Edinburgh has a reputation of being a notorious party town. There is a TV show I sometimes watch here that is like the American version of Cops except the police on the show only deal with drunken partiers instead of actual criminals and Edinburgh is always a main location for finding these drunken idiots. Well, this weekend I put the city’s reputation to the test and although I was lucky enough to not encounter police or cameras, I can tell why they come there to get footage.
Three of us stayed with a friend of one of us at his apartment with his English and Scottish roommates. They were incredibly accommodating and fun to drink with. They took us to the coolest bars and showed us the town as they knew it. Scotland is known for its beer. There is a ton of variety and it is a haven for local micro brews. Most beers are known as bitters and are served warm and uncarbonated. The casks are stored in cellars and the bartender pulls a lever pumping it up rather than just flipping a tap. The first time I saw it was at a bar our friends took us to called Catley’s that has 30 Scottish beers on a rotation and it blew my mind that people served beer in this fashion. The process of pulling beers is done all through the town though and I rarely ever had the same beer twice.



The castle from below. I'm guessing the people living in it hundreds of years ago felt like badasses.

The other St. Giles...


The actual layout of the town is probably the most interesting I have ever seen. Millions of years ago there was a volcano there that produced huge rock formations. Then when the last ice age hit 10,000 years ago, glaciers came through and cleared the rock out. One part of the rock was so hard though that the glacier split and went around the crag. This left a huge rock in a ravine with sloping debris trailing past. This formation is called crag and tail and created a perfect defence position which people have been living on for centuries and now hosts the town’s center. The tail of the formation is now a charming street called the Royal Mile with shops, pubs, and landmarks in the Gothic architecture style. (One of the attractions is known as St. Giles Cathedral. Protestant name stealing bastards.) At the top of the street is the imposing and stunning Edinburgh Castle that houses the Scottish Royal Jewels and museums highlighting Scotland’s past. More hot spots and areas of interest are located in the ravine and the surrounding hills so the whole town is linked with bridges and steps and getting lost is an easy thing to do.
The people of Edinburgh were fantastic too. Wherever I went red headed Scots greeted me warmly and talked and talked. They are a very proud people (some of whom still where kilts) and love to talk about Scotland. Their dialect is clear and calming and fun to listen to, just don't make the mistake of calling them English; they are Scottish and don't mind telling you! In all, the trip was a blast and the city’s charm and the kindness of its people left a great impression on me. I hope to see it again someday.

The cafe where J.K. Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter novel on a napkin. I'm a big fan.

Croagh Patrick

About a week or two ago I received an e-mail from one of my grandfathers whom I consider to be somewhat of an Irish enthusiast as well as an Irish citizen himself, (can anyone guess who that might be?) highlighting a few destinations I should try to see while here. I frequently receive e-mails from this said grandfather and his advice has not steered me wrong yet. This particular e-mail however did more than just offer advice and a threat was made if I did not visit this destination. My grandpa told me if I did not climb the mountain, Croagh Patrick, he would consider me a pussy! Yes, my very own grandfather threatened to call me a pussy.
Croagh Patrick is a 2,510 ft. mountain in Co. Mayo a little less than two hours north of Galway. This was the mountain where St. Patrick supposedly spent 40 days and 40 nights at the top praying and where he eventually expelled every snake from the island. Each year thousands of Catholics make a pilgrimage there to pray to the island’s patron saint and climb the mountain often times barefoot.
So, since I don’t want to be considered a pussy by anyone, I woke up at the crack of noon on Saturday and caught a bus with a friend to the town of Westport. From there we hitched five miles to the mountain. We were picked up by three guys just a few years older than ourselves. They were cool guys who were enjoying their first few years of having a disposable income and we talked about Irish girls, booze and partying as if we were long time friends. Before getting out though, in all seriousness the guys told us to enjoy our climb and that when we were done, we would be exhausted, humbled, and moved by the unique experience. That is when I realized I was underestimating this climb and it was probably more than a touristy stroll up a safe path to the chapel at the top.

The climb itself took about an hour an a half. It was one of the longest hour and a half’s I have ever experienced though. Weighed down by a heavy backpack and a heavy hangover, my Doc Martens and I struggled to keep moving up the steep and rugged terrain. There was no path to follow and we were constantly walking and climbing over loose rock that shifted down the mountain with every step we took. How someone could do this barefoot is beyond me. I was sweating profusely on the bottom half of the climb only to freeze when we entered a cloud for the second half off the assent. Having started so late in the day, my friend and I were the only people going up and it seemed to last forever. After a while we stopped paying attention to the beautiful view of the Atlantic and only focused on getting up that damn hill.
Finally, after many breaks and curses to the holy mountain we came upon the white chapel at the top of the hill. Relieved and exhausted, we ate lunch and talked about the climb in the clouds. We couldn’t see the supposedly awesome view of the land below but we were satisfied with our accomplishment nonetheless. After snapping a couple pictures and saying a silent prayer, we headed back down the mountain sliding and jumping our way down.
The whole experience was awesome. Although I can’t admit I felt any religious epiphany, I can say the hike was a great challenge that I enjoyed immensely. I saw a ton of Ireland’s landscape and fulfilled an old man’s request to see that special part of Ireland. I can now officially say I can’t be labelled a pussy, at least not for not climbing that mountain anyways…

My friend Colin and I.

The view of the ocean.

The City of Lights

So Paris was awesome. The rest of my trip was filled with long walks to and from major attractions that took us throughout the city. We saw all the big ones. The famous Cathedral of Notre Dame, the other huge church, the Sacre Coeur, the Pantheon where famous Frenchmen are buried, the Louvre and its surrounding gardens, the Garden of Luxembourg, the Sorbonne and a ton more. I went on a great free walking tour that gave me plenty of information about these places as well as the history and culture of the city. I didn’t actually go into many of these places though because that required time and money, two things I was very short on. Besides, it would have been a crime to rush through it all. I will do these things on a different visit in a different life.

The Sacre Coeur.

What I was more interested in was experiencing the streets and watching the people. I have always found that the best way to learn about a city is to get lost in it, (unless of course you are wasted at three in the morning trying to get home by yourself.) This is easily done in Paris because no street is straight for very long and none run in direct north-south or east-west directions. There were two distinct areas of concentration that we found wherever we went. All over the place are markets and cafes. These markets were a great way to get a cheap meal. Tiny shops are lined up and down streets selling a particular, always fresh commodity that Parisians rely on every day. Bakeries supply people with an assortment of different breads baked fresh daily, the butchers have meat hanging everywhere, the seafood specialists’ line huge ice bins with crabs, oysters, fish and shrimp, and cheese shops cut your cheese order directly from the wheel although picking the correct cheese is a daunting task because the variety seems endless. Other stores specialize in fruits and vegetables, flowers, and wine and all these stores are always buzzing with customers because Parisians only want the freshest food.
Wherever I went I was sure to be within a stones throw of a café. The importance of cafes in Paris is hard to understand unless you have been there. Cafes are where people go to socialize, eat, drink, write, read and enjoy life. When you go to a café, you stay for hours, not minutes. Loitering in cafes is considered a virtue instead of a crime. Whether it is a tiny espresso, a hearty meal, or large quantities of alcohol a person is looking for, they can find it in a café at any time of the day.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb with their €8 beers.

Our nights were fun too. The nightlife is different than in most places and the idea of clubs and pubs are foreign to the French but they are catching on. Drinking out is very expensive though so we mainly stuck to getting a bunch of beer and wine and wandering the streets or hanging out at an attraction. Probably the coolest sight we saw was sitting at the Sacre Coeur which sits at the top of a hill that overlooks the whole city. At night the Eifel Tower is lit up and every hour on the hour, thousands of lights sparkle and our view of it was perfect. I would like to take this moment to just say how incredibly stupid I was to go to Paris with two dudes instead of some smoking hot chick. Incredibly dumb! Even the most pathetic of players could get a girl to take her clothes off in Paris because the place is that romantic. I will never make this same mistake again.

The Arc de Triomph.

My favourite day of the trip was the final one. My two friends had an earlier flight and I was left to do whatever I wanted all day. After reading a book and enjoying an espresso at a café, I went to the park in front of the Eifel Tower. There I watched finely dressed couples stroll linked together, children shriek in French as they kicked a soccer ball around and people of all ages gasp at seeing the tower for the first time. It was a cold brisk day without a cloud in the sky and the Eifel Tower was so brightly displayed, I could see every detail of the massive beautiful structure. The moment was so surreal. I sat on a bench and wrote in my journal for hours taking everything in and documenting my past few days. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but chuckle thinking how a fellow Oak Parker could have been writing in the exact same spot as I was years before. I’m talking about my main man Earnest Hemingway of course and although his writing is just a little more monumental than my own, I think we now share the unique kind of joy that can only come from scribbling in a notebook in Paris.

PARIS!

Hey Everyone,

Right now I am staying in one of my favorite cities in the world (even though their keyboards are different), Paris. I have only been here for half a day but my love for this place has only been confirmed. Yesterday we spent the day getting lost in this awesome city, stumbling upon some of the worlds most famous sights and taking in the atmosphere. We briefly saw the Arch de Triumph, the Eiffel tower, the Louve, the Egyptian obolisque, the seedy red light district of Pigalle and much more. We ate steak sandwiches with piping hot potatoes on fresh baguettes and had nutella filled crepes. We drank beers on the steps of beautiful museums while watching traffic zoom by, we watched our friend literally get dragged into a strip joint to be assaulted by nasty French strippers (we laughed), and we smoked cigarettes late at night at a small cafe where we laughed about my friends paying €8 for a Guinness. It was an amazing day and I cant wait to do it again. Check back for more details soon.

I'm a Hitchhiking Fool

The Burren


Let’s face it. All I am in this world is a poor college kid trying to get through life with a few laughs and some cool experiences. I want to travel around Ireland and see everything this island has to offer but it can be hard without transportation. Initially I thought about buying a moped but I quickly discovered they are way beyond my price range. Then I thought about buying a bike. Bikes too are expensive and too slow so I decided not to get one. I thought about travelling everywhere by bus but fares add up quickly and there are restrictions on where they go, especially during the off season like now. I knew thee had to be a better way of getting around and this weekend I found it. I hitchhiked all around western Ireland on Sunday and I loved it.



I woke up early before my friends and set off out of Doolin not knowing what lay ahead of me. I heard hitchhiking was okay to do in Ireland but really I had no clue what I was doing. Setting off down the road I was able to take in the beautiful coastline while passing through Co. Clare. Things started slow because few Irish people do anything before nine in the morning but I was content with walking. After a while cars started appearing and my first few attempts were busts. I admit I was a little shy at first not knowing exactly what to do. After a few attempts I bucked up and really tried catching a ride. I turned around proudly displaying my thumb with a big smile on my face trying to look as non-threatening as possible. Sure enough, I was quickly picked up and was on my way to the town of Lehinch.
After one more pick-up I arrived at Lehinch where the legendary golf course is located in the beach town. I wanted to see the course and get a feel for the town. The course was like none I have seen before with huge mounds and tall grass everywhere. I hope to play it while I’m here. Lehinch is also known for the surfing and I walked up and down the beach watching the waves come in.
Heading out of Lehinch towards Miltown Malbay, the town where my great great great great grandfather’s tomb resides, I had the coolest hitchhiking experience yet. I was picked up by a wonderful lady who was half mad but completely generous. Her name was Ullah and she talked to me constantly. She told me she was headed to see a dolphin that the locals of Miltown Malbay swim with everyday. She invited me along to see it and I figured to delay my plans and go with her. There we watched as 20 locals swam with the dolphin and she shared coffee and sandwiches with me and introduced me to locals. It was an awesome experience I won’t soon forget.
From Miltown Malbay I walked to the rugged Spanish point where some ships from the Armada were wrecked and ate lunch and had a beer. Next I walked a mile to the cemetery to say hi to my pops. I found the weathered tomb in the last row of the cemetery and said hi. It was time to go home.
I hitched all the way back to the Cliffs of Moher where I found a tour bus headed back to Galway that I could get a cheap ride from. The bus took the long rout through an area known as the Burren along the coast. The Burren is a beautiful wasteland of limestone and moss. Cows graze on whatever they can find along the way but besides that there is little to see besides the sea and mountains of rock. It was a nice ride though.
Along the way the tour guide told stupid tales and pointed out mundane things along the road, nothing of much interest. I laughed as I looked around the bus. All over were tourists sleeping. I guess they had a rough day being herded on and off the bus. After all, they had pictures to prove they made it to the cliffs. I think I had more fun than them. I can’t wait to hitch again.



Moroney: Second row, middle word. This is gramps.

The rest of the secluded cemetery.

The Cliffs of Moher

Early Saturday morning I stumbled out of bed after only a few hours of sleep onto a bus headed to the Cliffs of Moher. I quickly packed a bag of essentials and headed out for my craziest and most beautiful adventure yet. Marquette was providing a "free trip" for us but I also had other plans. After all, there is more than one thing to see in Co. Clare and I had plenty of time to see more.
The official visitors center for the cliffs has a four foot wall set 20 feet from the ledge for our protection that most everyone disregarded. The cliffs are massive. Hundreds of feet down, the sea doesn't seem as far down until you realize you can't even hear the huge waves crash against the walls and perspective is only given when a large bird looks tiny soaring below you but still closer to you than to the water. Provoked by my grandfather and my own nerves, I had to get as close to the edge as possible. Standing just inches from the ledge, I had a moment of absolute clarity and the stomach churning, fear induced adrenaline rush from being in such immediate danger was matched only by my awe of the cliffs beauty and splendor. Then I took a lot of pictures!
The group stayed for another hour and then left my band of merry men and I to do as we pleased. Our tour guide told us about a beautiful but dangerous trail along the very edge of the cliffs that led north five miles to the town of Doolin. The informal trail was everything we were told and then some. Walking only a foot or two from the cliff ledge on a muddy trail with a barb wire fence on one side and air on the other, we had gorgeous views of secluded beaches, sea caves, various life on the walls, and a panoramic view of the sea. We often had to climb over the rugged terrain using both our feet and hands. It was even more difficult because I was wearing Doc Martens and carrying a heavy backpack that threw off my center of gravity. (I asked my parents for a pair of hiking boots but they didn't feel they were necessary.)
Although there were moments of fear, we quickly became accustomed to the height and enjoyed the beautiful day. At one point we stopped for a picnic lunch on a lush green hill on the side of the cliff and ate crackers and cheese while taking in the view. Lying against my pack staring at the sea, I couldn't help but giggle. I was so overcome with pride and joy. How did I get here? This is why I came to Ireland. My friend made the comment that these cliffs were an example of what God does on his weekend. I think my friend is right.
After crossing insanely muddy fields, we made it to Doolin right at sunset exhausted, dirty, hungry and extremely jacked about what we just did. That night we sat in a pub called Gus O'Connors which is known for its classical Irish music. We were the only people in the place that were not local residents of the town. Sitting there drinking a Guinness, I reflected on my day and realized something. We were travelers, not tourists. There is a big difference between the two and I consider myself very fortunate to be a traveler.

A self-portait with the cliffs in the background.

This was just a little scary...

Some of my friends.

What a stud.