Ashley's Visit, Part 1: Jameson, Journeys, and Jive

   Last week, my cousin Ashley came to visit me for a whole week!  Needless to say, this was a very exciting event for me, since (unlike every other study abroad student I know), the rest of my family has decided to abandon me completely to Ireland and not even stop by for a cup of tea.  (That's not actually true.  They have good reasons for staying home.)
    Anyway, Ashley arrived early-ish on a Monday morning, and I dragged that poor jetlagged girl all over creation as I ran to and from classes and meetings.  She explored Trinity while I had class, and we met afterwards to go shopping for some food.  We went to Dunnes and emerged a half-hour later with enough soup materials to feed an army.  That pot of beef stew lasted us four days between the two of us, which is extremely impressive according to my standards.  And, although we didn't plan it this way, the soup remained interesting because the consistency changed every day.  We added rice when we made it, and as the days progressed, the rice swelled and the soup became thicker and thicker with each passing day. By the fourth day, the rice grains large enough to remind me of maggots, but I shoved the thought aside until the pot was scraped clean.
    Tuesday night, Ashley and I decided to find one of those famous Dublin pubs with live Irish music.  We ended up right around the corner at this small place with a twangy Irish band, where we also met two funny older men.  The older guy regaled us with tales of his time in America as a youth--apparently, he drag-raced (and beat!) Hell's Angels in California. He also did a hilarious Southern accent. Nothing beats an Irishman trying to sound like he's from the Old South. The other man kept making peculiar "your mom" jokes that I still don't quite understand.  He'd ask me when my mother was coming to visit, or where my mother worked, etc. Irish humor still baffles me, I must say.
   Wednesday morning, we walked over to the Old Jameson Distillery.  Jameson has been described to me as the pizza of whiskey: although it's not necessarily the fanciest thing out there, it's by far the most popular--everybody loves it.  To be honest, I think all hard alcohol tastes completely disgusting by itself, so that explanation will probably be less biased than any I will provide.

Classy Jameson chandelier.

    I learned many things about whiskey on the tour.  First, that Jameson is The Best Whiskey Ever Made. Second, that Jameson goes through three distillations, as opposed to Scotch whiskey (two distillations) or American (a measly one distillation). And third, that it doesn't matter how many distillations a whiskey has, it will still taste unbearably gross.
    To be fair, there were levels of gross.  As a taster, they gave me mini-shots of Jameson, a Scotch whiskey, and Jack Daniels, and I could really taste the differences.  While none were exactly pleasant, the way they were made definitely impacted the taste.  Jack Daniels was the sweetest, Scotch whiskey the earthiest (because they smoke the barley with peat smoke), and Jameson the most interesting.  I never want to taste Scotch whiskey again, but I could see potential for Jack Daniels and Jameson in mixed drinks.  After the tasting, they gave us a sample of a famous Jameson mixed drink--Jameson with ginger ale and lime.  It wasn't too bad, actually.

   After the mini-shots and the drink, we headed to Phoenix Park for some R&R before Ashley left to visit relatives for two days.  It was typical Dublin weather, but Phoenix Park was pretty anyway.

 
    I dropped off Ashley at her bus station, and headed to class still slightly buzzed from all the Jameson.

   Ashley arrived back in Dublin Friday morning, just in time for us to pack for our trip to Galway.  I had already been planning to visit Galway with the Trinity Dance Society for a swing dance weekend, and Ashley decided to join as well. We left Friday night, checked into our hostel, and had our dinner--canned soup.  We had determined to be as cheap as possible, and so arrived in Galway with a backpack full of food for the weekend.  Soup, Ramen, granola, cookies--much to my surprise, I tired of the junk food very quickly. (My younger self would be horrified.  As a child, I vowed to eat cookie dough and Cookie Crisp (a delectable cereal made of mini cookies that Mommy never bought) every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.) Anyway, that night we went out to a pub and a club, both of which were disappointing.  The pub was too loud to have a proper conversation in, and the club had the lamest dance music.
    The next morning, we had our 3-hour swing dance lesson the next morning.  Ashley and I are now excellent Charleston dancers.  The lesson was surprisingly tiring, but we still managed to drag ourselves around Galway afterwards.
    The first thing we did was get claddagh rings.  A claddagh ring is a traditional Irish ring that originated in Galway and has been made since at least the 17th century.  The ring depicts two hands holding a crowned heart.  The hands represent friendship, the heart love, and the crown loyalty.  The way you wear the ring can show whether you're single or in a relationship--if the heart is pointed outwards, it means your heart is free and you are single, but if the heart points inwards, you're taken.

    The rings were beautiful and delicate, and Ashley and I could not stop looking at them. It was cold, so we'd stick our hands in our pockets, but about every 30 seconds we'd take them out and admire our new bling.  So we marched down the street looking completely ridiculous, with our hands stuck out front flashing the ring for all to see.  I think of it as practice for whenever I get engaged.
    We also stumbled upon some sort of monument to Christopher Columbus.  I had no idea Columbus had ever been to Ireland, let alone Galway, but apparently Galway is the first place where he found "sure signs of land beyond the Atlantic."  I personally think this statement is more than slightly dubious, but I suppose Galway needs some kind of claim to fame beyond claddagh rings.

     After all that excitement, we  ran back to the hostel to eat our budget-worthy Ramen and dressed for the Ball that night.  That night was the most fun I've had in years, and probably the most fun I'll have for years.  We practiced all our Charleston moves, and the other group of dancers taught us some Lindy Hop.  We danced for at least four hours, whirling around the ballroom floor with anyone and everyone.  After all the dance practice I've had this weekend, I think this is the first time I can say, "Yes, I know how to swing dance" without adding the disclaimer "....but I'm really terrible at it."  This is a crowning achievement in my life, as my extreme klutziness has always impeded my performance in anything that requires grace.

    The next day, we journeyed to the Cliffs of Moher, but we were in for a much bigger adventure than we ever planned....