As this trip inched closer, I became exponentially more excited about it. Day of, I was straight up giddy. Immediately upon landing, I knew it was going to be an awesome trip when a nice Irish lass told a certain member of the group she could tell he had his head up his own ass. Great start.
Within 18 hours of arriving in Dublin, I announced I could move to Ireland and be just fine. It is possible I was delirious from not having slept in over a day. Regardless, I think I meant it. After dropping off our bags at the hotel, we took off to play Royal Dublin. I had played links style courses before in Scotland, but this would be my first try in Ireland. It was....educational. For a number of the early holes it was raining, then for the remainder of the round, windy. We were fed Jameson throughout. Whether or not its effects were detrimental or advantageous is up for debate. I think probably detrimental. Shot a tidy little 86. I did manage to birdie the last, so at least it ended on a positive note. The combination of sleep deprivation and Jamie, I had at least started to crawl into the bag, and the day wasn't even close to being over. Back to the hotel to shower and change before dinner. We walked into the restaurant to find four glasses of fine Irish whiskey resting calmly at each seat. Oh boy. I already knew I liked Jameson, but never had experienced anything other than the basic variety. Tonight, I would be introduced to 12-year, Gold, and 18-year. They were all delicious. Even a member of our group, who will remain nameless, proclaimed their enjoyment despite being a loyal Makers Mark drinker. This, coupled with casual dinner beers and a glass(es) of wine, well, the evening was kicked into a new gear. Just as a reminder, no sleep as occurred yet. I could have easily, and probably should have, called it a night. Instead, we hit the town with our incredible hosts. First stop, The Residence. Whiskey. More whiskey. Lady GaGa stories. Old Fashioned. 2 AM.
Quick little sidebar: we had a lovely waitress who was actually from California but moved to Dublin years ago, etc etc. It was determined by my table-mates that there might be some interest on her part. I only sort of disagree. Plus with a table full of people, it makes it quite difficult to maintain any sort of rapport. To be clear, this did not stop me from trying. I do that.
Our waitress, after our meal, told the group(emphasizing the word group here) about a spot the waitstaff frequents after work. I file that information away.
We leave The Residence in search of this bar we had been told about. Our numbers are down by about 80%. We can't find what we were looking for, but we did manage to find another place of interest. Only one drink here. We are fading. It's late. We haven't slept. We need sleep. We must go back to the hotel. We have a nightcap. And fish and chips. Perfect ending to an incredible day.
Answering the bell wasn't the easiest, but we had to make moves and get to the stadium for the Navy/Notre Dame game. I have no idea what to expect, but based on our experience to this point, I should've figured it would be special. Box seats. 3 course lunch. Free booze. Oh, and I shouldn't forget the flask of Jameson presented to each person upon getting off the bus. Ooph. It begins again. At noon. You're right, I should just not. But, I'm in Ireland. So I do.
The game itself was, well, it certainly could've been better. But, the experience was incredible. And isn't that what it's all about? I decided yes. I did enjoy having to explain rules and so forth to the Irish contingent of the group. After the game we walked to a nearby pub, because why would you stop drinking between events? I did switch to Smithwicks for a few pints, so as to not get too full before I had to eat again. Dinner is just a few blocks away. Whiskey. Irish beef burger. Guinness.
Sláinte.
The adults/responsible people go to bed. I go out. Temple Bar. It's crowded. A little popped and tired, we go back to our hotel. Our hotel bar. "The Octagon." Our bartender, Keean, "Keegan?" "Kee-an" "Keean, got it" tells us he can get us into the basement nightclub for free. Sure.
Keean leaves his post to take us down. It is a different world. Laser lights. Fog machines. 18-year olds. This is officially weird. Sure, I'll have a drink. Someone asks if a girl is wearing a shirt, or if it's just a bra. That goes about as well as you'd think. Two of our three, so the two that are not me, are wearing hats. Backwards. We are Americans. A hat is then slapped off a head. We look for the dude that did the slapping. We (thankfully, in hindsight) don't find him. We should call it a night. We start the walk back.
[female voice]
"Hey, are you an American?"
"Yes. Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
-more conversation-
"Well, me and my friends are going in here for a drink."
"Oh. Should we come in?"
"Sure"
Fade out.
8:30 comes early (again). I no doubt am wearing a cologne of booze and bad decisions. I act as chipper as I can. We have a three hour drive to golf. I take advantage of a little honey hole in the back of the bus to take a nap. I am good at this.
Refreshed, we arrive at Lahinch. Interestingly enough, Lahinch is the surf capital of Ireland. I wasn't aware the Irish surfed. The water had to of been 50 degrees. The course is incredibly hard. Or maybe I just played poorly. Probably both. However, the course is so awesome that I never could quite get full on mad about anything. And my goal of breaking 90 each day was still intact. So that was nice. The group goes out to dinner in the town of Lahinch. It was actually quite good. I had been expecting the food to be questionable while in Ireland, but to this point, everything has been delicious. We all went for a few pints at a local pub. It was quite entertaining. I usually try and blend in to my surroundings. This group had no qualms being tourists. Pictures were taken. Some more embarrassing upon review than others. I behave. I am also the last to finish my drink. This has been a theme for most of my life. I eat slow. I drink slow(sometimes). A tame evening. We walk to the hotel. 9 hours of sleep is medicinal.
We are now headed to Ballybunion for golf, then to Killarney to stay. The drive was a long one, and it included a ferry ride. It has become abundantly clear why Ireland is called the Emerald Isle. The rolling fields are beautiful, houses dotting the farmlands. The ferry ride was great in and of itself. Hopefully an attached picture will do some justice, but the marriage of the blue sky, gray water, and green fields was mesmerizing. Look at these Irish clouds.
Just off the first fairway of Ballybunion there is a graveyard. I didn't realize at the time this would be an indication of how I would play this day. Ugh. I mean, once you start to get uncomfortable with your game, you may as well just enjoy the scenery because playing well is out of the question. The upside is, there is plenty of scenery to enjoy. Many of the holes were guarded by beachside cliffs, the Atlantic just on the other side. After golf, we continued on to Killarney. Our lodging for the next couple days would be the Killarney Park Hotel. Incredible. Huge rooms. A back garden area. Walking distance to pubs. This dinner was particularly entertaining. I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe we were all settled into being in this awesome country. Every person there welcomes you wherever you go. Wine is poured, stories are told. Some not great for the mixed company. Still hilarious. Maybe even more so considering. I ordered the pork belly, and everyone looked at me like I was insane. Coming from a kid who would only eat PB&J growing up, my parents must be just baffled at my current eating habits, always looking to try something new. I wouldn't eat a hamburger till high school, and even then it had to be homemade, on a grill, at a BBQ in someone's backyard I knew. Finished things off with an Irish coffee. I ordered, others followed. They were pleased.
Next up, Waterville. It sort of looks like it might finally rain on us today. Our bus driver/friend Matthew assures us it's not going to. It's raining on the way there. We are not convinced. It is still spitting a little upon arrival, but sure enough, as we get set to tee it, the rain stops, and we have ourselves yet another beautiful day. Today, I feel good about my game and play well for the first few holes, then lose it for the middle part, and close the round with a decent number. A playing partner remarks, "great round, what were you a couple over?" I respond, "nine, but thank you." 81. At this point, I am repeating myself, I'm sure. But I continued to find myself just staring out at the surroundings. I keep trying to pick out parts that look like places in the States and just piece it together, but really nothing captures the uniqueness of it all. I think Waterville was my favorite. I also played the best here, so I'm sure that was a factor, but I took close to as many pictures as I did strokes, so that is saying something too. We orded sandwiches for the ride to dinner, which sounds weird, but we were hungry. The female cook came out and called one of the group a wimp, which was hilarious. She didn't want us to take the food to go. "To go" isn't really done much here. We are sorry, we must go.
We head to this cool, family owned, hotel/restaurant not too far from where we are staying. Our reservation isn't for a few minutes, so we step into the bar for a quick drink. This place was cool. It has bag tags representing courses from all over the world. A search begins for our home courses. We find one. It's pretty cool. There is also a wall of logo golf balls. I find one with the Gator logo. I'm pretty pleased about that. Another boozy dinner follows. I find I am on a weird goat cheese kick, yet I keep ordering it and loving it. Some people are less than thrilled with their selection here, the first time I think this has happened. There was another large group in the room with us. A competition as to who could be the loudest ensued. We lasted longer, so clearly, we won.
I've seen an overhead picture of what we were about to face at Old Head, which is situated on a peninsula. I'm hoping the wind will lay down. For the most part it does. I felt rushed by the starter, so I don't really enjoy the first few holes. A trait I share with my father. There are deadly (no joke) cliffs all around. Like, just accept that ball is lost if it's close to the edge so you don't take a misstep and plummet to a rocky, then watery, demise. This of course made for some pretty awesome vistas. I play okay, until a collapse at the end which is extremely maddening. I take some cool pictures, so that's good I guess. A few of us get a pint after the round and enjoy the views and the weather. Others are waiting for us on the bus. We are not aware. Whoops. Drinks and snacks on the bus.
Ohh boy. It's 3:30. This is not what I intended.
I am woken up. I don't realize this. I am woken up again. Everyone is on the bus. My dad is packing for me. For some reason I don't like this. "Everyone is waiting for you." I feel bad. About people waiting for me. And physically. I must rally. I can't ruin this for anyone. I get on the bus. Judging looks. I play it off. Whatever guys, I'm chipper, I'm ready to go. I am not ready to go. Light jokes. Yeah, I had an awesome time, get off me.
Tralee. I go to the range. Hit the ball in the middle. Wash my face. Buy three waters and chug them all. And some gum. The caddy is a beast of a man. Asks where I went out last night. The wind is howling. I could shoot 100 easy. I make contact with the first shot. Success. I am slowly coming around. This course is awesome. Without a doubt, this is the worst I've played. There are a number of contributing factors. But, I am thoroughly enjoying the day. I am hemorrhaging golf balls. I finish with the last one I have. Perfect. What a golf trip. I can't believe we've played the courses we have. Incredible.
I'm sure I'd be reminded of it if I left this part out: bus ride home for me was less than good. I sit down and the setting sun is beating on me through the window. The bus is bouncing all over the road. I don't get car sick. I need shade, and a smoother ride. I take a bottle of water, snacks, and an empty bag (just in case) to the front of the bus. Thankfully, I sleep.
For our final meal, we go to the Original Durty Nellys. It's famous and all, but I think this was our least favorite experience. We were way in the back, service was a little lacking, the food didn't measure up to the other places, and a member (a grown man) of the group felt like fighting a dude upon us leaving. The jerk wouldn't move an inch as we all tried to squeeze through the door jam he was occupying.
We arrive at the Shannon airport, ready to head home. Both my parents forget they have full flasks. This is hilarious. My mom, always a cautious rule-follower, is no doubt mortified. I get my bag searched in customs. That's it. We are airborne. We cross the Atlantic home. We will remember this trip. We will search for an experience to match it.
Slán go fóill.
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