Kiss me, I'm Irish

The 2009 Volvo Ocean Race.

Well, I’m leaving Ireland for the last time in a couple of hours. I am very sad about it. Anyone who has read this blog knows how much fun I have had here. My expectations coming here were incredibly high but every moment here has lived up to what I wanted. The friends I have made, the things I have done, and the countless pints I have drunk are all very dear to me. I’m not going home though. I still have about seven weeks ahead of me if I don’t go crazy from travelling so much before going home. Tonight I fly to Germany where I will be for a week or two.

All the nice yachts have come to Galway.

I leave Galway at a bad time though. Currently, the Volvo Ocean Race, a nine-month yacht race around the world is stopped in Galway for two weeks. They got in late Saturday night after the pubs closed to a roaring audience around the bay just outside my balcony. People were everywhere and they had music and fireworks to greet the first boat. Also, thanks to my rugged good looks and inescapable charm, I got a couple of hot girls without a place to stay to come to my place to continue the party. The few remaining American students also came as well as some of our Irish friends. It was a great party that lasted until the sun came up. It was a memorable last party.

The racing boats out of the water.

The Irish competitor, the Green Dragon.

Anyways, for the past few days Galway has been buzzing with visitors and there has been live music and people walking around just outside my window admiring the yachts that are being repaired. In two days though they will all start racing around Galway Bay which is supposed to be so cool. I wish I could see it but I have more to do here in Europe. I meet my sister in Poland on June 22 but until then I am on my own. I consider myself to be an independent person but three weeks completely on my own will be testing. I guess my writing will have to keep me company.
Well, this is goodbye to Ireland. I love it here and consider it a second home. I’m sure I will be back again and I will be very glad when I do, but I’m sure it could never be as electric and fun as it is now for me. This has been a once in a lifetime gift that I will never forget. What an experience.

Golfer's Paradise

Sorry for not writing in a while, but for the past week I have been living a dream. My dad and grandpa delighted me by coming to Ireland with the sole purpose of playing golf at Ireland’s finest courses and to drink a ton of Guinness. If you know nothing about golf, there are only two important things you need to know. The first thing is that I freaking love golf. The second thing is that Ireland has some of the world’s finest courses designed in and around sand dunes right on the ocean called links courses. They are truly unique and incredibly beautiful and I got to play the best of them. Over six days we played seven rounds while also experiencing the culture, the people, and the pubs. It very well could be the highlight of my whole trip when I think about it in the future. That is how much fun I had.
The first championship course we played was called Portmarnock which is outside of Dublin. The course was highly rated and we enjoyed our time there but honestly, it didn’t come close to what came later. We spent a night in Dublin drinking and eating great food, something that continued throughout the whole trip.
My dad contemplating a shot at Portmarnock.

On Friday we raced around the beautiful Ring of Kerry to get to Waterville Golf Club in time for our tee time. Waterville is my dad’s and grandpa’s favorite course we played and it definitely was memorable. Upon arrival we were hit with 30 mph winds and an empty course. Surrounded by the ocean on three sides, the wind constantly affected the way we hit the ball around the giant sand dunes that have been transformed into the course. It was incredibly beautiful, challenging, and fun. I haven’t played many spectacular courses in my life, but I can’t imagine them getting much better than that. After nine we warmed our bones by stopping in the club house for a pint and a sandwich before heading out again. Later in the round I was having such a good time I couldn’t get a smile off my face. I was wind beaten and numb but felt a certain kind of peace that can only be found while playing golf- call it my place of zen.
As if the course couldn’t get any better, it did. We decided the next morning we needed to go back to get souvenirs because our experience was so enjoyable. After telling the people working there how much we loved the place despite the insane conditions they decided it wasn’t enough. They let us play the course again. For free. The place is heaven on earth.


"Hi, my name is Ken. I'm from Chicago, and this is my son Ken, and this is my grandson, Ken. Three Kens. Can you believe that!"

The next course we played was the fabled Old Course at Ballybunion, one of the finest rated courses in the world. I have never seen a more unique or expertly designed course in my life. Like Waterville, it is surrounded by the ocean on three sides but has nothing but tall grass and sand bunkers. It was the hardest course I have ever played. If we hit the ball in the rough, it was a stroke because we weren’t be able to find it even if we saw exactly where it went in. The fairways were incredibly narrow in parts and there were many blind shots where a straight shot and a prayer were the only things that could save you. Despite this, I played my best round of the trip here. The same day we played the second course at Ballybunion, the Cashen Course. As soon as we started the rain came and never left. The course was miserable. It seemed every shot was a blind shot and we never picked the right spot. After nine holes in the pouring rain, my dad looked at me earnestly and said, “Kenny, what the fuck are we doing here?” It was a good question. We left after nine.

One of the beautiful par 3s at Waterville.

Waterville again.

The last round we played was at another famous course called Lahinch. Like the courses before it, it was incredibly beautiful with so many picturesque moments and beautiful holes. It was a beautiful day and the course was much more forgiving than the ones we had played the previous few days. It was the perfect way to wrap up the trip. Walking down the 12th fairway drenched in sun with green hills to one side and the ocean on the other in the background, I watched my dad and grandpa hit from afar. It could have been an updated picture of paintings of the original men of golf who found the game on shores just like the one we were on. It was the stereotypical image of golf and I was glad I was a part of it.
The trip was a lot more than golf though. Throughout the trip we shared stories, pints, laughs and memories that we might never have had if it wasn’t for golf. That is what is so awesome about the game. It gives me a few hours to worry about nothing and enjoy the time I have with the people I love in a beautiful place, and if I’m lucky- kick their ass in the process. I know I am incredibly lucky. Not lucky (or talented) enough for that though… yet. It was an incredible trip and something I will never forget. I hope to come back to Ireland a few times more in my life just to re-live these moments with both the people I was with and future generations of golfers.

What a trip.

Ireland Update

I now know why Irish people are so damn pasty. It’s never nice out! Back in January I laughed at all of you people in Chicago for suffer through -20 degree weather and two feet of snow while I had, if not good weather, bearable weather of cloudy, rainy days around 50 degrees. Well, its now beautiful back home, but exactly the same here, if not worse. I haven’t seen the sun in a week. As I walked to campus this morning, I noticed everyone still wore long pants and had jackets on. Some people still had hats on. It is crazy!
The weather here is like an overly-emotional drunk girl. Things will be beautiful outside and everyone will be having a great time until suddenly, for no apparent reason, the water works start flowing and the moment is ruined. All of this is topped by a constant wind that makes it feel ten degrees cooler. It is relentless. I can’t imagine what it will be like to play golf right on the ocean when my pops comes here next week. I am just praying for a little mercy from the golf gods.
In other news, Irish guys are relentless when it comes to getting girls. By studying in an English speaking country I have had the opportunity to make friends with locals, which I have done. It is laughable to see these guys in action. They truly have the gift of gab. No matter how ugly or how old they are, an Irish guy will go up to a girl they find attractive and talk to them until the cows come home. Even if the girl is obviously not having it, they keep going (that may be because they’re usually too drunk to pick up on social cues.) It reminds me of a filibuster in congress. They just keep going and going until the girl either runs away or in to their arms. In fact, the only reason why we have Irish friends is because we met them through the girls we know. I’m not kidding when I say every American girl I know either has or has had an Irish boyfriend while here. They love American chicks, even the not-so-good-looking ones. Unfortunately, the Irish girls aren’t as enthusiastic about chasing down American guys but I give it my best try to act Irish.

Sunday at the Bull Fights

Last Sunday I spent my last day I Barcelona at a bull fight. I have never been to one before and I wanted to see what it was like. It seems to be a dying tradition and I don’t know if I will ever have a chance to see one again. Barcelona is in Catalonia, a region in the northwest corner of Spain not known for bull fights. In fact, most citizens are against the fights citing animal cruelty as the reason why but there is still a large enough group of supporters to keep the fights going.
I didn’t go to watch animals die. I went to experience the culture and to feel the atmosphere I have read about in books like Fiesta which talks about the tradition and skill that is involved with bull fighting. I don’t know much about bull fighting, but I know I didn’t see what I came for. It was a cloudy day and threatening to rain so not many people showed up. The stadium was a large ring but only about a fifth was occupied split between Spaniards and tourists.


The Stadium

The fights are split by three matadors and they each get two bulls, so six overall. They don’t just come out straight away to face the bulls however; there is a process. First they tire the bulls out. The bull comes storming into the ring with all the energy you expect and runs around the ring trying to gorge a series of matadors who call them over before jumping behind a barrier just before the bull can get them. Then the bull rushes across the ring, only to be thwarted again. Next two horses come out covered in armor and blinds with men on top with long spears. The bull charges the horses constantly trying to throw the horse over while the man on top drives the spear in to the bulls back. Next three men come out with two swords each and when the bull comes at them, the men jump aside and stick the bulls with the swords in the back. After all of this, the main matadors come out and lead the bulls around with their capes, trying to get the bulls as close to them as possible. This is where the glamour of the sport is supposed to be. When the bull is worn down enough and the crowd is ready for the kill, the matador drives a sword into the bulls back above the neck, thus killing it, or at least that is what’s supposed to happen. A good matador kills the bull in one try but none of the matadors I saw did this. I don’t think they were very good matadors. In fact, I was kind of rooting for the bulls.

OLE!

Soon after the show started it started pouring. Everyone moved up under cover to watch so the place looked empty. There weren’t enough people there to create the buzz of energy I came to see and I was surrounded by Americans who had no clue what was going on. The bulls never won and it always ended the same way. My friends had been to a fight in Madrid and loved it. They had it all. The place was packed, the crowd went wild and the bull gorged the shit out of some dude. That is what I kind of wanted to see but didn’t.
When the bull dies two donkeys come out to drag the dead animal away. After one of the bulls I went downstairs to see what they did with it. I found the garage they bring them to by following the blood and soon a lifeless cow was dragged past me by its hind leg. The butchers brought it in to a garage where there were the three previous bulls hanging now without heads or skin. At least they use the animals for something useful afterwards. One of the butchers tried selling us a horn for ten Euro but I didn’t think it would pass through security in my carry-on bag so I didn’t buy it.
The fight didn’t live up to my expectations but I am glad I saw it. I actually thought it would be more gruesome then it actually was. I had heard stories of blood everywhere and final death screams by the animal but I didn’t see any of that. We stayed for five of the six bulls because the people I was with were bored. I didn’t really mind leaving. A couple hours later after 19 days on the road I boarded a plane bound for Ireland and now I am back. Time for finals.

Go get him!