Isn’t Ireland Greener?

Dear Reader,

Where were we? 

I’m pretty lost in terms of time and place.  No, place is easy: we’re in a lovely AirBnB (the actual thing, not Vrbo, which is where the next place came from, or Booking.com where the great apartment in London came from) in Ballylongford. 

Chronologically: despite all the wrinkles, in the end we amazingly ended up in the passport control line in Dublin airport from three different flights.  The Kid (TK) got in first, direct from Dallas.  Then the 4 of us from London. Then, moments later, DBrolaw and Mrs from Dulles. 👍

Then things got sketchy.  TK’s golf clubs didn’t show up.  Then Dbrolaw’s didn’t show up.  Which isn’t good when you’re on a golf vacation, with an early Monday tee time.  The person in charge of finding luggage said they were there, they’d just be awhile.  We were terminal 2.  I walked over and got my car.  It was supposed to be a Tiguan (which is what we drive at home); it turned into a Hyundai Tucson.  Ryan at the desk said “that’s bigger.”  It isn’t. 

The bill was 1000€.  Yikes.  Even after taking off two days for next weekend in Dublin. 

Oh, yes, did I mention that it’s a manual shift?  Ryan wanted another 90€ for an automatic.  It’s been a struggle, including lurching forward into a shrubbery the first time I needed reverse (every car’s is different, if you don’t know).  I’ve survived that.

But the airport thing was wild.  I saw the sign for Terminal 2, departures, but never arrivals, so I went out of the airport, around and back to see if I missed something.  As I got through what I thought was departures for the second time, I recognized RR’s checked blazer and whipped (no signal, no warning) up to the curb next to her.  She was looking the wrong way, as was Peggy.  We got loaded (wondering how we got all the golf clubs in there when the time came), then were off to the west.  Meanwhile, DBrolaw and TK got their clubs and got into car #2, which is a Peugeot “Seat,” which is so small…you can’t turn around without getting out. 

It was 3 hours from the airport.  The last hour was on a road that wasn’t really wide enough for two Tucsons.  Maybe two Seats, but not two Tucsons.  But that gets better. 

The AirBnB gave us a vague address, but the property manager and I talked and she told me she couldn’t meet me but she’d put the key out for me.  I didn’t ask for exact directions. So we both ended up sitting in the middle of the road with it saying “you’ve reached your destination” without knowing what it was.  There was a house on the right with someone coming out of it and one through the trees to the left.  

In the end, I drove up the driveway to the place on the left.  As I got to the top of the drive, there were three women sitting outside.  I went to get out and…the car rolled away.  I put it in gear, but with the clutch engaged, so we rolled down the hill.  One of the women jumped up to help.  I eventually just turned it off in gear and got out.  

Patricia was very helpful.  Though that wasn’t our house.  She and her sisters worked together with one who was on FaceTime as I pulled up and helped me with where I should be.  “Oh, it must be The Orchard.” (Funnily enough they didn’t recognize the street name [there was no number])  WE got directions to the Orchard.

And there was a locked gate!!!

But I had just looked at the picture of the place with Patricia and sisters so I recognized that the place across the street was it.  And it had the landmark for the key.  Joy. 

But everyone was happy with the place.  It has 3 bathrooms, 6 bedrooms.  

I missed the woman (Margaret is the name for the week — I keep reciting “Margaret are you grieving over golden grove unleaving) and I guess their were tips for where to go in town.  Which wasn’t much. 

There was only one place to eat in town.  We went there and they ran out of food as we stood there.  And it was terrible. 

Then to the pub next door, which…

Well, this goes in the blog as local color.  It was literally someone’s living room.  Dark and dank.  

A round of Guinness was drank.  There are pictures of failed attempts at the first-drink. 

Ok.  What I think was our host (remember, I missed the visit that generated the pub) was drunk.  He took us upstairs to see the shrine to the local Rebellion hero — he did on that Easter Monday in ‘16.  But we couldn’t understand him.  We found this out at lunch today when we tried to discuss what he said and DBrolaw said “the only thing I understood was ‘black and tan’” and he thought it was a drink, not the British occupying army. 😂

Then HE gets a guy who’s older (very old, which means older than me) who is the REAL historian and he begins to tell the LONG version of local hero’s story.  And he’s trying to do so a) pretty lit, b) with a chew in his jaw c) with bad teeth.  I knew most of what he was saying.  But I was the only one.  😂

We were home early bc we had an early tee time.  

The golf part.  First, the weather could have been terrible. It poured at 650, half hour before our tee time.  It led to this rainbow. 

But we ended up getting rained on for just about one hole.  The wind blew all day about 20 mph. 

Here’s a shot back from the clubhouse on 18 to the ocean.  It IS on the coast, if you don’t know. 

TK loved the course.  The other 3 thought it was excellent; in great shape, a good sound challenge, and worth the trip.  

We all 7 went out to lunch, looking down at the beach at Ballybunion (people were on it though the beach though it was cloudy and 58). 

Pictures.  The chowder was excellent.  DBrolaw got the “Eton mess”.  Mispronouncing Eton, of course. 😂

And now…I have to go back to the market because we are out of toilet paper. :)

And today’s joke:  NSFW.  A couple goes to Australia for their honeymoon.  The hotel manager tells them  all the local sites and gives them directions.  They get to the first place and they see something stuck in the fence.  They wonder what it is.  Well, it turns out to be a kangaroo.  “Let’s go help it.”  Well, they get out and find there’s a guy there.  “He must be helping.”  Then they look closer and see the guy “helping” is actually doing the ‘roo.   They are offended.  They go to the second site and they see the same thing (this is very much the short version).  Offended further they come back to the hotel and find a guy on the front porch with a peg leg pleasuring himself.  They go to the manager and say, what is this, what’s wrong here?  The manager says, “you expect a crippled man to catch a kangaroo?”  

Rim shot.