The Bellew Family.

After leaving the Dutchman’s Dutchland, our dynamite tour of Europe was over. And in our usual fashion it ended with a bus trip. The good ol’ Eurolines came through again with another fantastic journey. But our trip did not go entirely without incident.

One of the biggest problems with a bus that begins its journey in the Netherlands (also Holland) is that it becomes a target for the customs and immigration guys when you get to Calais (where you board the Eurostar supertrain). When we pulled up, we were forced off with all of our belongings to clear customs while they searched the bus.

The other problem with your bus journey starting in the Netherlands (or Holland) is that it might be full of undesirable Dutch people. This becomes an issue when the sniffer dog starts to search passengers. Any normal person would simply relax and let the dog sniff around. However, the 6’6″ black Dutch gentleman with the gold teeth that had been sitting next to me on the bus decided to smack the dog on the mouth to get it away from him. I don’t recommend anyone doing this because it resulted in him being dragged off and searched, I can only assume, thoroughly. It also meant the line through customs was stopped for an hour. You have no idea how surprised I was when he climbed back into the bus before we headed off. I thought he was a goner for sure. But he didn’t actually have any drugs, the dog was in his face apparently. Stupid.

Now I shouldn’t be too harsh on the Dutch people on the bus, there were lots of other dodgy people on board our bus. People that would now have to clear British Immigration. People like Sarah.

I think the English are the worst Border Guards in the world. They are a bunch of humourless, stuck up, patronising and deluded clowns that believe everyone is trying to sneak in to their country so they can live off the fat of the hard working Englishman. It is nonsense. I don’t care if you do have an immigration problem, so do most countries. Be more civil. Accusing Sarah of being a drug addict because she has been to Holland, Nepal, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, is ludicrous. People actually like to leave England and see the world.

The other problem with catching a bus is that the bus doesn’t leave until everyone has cleared customs. So we had to wait another 45 minutes for Sarah and a strange-looking man with no luggage to clear immigration. So we were again delayed. This was only an issue because we were running late for a home cooked meal with G man in London.

Thankfully, we weren’t home too late and Gordon cooked Sarah a delicious sausage pasta (someone told him she liked sausages). This was followed by a great rhubarb crumble. Rhubarb, quite by accident, is Sarah’s favourite ingredient in a dessert. So Gordon managed two of Sarah’s favourite things in one meal. And none of mine. Noone cares.

Anyway, the next day we were off to the Burrough Market which is where Jamie Oliver used to go on his little scooter to go and buy ingredients when he was cooking ‘for his mates’, back before he decided to save the planet. It is a beautiful little freshfood market where we were able to get some breakfast and buy a few things for dinner that night. We were having, yep, more sausage.

The only problem was that I carried some really strong-smelling italian sausages around in my backpack all day, so whenever someone came within 3 feet of me, all they could smell was sausage. And we were shopping in Oxford Street on a Saturday afternoon. I am not the most English-looking fella so I must’ve fulfilled a few peoples’ racist stereotype as they caught a whiff of me waiting for Sarah outside the fitting rooms of Zara or wherever we were.

The next day we spent drinking beer watching rugby union in the pub with Gordon and Nick. It was the last time I will be seeing my good ol’ Mr Brown for quite some time now I suppose. So it was a bit sad, I have enjoyed his company. Good luck in New York mate and I hope to see you at the Wedding.

The next morning we were booked on a RyanAir flight out of London’s Stanstead airport. Now for those that think Stanstead is in London, like say, we did 3 months ago when we booked this flight, think again. Stanstead is in the middle of nowhere. It is an hour and a half bus ride out of London. And the worst thing, if you book a flight before 7.30am is you can’t actually get to the airport in time for check-in using public transport! You either have to go out the night before and sleep there, or pay 100 pound for a mini-cab. Obviously, if you have read this blog before, we slept at the airport.

It actually wasn’t too bad. We got out there early enough to finagle Sarah 3 seats in a row without armrests so she could lie down. I slept on the floor next to her like her little dog. I got a bit cold from the floor but otherwise I was ok. If you find yourself doing this, then get there early. Arrive before 10pm because there are sooo many people doing this that at 4am it looks like a hurricane shelter. Hundreds and hundreds of people sleeping on their luggage on the floor, spread out over the entire airport. It is quite a sight. And this is low season! In the summer it must be like Glastonbury, just without the fun.

So after a cheeky nap we were on our flight headed for Cork International Airport in Cork County, Ireland. If the English Customs can be called ‘hellish’, the Irish customs must be called ‘nonexistent’. Both the green ‘nothing to declare’ and the red ‘goods to declare’ lines went to the same place, a switched-off x-ray machine with noone around. So just like that, we were in Ireland. We picked up our Budget Car and we were off.

First stop was the Blarney Castle to kiss the Blarney Stone. The castle is quite pretty and the garden setting is really beautiful, but the kissing of the ‘Stone’ is actually a bit crap. The ‘Stone’ is below the walkway, so a man forces you to lie on your back, holds you by the waist and then tells you to lean back over the ledge and kiss the ‘Stone’ which seems to be just part of the wall. It is very odd, and worsened by the fact that there is a large permanent camera, reminiscent of the speed-traps on the highway, taking your tourist photo that you can buy in the giftshop (like at Disneyland). We didn’t buy ours.

Next we were off on the scenic route through a mountain pass and around some of the famous ‘Ring of Kerry’ out to Ireland’s Dingle. That name has made me giggle so much, I would often start laughing in the car for no reason. When Sarah would ask what was the matter, I would simply smirk and say ‘Dingle’. Maturity, who needs it?

Ireland is really, really beautiful. The scenic route, that was suggested to us by the really nice man at the Budget desk, was absolutely gorgeous. The rolling hills and craggy snow-capped mountains were simply magical, not to mention the blue skies! Everyone complains about the weather in Ireland, but the weather for us was perfect all week. When we were out on the Dingle Peninsular (teehee) we went past a beach with the sun shining on the clear blue water and you could easily forget you were so far from the equator. It was just stunning. The Dingle Peninsular is one of the most beautiful places I have been on this holiday, second perhaps only to the Nepal. Big call.

That night we stayed in Dingle town at a delightful B&B. Ireland is absolutely full of B&B’s and they all seem really lovely. The Irish are very hospitable people and you felt very welcome in their home. Not to mention the cooking and the spectacular baked treats. Our Galway one had a jar full of fresh-baked cookies and I was that jerk you see who eats all of them.

The next day we were back in the car to see some of Ireland’s more popular sights, the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren. The Cliffs were beautiful, although they have been sterilised with paths and fences put up everywhere to funnel all the tourists (and keep them safe). But still, it was visually stunning.

Some tourists not keen on the new fence system took it on themselves to climb over the fences and wander the cliff edges, despite the warning signs. Given the number of people walking here and the amount of rain they can get, I think it is dumb so Sarah and I refrained. Still, yanks will be yanks.

That night we stayed in Galway City, birthplace of the Madden family name. It is a great little town with a lively pub area. We had a few good pints of Guinness and a nice local fish and chips. I recommend a stop here, it is a fun place to have a few pints and enjoy the craic.

Next stop was Dublin to visit one of my mates from my Sydney Uni football team, David Bellew. Dave is a Dubliner born and bred and he put us up with his lovely mother and father (Gwen and David Snr), little sister (Lauren) and White Highland Terrier (Lindy or Linders). Dave actually gave up his bed for Sarah and I, which was a lovely thing for him to do for us and we really appreciated it. Thanks mate.

We were in Dublin for the St Patrick’s Day celebrations, but most of our celebrating was done the night before at the local Clonsilla Inn, or ‘The Inn’ as it is known. We had been to the Guinness Factory earlier in the day and it was an absolute circus, full to the brim with annoying Americans. The Chief says it is the best Guinness in the world, and he might be right, but given it costs 15 euro’s, I would be much happier with 3 pints of an almost-as-good Guinness at The Inn.

Irish people like to talk about the ‘craic’. Dave was often saying to us, “there is good craic there”, or “no craic in that pub”, or “might be better craic somewhere else”. In Australia, we would call it ‘the vibe’, but we really don’t have it. The Inn, which I am now in love with and miss terribly, had a jovial, vibrant, unpretentious, and celebratory vibe that I have not experienced anywhere else in the world. The Irish are happy to get drunk, be silly and dance till their hearts content. There is no agro or judgements, just good times. And that feeling permeates. I loved it. Needless to say I drank way too many Guinness and went to bed at about 2am, a good 2 hours before everyone else, including Sarah, Gwen, Lauren and Linders.

I had been looking forward to St Patrick’s Day in Dublin for a while now. I thought it would be a really good day in the city centre where we would see the parade and drink Guinness all day and night with the Irish. I didn’t contend on one thing – the Americans. The town is full of them. Aussies too, but mostly yanks there to get wasted and make idiots of themselves. And where are all the Irish? The same place you would be if thousands of clowns descended on your town to get drunk – at home.

So on Paddy’s Day we got up late and went into town to watch the parade. It was fun, but unfortunately we only got the tail end of it. We then decided to go for a pint. It was a zoo. We were unfortunate enough to be near a bunch of Aussies on a Fanatic’s St Patrick’s Day tour. I didn’t even know they had these, they have clearly branched out from just sporting events. In any case, it was horrible, just calling skulls and making fools of themselves. I had to leave. The worst example of the Aussie tourist.

After one pint we set off for the famous ‘Temple Bar’ area. A very pretty cobbled stone street full of different pubs. This was even worse. Just a sea of bright green (the Irish in Dublin rarely wear green on Paddy’s day, only the yanks do) with no room to go anywhere. We couldn’t even get close enough to a bar to get a pint. We pulled the pin. Back to the Clonsilla Inn.

The rest of the day was great with a full pub of Irish having a great time. Gwen, Dave and Lauren came to the pub aswell and it was a great craic. Again, for the Irish the festivities didn’t finish until after 4am. Mine, at about 2am.

The next day we got up late again and headed into town to do a few touristy things. We wandered around the town and saw the Millennium Spire (Gwen’s favourite), Trinity College (although we didn’t see the old book), St Stephen’s Green (where U2′s Bono grazed a flock of sheep) and many other fine sights.

My favourite was the GPO building which is made famous for the Easter Rebellion. In 1916 Micheal Collins and a few hundred men barricaded themselves into the building and began a short siege against the British. It was a bloody rebellion that eventually (6 years later) led to Ireland’s Independence. My favourite was how Davey described it: “So in 1916 a bunch of lads turned up with a load of sandbags, and said ‘Right, we don’t like ya”. I lost it. Dave’s tour of Dublin was excellent.

Dublin was great fun and it was made all the more fun by Dave and his really beautiful family. The Bellew’s were fantastic hosts and really great fun. We enjoyed our time with them very much and miss them a lot. Not a day has since gone past where haven’t thought of them, told a story and had a laugh. Thank you guys for the great memories. It was a great insight into the Irish and Dubliner life that we couldn’t have got without your generous hospitality. We miss you already. I hope you can make it to Australia to visit us. We will definitely come and see you next time we are in Ireland.

Next stop, Scotland.

Love,

Marty.

P.S The Photos of Ireland are available here.

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