In between visits to Dublin I made my way West to Galway. The bus takes about four hours, which when you consider the actual distance is a bit insane, but such is the problem with public transport. Suffering yet another severe lack of sleep from the night before (it's official, wisdom does not automatically come with age) the ride wasn't the most fun I've had. Lucky for me my hostel was literally across the street from the bus station so after a much needed shower I curled up in bed and proceeded to sleep for the next... 16 hours? I don't know how long, but it definitely exceeded 12 hours.
One would think after such a marathon of sleep I would wake up refreshed and ready to explore my way through Galway. Au contraire. Instead I woke up with a cold that settled right into my chest like it had signed a lease on my lungs. So as you can imagine day one pretty much consisted of marathon movies, punctuated by a wander around with the purpose of finding lunch. Which was kebab, because when all else fails kebab is the answer.
Sleep the second night mostly eluded me, because I had the pleasure of being that girl coughing all night in a dorm of roughly 15 people. Nothing keeps you conscious more than struggling to not hack up a lung or other essential internal organs, while being aware that you are also keeping everyone around you awake as well.
The next day I was feeling a bit more lively, oddly enough, and first stop was the pharmacy where I was given cough syrup to make my cough more productive (oh goodie) to avoid infection. I then found my way to a restaurant that specializes in savory pies, and took down a beef and vegetable pie with mashed potatoes and mushy peas. Accompanied by a cup of tea and a ginger ale. The pie was unbelievable - these guys get a gold star for delicious.
After lunch I wandered a bit through the city, shot photos of the river and Spanish arch, then called it a day to rest some more.
The Spanish Arch.
My final day in Galway I did what I had actually come there for; I went to the Cliffs of Moher.
I booked a tour through the hostel, which took us through a whirlwind jaunt across the West coast of Ireland for a total of about eight hours. I learned valuable things like why the sheep all over Ireland and Scotland are painted in neon colors (it's to distinguish who owns which sheep, because often the local guys share pastures). We visited a castle, an old abbey, a Celtic settlement, an old Neolithic grave site, had lunch in a local pub, and finished up at the cliffs of Moher.
I started taking photos of the signs from our stops to remind myself later where I'd been. Excellent choice, Swan.
Stop two, the abbey.
The old settlement.
Approaching the gravesite.
The stone has actually disintegrated quite a bit because of weather since its been there, making this all the more impressive.
The locals.
The cliffs.
Graced with the most gorgeous sunshiney clear skies after rain all day.
Face rock.
Cold and windy!
It is honestly unsurprising to me that so many people have died at the cliffs, because despite the many signs and barricades tourists still insist on hopping over to the edge to take daring photos. Having felt the incredibly powerful wind I can see how easily a strong gust could make you lose your balance and pitch over the side. The last woman who died at the cliffs before our visit was trying to get a photo of a puffin and when her bag went over the edge and she tried to catch it.
And the Darwin Award goes to...
The cliffs are truly magnificent. I'm afraid photos do not do them at all the justice of actually being there.
On the way home we took another quick photo stop by the sea and then were treated to a rainbow on the bus ride. It was a great day.
Rainbow!
The next morning I took the bus back to Dublin, where I spent two nights before heading down Southwards. But, I'll save all that for next time...
Thanks for reading!
~Swan
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