The Last Hurrah in Ireland: Sisti's Go Bragh!

Before leaving the UK for good (at least for now), I had one last adventure planned: Mother-Daughter Trip 2010 to Ireland. That's right, A Broad's Mom flew across the pond for a 10 day trip. We spent a few days in Oxford sightseeing (and by sightseeing, I mean packing up all the mountains of bop costumes, rowing gear, and survivor frisbees that I had accumulated over the year and stuffing them into two extra suitcases until the suitcase zippers screamed for mercy). Even in those last few days in Oxford, I learned some new things, thanks to Mama Sisti. For example, she told me that the salmon we had been cooking all year was actually smoked salmon (and therefore need not be cooked). Oops. I knew the salmon seemed different. I just figured English salmon was smellier. Aside from packing, learning about seafood, and saying goodbyes, I also made some care-packages for the friends/family I was leaving behind: including paintings, notes, rotary banners, and, of course, red solo cups. I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be forgotten too easily; if I left a bunch of random knickknackery behind, then people were bound to ask themselves 'where the heck did this junk come from' and thus be forced to remember A Broad's presence. Genius.

Then the day came. It was early in the morning on July 31 when I had to leave Oxford. Appropriately, it was raining. I left as I had arrived: soaked. We were late to catch our bus (of course; A Broad is not known for her punctuality) which actually worked out well, as I didn't have time to stare back at my dorm room, at Linacre, at Broad Street, at the scenes of so many memories -- all those early morning bike rides to the river, those late night walks to the kebab van. I would have soaked myself in tears. Instead, I was soaked with rain water and sweat, from running through the cobblestone streets, whilst wearing a sweater, and dragging my 92 pound suitcase behind me. It was a quick, somber goodbye, and a long, smelly bus ride to Gatwick.

Upon arriving at the airport to catch our plane to Shannon, you would think that the day's craziness was over, but you would be wrong. The three hours before we actually got on the Ryan Air plane (any of you who know Ryan Air, a/k/a 'Haha, Sucker! Air', will know where this is going) were the equivalent of having 9 successive rootcanals while being forced to watch Sports Center (for the dudes reading, replace Sports Center with Jersey Shore, and this will make more sense). Upon checking our bags, the lady said, "well, your bags are 22 kilos over the weight limit so that will be 250$ please," to which I replied, "%&@#@!" Then, mom and I spent the next hour at the giant scales weighing everything from our sneakers to our lipstick to find a way to distribute the weight amongst our suitcases to avoid the fine. In the end, we shifted stuff, we ate stuff, we trashed stuff, and I put on wellies, 3 pairs of pants and 7 sweaters. Victory was ours. Take that, Ryan Air! You underestimated the Sisti's perseverance, ingenuity, and willingness to sweat whilst wearing half our wardrobe for that two-hour flight to Ireland. Ryan Air wasn't going to just roll over though -- they proceeded to print us bad tickets and change our gate three times. After walking from one end of the concourse to the other, for thethird time in 20 minutes, I was most definitely sweating in my seven sweaters. I felt so bad for anyone near me on that plane; I did not smell like roses. unless there is a new species that smells like sweaty wool.

Once we finally arrived in Shannon, and took off the extra 8 layers of clothes and emptied our pockets of our heavy electronics, our wonderful week in Ireland began. We took a bus tour with a bunch of other travelers (some wonderful, some weird) all around the southern coast of Ireland. What a beautiful place. Here is what we did, in pictures...

Our first night, we had a medieval banquet at Bunratty Castle. This is where I had my first of approximately 24 bowls of puréed vegetable soup on the trip.

We saw the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher.

More Moher.

And visited the Foynes Flying Boat Museum, where we read about the history of Pan Am, including this Dissertation on the use of alcohol.

We went to Killarney and the Ring of Kerry.


We watched in amazement as a sheepherder ordered his dogs to round up some sheep from 100 feet away. The sheep were not amused.


I kissed the Blarney Stone.
And then I found out that locals pee on it for fun.


Between Cobh, Kilkenny, and Kildare, we went to some old, cool pubs. Future travelers: learn from my mistakes. Apparently, they do not call Guinness with Baileys an 'Irish car bomb' there.


And we went to Waterford and the Waterford factory and saw how they make the beautiful crystal glasses.


We even visited the jail (Kilmainham Gaol).

And the Irish National Stud Farm.

Here is me with some studs.


We toured all around Dublin, its castles, pubs, and pretty streets.

Including the Guinness Factory, of course.

The Guiness pourer liked me.

And so did the Pitt basketball team.

Here is me with more studs.

I especially liked seeing Trinity College, since I almost went there instead of Oxford!

It looked like a fun place.

On our last night, we went to the Merry Ploughboy Pub for some dinner and traditional Irish dancing (like Riverdance, where their legs flail about as if independent from their body).

We made some great friends along the way, and just had a wonderful time.

Ireland, despite being perpetually chilly, is a very beautiful place with very lovely people. With my red hair, freckles, and non-tan (I prefer that to "pale") exterior, I fit right in. I definitely want to go back. Next time, I won't take Ryan Air, I will pack light, I'll check out Northern Ireland, and I'll take mom with me, again. No one else would have changed clothes in the middle of Gatwick with me and not felt embarrassed to be seen with a girl wearing jeans, slacks, and sweatpants. No one else would have stalled the bus driver by telling him I had a pee (i.e. shopping) emergency so that he wouldn't give me the stank eye when I got on with my shopping bags. No one else would have risked getting mono by kissing the pee-stained Blarney Stone with me. No one else would have laughed with me upon realizing that the concierge was not talking about problems with Electric City, but rather, electricity. Oh mom. What fun we had. Looking forward to the next M-D trip!