I had not been to Ireland since 2008 and made the proper decision to end this lousy streak. The other thing calling us back to this great country was a second cousin I had never met. She is my mother’s cousin’s daughter and comes from the Sligo area where a large clan of my related people reside. Much in the same way that St. Ignatius started the order of Jesuits while healing from a battle wound in the 1500’s, this determined lady decided to start a very comprehensive family tree while recovering from an illness. She contacted me a few years ago to fill out our branch of this tree. Once I was thoroughly convinced she was not scammer or some advanced bot or AI or Skynet, I began a pleasant online discourse with this energetic lady, helping her wherever I could so that this family tree would not resemble a pathetic Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
My brother Jim and his wife Donna were the first among the Coxens to meet the Irish clan last year. Jim and Donna were swept off their feet with the warm reception they received and heavily encouraged me to pay these people a visit so Pam and I planned to stop in Sligo for the final three days of our nine-day trip in Ireland.
Upon landing, Pam and I secured our hybrid Toyota Yaris. My reaction to this car’s space age fuel efficiency bordered disbelief and it was a lot peppier than the Yaris I rented the last time I was here. We drove west for almost three hours to the small city of Galway. It was here I spent one semester back in 1995 at University College Galway. When people ask me what I studied while in Galway, I reply, “Not much.” It was during this glorious semester I received my only collegiate “C”. I wasn’t a total bum though. My attendance was strong and besides the one “C”, all of my other classes ended with an A or B. Galway was such a perfect place to be as a student. It had the feel of a large vibrant town and the pub scene was legendary.
The year after returning from Galway, I was enjoying a Monday evening at the the Green Briar pub/restaurant in Brighton center where one could enjoy free traditional Irish music and free sandwiches. Some of my Boston College friends and I made this a habit on Monday nights. On one particular night, I met an Irish gentleman named Jim and his wife Ursula. As it turned out, Jim worked in the property management office at Boston College. This was great timing for me since I had recently destroyed an oak desk chair that would have cost me $200 to replace (a lot of money for a college student in 1996). Like the generous hero Jim is, he said there would be a new chair in my dorm room the following day, free of charge. And indeed there was.
It also turned out that Jim and Ursula would soon be moving back to Ireland after having lived in Boston for many years. They would return to Galway where they met initially and run their bed and breakfast. I did manage to see them in Galway a couple times in the late 90’s but lost touch since then. A few months ago, I found Ursula on Facebook and told her Pam and I would love to see her and Jim in Galway. Ursula responded and passed on the terrible news that Jim had been in bicycle accident several years ago that caused severe cognitive damage. Although he could not join us, Ursula said she would meet up with Pam and I.
We met Ursula at the Front Door Pub for dinner and then walked over to a great little pub by the name of Tig Cóilí for live traditional music. Ursula and Jim were friends with the owners. This little place was considered by many to be the best pub in Galway to enjoy traditional music, so respected that Prince William and Kate visited there in 2020 and sat with the band as they did their thing. Supposedly the pub had to shut down a few days before their visit in effort to do proper security checks of the establishment. I don’t know the exact cost of such things but I’m amazed when I consider the potential preparation costs of any VIP visit of this caliber. Being the thrifty SOB that I am not just with my own money but also with that of others, I would feel unfathomably guilty if my presence outside my home absorbed such a high level of resources. It would probably encourage me to become wholly dependent on my wife’s Prime membership, to complete a well-rounded home gym (since I would not be able to do pull-ups at the outdoor gym by the public soccer field in town anymore), and to get really good at video games again. That’s right, I said “video games”, not “gaming”!
This small pub was lively and crowded on this Saturday night. People were enjoying themselves but those near the band (as we were) may be chatting with each other but their primary objective was to enjoy the music. This was made evident when a couple guys in their 20’s came in and stood between us and a man in his early 70’s that was sitting on a stool. These two guys were barely interested in the music and seemed to be on a pub crawl by themselves in hopes of finding whatever it was they were looking for. They didn’t annoy me but the Old Crust sitting on the stool clearly did not like the cut of their jib. He gave them a piece of his mind in regards to how a patron of this pub should be more respectful of the environment and of the musicians. They did their best to defend their presence to Old Crust but he remained firm. They then tried to move a foot or two in the opposite direction to evade him but then bumped into Ursula who provided them with yet another disgruntled piece of a mind. Bewildered at this stage, the young chaps gave up and left the pub.
When Ursula wasn’t regulating the impudent youth, she was talking with everyone. It seemed she had a connection to every person she struck up a conversation with: somehow finding out a random guy was a cousin to her good friend or another guy that may have been at the same university she was at the same time.
Sunday was miserable, weather-wise, but that didn’t stop us from driving to the limestone landscape known as the Burren and then to the famous and dramatic Cliffs of Moher along the ocean where the rain traveled sideways and in keeping with Irish tradition, in a volume and intensity that changed every 60 seconds. I was amused (and probably glad) to see that you could no longer go to the very edge of the cliffs. I remember in the 90’s and early 2000’s how we would go out on the flat rock section and hang right off the edge. We even stepped and/or jumped over an opening to get to another ledge. Stupid when I think of it now, especially when on a day like today, I was reminded just how strong the wind can be here.
That evening we went to the simple, well known seafood establishment known as McDonough’s and ate what many consider to be the best fish and chips in town. Afterwards, we visited one of Galway’s many “super pubs”, the Quay’s, for a pint of Guinness. Like so many of these types of intricate pubs, they have this “Hotel California” quality due to the genuine effort needed to remember how to get out of them. Often times, you accidentally leave the pub from an entrance different from the one you came in originally. This then forces you to adjust to a new reality like a character in the movie Inception or has me wondering if the Matrix has changed the program I didn’t even realize I’m connected to so I start looking for two black cats to see if I’m right. We never did find two black cats but we did find two gents on guitar and vocals that seemed to know how to play whatever song you could throw at them.
From there we checked out The King’s Head nearby to enjoy another pint and a four piece band that played an interesting array of Top 40 music from the 1960’s through today, allowing songs like Do You Love Me and Pink Pony Club to be bizarre but welcome bedfellows. My guess is that they were a wedding band making a little extra money on a Sunday night. Speaking of which, it did not feel like a Sunday night. The energy in both establishments felt more like a Saturday night. And while we were enjoying the Top 40 onslaught, we initially tried to go back to the traditional pub, Tig Cóilí, from last night but could not get in due to the lack of breathing room inside.
What was incredible to me was that of all the pubs I used frequent 30 years ago, about 85% of them appeared to still be in business. This is one of many things I love about Ireland: they don’t get bored with a great pub. If the Guinness is good and the vibe is right, people will continue to support it.
This morning we took down another healthy breakfast at Urban Grind restaurant. I forget the exact items we ordered but I do know our complete order completely cemented our status as DINK’s (Double Income No Kids). Afterwards, we spent the day walking all over the city and through the campus of University College Galway. We walked north along the Corrib River and wandered through the student housing area, eventually finding the very apartment I lived in. So little had changed in the appearance of the exterior of the building but also of the interior. I looked in the windows. All the cabinetry, furniture, built-in desks, and shelving seemed just as they were 30 years ago.
Several brilliant memories came back to me. I peered into the living room and could see all the empty Jameson bottles that I placed in the window, the result of the Thursday night whiskey sessions that my friend Ben from Michigan and I took part in. Each week we alternated the purchasing responsibility of the whiskey. On one such Thursday evening, it was my turn to buy so I did so. It so happened that evening my American roommate Robin, my Irish roommate Deirdre, my Belgian roommate Frederick, and I decided to host a chicken fajita party at our place. I’m unsure as to why we settled on this theme. As we prepared, I thought it would be a wonderful idea to start in on the whiskey. By the time Ben had arrived to enjoy his share, I had already decimated about 2/3 of the bottle and was starting to get rowdy.
For some reason, at one point, I had a can of whipped cream in my hand. Deirdre requested a small amount of whipped cream in her hand so I complied. Thinking it would be cute, she smeared it on my face. It’s an understatement to say that drunk people overreact. My response to her small arms fire was nuclear. I started spraying whipped cream at her like a madman. Due to my state, my aim was poor and whipped cream went flying all over the room while guests frantically dashed for cover. I sat down to catch my breath and the room soon began to spin on its own it seemed so I stepped out into the courtyard for fresh air. I wandered a few steps and found myself standing in front of the window of my other Belgian friend’s Philip’s window who lived in the adjacent building. Within moments, sadly, the fajitas I ate ended up in a foul-smelling, processed pile on the ground, right outside his window. Little to no classes were attended the next day giving me ample time to reflect on my overindulgence.
I moved left and looked into the kitchen. For some reason, I remember standing in this tiny kitchen one morning and had a spectacular “in the moment” moment. It may have been the first of its kind in my life. I recall so clearly thinking right then and there in that tiny kitchen how perfect the present was, this time in Ireland I was enjoying, and how I would revisit it again in my mind in the future and feel good.
That night we ate at Dail in town and then watched a wonderful traditional music session at The Crane Bar in the west side of the city. Although there was not the same energy as the night before, I was still in awe of the packed large room on the second floor, so happy and full of life as the patrons respectfully watched the content eight or so musicians play in a state of peaceful ecstasy.
This morning, we had our third and last DINK breakfast at Urban Grind. We then hopped in the car and drove west towards Clifden where we visited an old castle and drove on the narrow and beautiful Sky Road to take in the beautiful coastline. From there, we went northeast to Leenane and then eventually up to our next destination on Achill Island where we landed at our home for the next three nights: Bervie Guesthouse.
The husband and wife team, Elizabeth and John Barrett, ran this heavenly place. Elizabeth’s genuine warmth suited her well in this role. She took over the reigns years ago from her parents who ran the property since 1930 or so. We never met her husband John but we indeed met his incredible cooking on two of the three nights we stayed at Bervie and of course each morning as we opportunistically exploited the broad spectrum of breakfast that was part of the room fee. Every AM, one could choose to put their heart in jeopardy with the traditional hunger-smashing Irish breakfast or opt for the “whisper plate” which may give you a tablespoon of muesli topped with one pomegranate seed which would then be topped with a barely visible flake of finishing salt.
As we had been so dull in our breakfast protocol for the past few mornings, we decided to initiate a contest of demolition derby within our cardiovascular system with the introduction of two Irish breakfasts. In addition to our heart and arteries, contestants included a fried egg, bacon, pork sausage, blood sausage…and a grilled tomato! To help our overwhelmed heart and arteries, Pam and I tackled a gorgeous four-hour hike on the western coast of the island that took us high up along beautiful sea cliffs.
After the hike, we decided to do something a little different. We put on some bathing suits, walked out the back gate onto the beach, walked about 30 feet, and hopped into a rusty metal box that was lined with Irish cedar on the interior and had a large window that looked over the gorgeous beach. This little contraption was a sauna owned and operated by a friend of Elizabeth and John’s son. We braved a few five to fifteen-minute intervals in the sauna that were each followed by a bracing plunge into the 55-degree waters of the nearby Atlantic. It felt as if every item of sin that had ever dared enter my body was forever extinguished form the general consciousness of the universe.
Today we toured much of the island by car, stopping off at different points of interest. A few places we drove through were in the 2022 film Banshees of Inisherin starring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson. However, arguably the greatest point of interest for us (perhaps just me) today was the Achill Island Distillery where I sampled an array of their sterling whiskeys. I purchased a bottle.
After a painful check out from our beloved guest house, we did a wonderful two and a half hour hike known as the Granuaile Loop on our way of Achill Island. From there we made our way northeast to the small city of Sligo. We checked into the Radisson Blu and promptly explored the hot tub and sauna. I was now committed to taking advantage of any device that crossed my path that was designed to make me sweat, the great hope of course being it would allow me to expel all the particles of decadence that found their way inside me each evening.
After two years of online communication, we finally got to have our first face-to-face with my second cousin. Gurl did not disappoint. I was convinced she may have been a very happy hummingbird in another life for she could shift topics quickly and possessed an energy above the average. A smile seemed to partner her face nearly all the time and she made us feel welcome before either one of us had the chance to speak. For good measure, she brought along her mother and aunt (like her father, also a cousin of my mother). The meeting place was Connolly‘s pub which is the oldest pub in Sligo.
The following day Pam and I walked around the town center and then paid a visit to Parke’s Castle in Leitrim, home to English Captain Parke in the 17th century. A well-preserved castle right on a lake, it originally belonged to an Irishman by the name of Brian O’Rourke. For his part in aiding England’s enemy, Spain, O’Rourke was put to death and the property eventually was leased to Parke who rebuilt it.
As we walked through the castle, I couldn’t help to reflect on how my ancestors probably had to pay rent to peckers like Parke who were given lands confiscated from Irish owners. That must have stung: paying rent to stay on a property forcibly taken from you.
That evening, we met my second cousin in the hotel lobby to discuss the family tree. Joining her were some of my mother’s cousins and their children. We went over the tree in great detail and got to hear some funny footnotes and an entertaining story or two. I discovered there is a lady relative in Florida that stubbornly blocks or ignores attempts to be included in this project. The best part is that she’s married to a former Olympic figure skater turned dentist.
The greatest story has to be the one involving a parrot. Before we get into the parrot though, we must dive into a little bit of history. One of my mother’s cousins left Ireland in the mid 1960’s. He sent a postcard or two from the UK to a sister that he was close to but sadly was never heard from again. My relatives literally have no idea what happened to the young man. Since my second cousin has made it her mission to document our clan within a second cousin radius, she has also tried desperately to shed some light on his mysterious disappearance. One day she caught wind of a man in Canada with the same name as her uncle that she never met. The man’s age was right so she thought she would reach out to him. At this exact time, this particular man had a beloved parrot that went missing. The news of the bird’s disappearance made it to Canada’s national news platform, not to mention Yahoo News.
So my second cousin, more fearless and bold than a telemarketer selling fraudulent life insurance, called the gentleman. She recorded the call since she wanted to have access to any details he might give or more profoundly, a recording of what could have possibly, no matter how unlikely, been a conversation with a long lost relative. Unfortunately, the Canadian gentleman did not pick up so my second cousin was forced to leave what was a hysterically awkward message on his voicemail. She generously let us listen to the recording. After doing her best not to stumble through the whole background as to why she was calling in the first place, she ended the call by trying her darnedest to offer the man a sincere hope for the parrot’s expedient recovery. What comically crushed me was the laughter she was trying to suppress as she simultaneously served up a warm thought of hope on the voicemail of a man she was hoping was her uncle and realizing in real time the explosive absurdity of the moment she was embedded in.
One can’t help but reflect on the irony which I can only assume is a sign of the times: a human being could go missing 60 years ago and and the media seems none too interested. Fast forward to the current day and we find that a missing bird makes national Canadian headlines. It’s too bad this man was not the one we were looking for as it would have broken record irony levels further if the man that had evaded discovery for decades was located due to the frenzied media coverage of his favorite pet.
After breakfast, Pam and I met with my second cousin to walk around the iconic Benbulben, a striking flat-topped mountain that is impossible to miss in County Sligo and parts of County Leitrum. As we neared the end of our lovely walk, we strolled through a small parking lot with a small camper van that had one if its wheels clamped and a security device on its steering wheel. On the ground next to the vehicle, there were a couple small pet carriers and two warning signs that simply said “CATS”. Sure enough, there were a few cats circulating around the camper van. From what we could tell, there were no humans in or near the vehicle. Was this some strange cat shelter or a community center for underprivileged cats? Maybe the human occupants of the vehicle are shape-shifters and were currently and indefinitely in cat mode?
Before arriving in Ireland, I was informed that I had another second cousin that played for Ireland’s Women’s Rugby team and that her team would be in the World Cup Finals today. Although not playing due to a previous injury and the coaches current decision on the starting lineup, my relatives decided to descend on the local pub to watch the game. If the cloud of the day was the 40-0 defeat of my second cousin’s squad, the silver lining was surely meeting more second cousins.
The next morning, we met my second cousin in front of the same pub to say goodbye before heading back to the airport. Fortunately, the regret I felt for not having made contact with all these wonderful people was overshadowed by the happiness of the thought of seeing them again.
