Tralee

We made it to Tralee and tonight - for the first time in my life - I heard the music of my people and my soul is happy.  Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

We got up around 9am (after being up for 40 consecutive hours) and had a small breakfast before setting out to explore more of Dublin's offerings.  We wandered and shopped, making friends with a darling named Marie.  From her shop, we bought socks, leggings and scarves, but we walked away with much more.

Like me, she was raised in a strict, Irish Catholic home with a mother named Joan.  The similarities between us were uncanny and we instantly connected.  Lauren loved her, too.  They admired each other from the get-go and the three of us quickly raised such a ruckus that the shop owners in the open-air market nearest her thought she'd reunited with mates.  She's a dear girl and when we return to Dublin in a couple of weeks, hers will be the first stop.  We miss her already.

After a few hours of wandering the city, shopping and laughing, we popped into a pub for a quick bite before heading to the train station.  Lauren had fish and chips and I had the best bowl of mushroom soup I've ever tasted.  I love that the Irish add butter and cream to everything.  Cholesterol and fats be damned.  You only go 'round once and these people aren't wasting a minute.

Back at the hotel, we collected our bags and took a cab to Heuston Train Station.  Our cabbie was a badass and we made another new friend.  His accent was legendary, as was his sense of humor.  I corrected his English with every word, while he reminded me that it was his country and he could speak anyway he damn well pleased.  It went on like this for ten or fifteen minutes.  Our goodbye was long and drawn-out and we wished he was coming to Tralee with us, but his wife and my husband might not understand.  We shook hands and parted ways.

The train ride was quiet and comfortable.  We saw lots of cows and sheep.  Both make me happy.  The mountains grew ever closer.  Interestingly, they looked blue in the afternoon light and I can't wait to meet them in person.  They are calling us.  (Lauren swears she can't hear them, but I do.)

I bought an airplane-sized bottle of Malbec from the dining car (in addition to some snack for my girl).  They gave me a plastic wine "glass", which seemed better than swilling it from the bottle, although drinking wine from plastic seems wrong.  I poured it anyway, only to find that there was a small hole in the bottom of the "glass".  Perfectly good Malbec began spewing all over my hand, the pull down tray, my lap and the floor.  Panic caused me to try to pour the wine back into the bottle, while it continued to pour out the bottom.

Have you ever tried to pour wine from a glass back into the bottle?  Don't waste your time.

I finally got the messed cleaned up and ended up with less than half the wine to pour down my throat.  The rest was everywhere else.  At least I provided comic relief for the other passengers.

We arrived in Tralee shortly before 7pm and took a cab to the Greenview House.  Its a quaint B&B run by a wonderfully kind family.  They were very welcoming and I felt like I was visiting relatives.  We were greeted first by the daughter, who is in her early thirties.  She's visiting from Dublin and no longer lives here, but its obvious that she misses her home.  Later, we met the Dad.  Kerry is the stereotypical Irishman and he happily recommended his favorite pubs.

We had a pint at Sean Ogs, then crossed the street to the Abbey House where Lauren had a scrumptious mushroom and leek pie.  It was probably her favorite meal thus far.  I had a roasted red pepper, brie and apple ciabatta sandwich and a pint of Perone.  Lauren devoured some sort of apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and then we crossed the road a second time.  What had been a completely empty Sean Ogs when we left, was CRAMMED full of sweaty people when we returned to listen to the traditional, live Irish music.

After several minutes of being bumped and elbowed, a nice group of Frenchmen invited us to join them at their table.  Yes.  Really.  Nice Frenchmen exist.  The group consisted of one man, whose English was slightly better than my French, his wife and another couple.  None of the others spoke any English.  It didn't really matter.  We clinked glasses (they drank Irish coffees) and tapped our toes to the infectious beat.

Grinning like a drunk Irishman, I glanced at Lauren frequently, hoping she was loving it as much as me.  But she wasn't drinking, so....she just didn't have the same experience, but she tried to look like she was because she knew I was in Heaven.  I drank only one pint, thanked our French comrades, wished them a happy trip and we walked back to our sweet B&B.

Never before have I heard music the likes of what I heard this evening.  The group consisted of a guitar, fiddle (not violin) and accordion.  I've learned you need nothing else.  Wow.  I am hooked.  I'm fighting the urge to be a bad parent, leave Lauren asleep in her bed and run back to  Sean Ogs for more music.  But we all know that I won't.  My Mommy urges are bigger than my Irish ones and they will prevent me from leaving her side.  However, it won't stop me from singing in my head and tapping my toes in my bed.

The windows are open.  The air is crisp.  Hell, it's down right cold, but the quilts are thick and warm.  I'm cozy in my bed, happy to be in Ireland at last.  I can't stop grinning.  I never want to.

Tomorrow will come soon and with it, the requirement to walk to Camp.  It's only 11 miles, but a good portion will be uphill.  I'm not afraid because I know that throughout the day, my mind will replay tonight's music over and over.  My heart is happy and my soul is home.