Happy Irish Heritage Day!

That's what St. Patrick's Day has become, isn't it? I'm not Catholic, nor do I pay much homage to the ancient saint, and the same goes for most of America. But a lot of us do trace our roots back to Ireland, so for one day a year we can use that as an excuse to get drunk, or party Mormon-style.

I thought I might add to the Day by including a memoir of my visit to Ireland on the last weekend of January 2004. This is adapted from an email I sent out chronicling my adventure. It's a bit lengthy, but it was a very full trip. Enjoy.

Two weekends ago a group of seventeen of us took a short trip to Dublin. I mean, if you could fly to Dublin, Ireland and spend a day there all for under $100, you'd do it, right? So we did. It was an adventure beyond compare. I learned firsthand what my friends who have spent time in Europe had told me: customer service is a uniquely American concept. We almost missed our flight out because the people at the airport failed to clearly advertise that our flight was departing from a different gate than they originally had said. That was the beginning. The bitter end comes later.

In between the bitter beginning and end comes some fun-filled Dublining. We checked in to our hostel and went out for a bite. We found a traditional Irish pub and I ate corned beef and cabbage and drank water from a pint glass. Then we just kind of walked around the city, doing stuff like walking over bridges and spitting into the river and seeing drunk men stop to throw up on the sidewalk. The hostel was an experience--the most uncomfortable bed I've ever paid to sleep in. But it felt really cool to be in a seedy hostel in Europe. Kind of adventurous!

The next day I went with seven of my traveling companions on a bus tour of the Irish countryside and it was breathtaking. Our tour guide was named Damien and he enjoyed touting the great benefits of living in the Irish welfare state. He didn't use those words, but that was the gist of it.

The most beautiful place on the tour was called Glendalough (GLEN-da-lock). It means valley of two lakes. It was this valley that had ancient monastic ruins and, not surprisingly, two lakes. So gorgeous. We got out and walked along the shores in the rain and breathed the fresh mountain air and got really wet. It was so worth it.

Here's where it gets exciting. Upon meeting up with the rest of our group and returning to the airport, we were notified that our flight was cancelled. Snow in London; it wasn't the airline's fault. What was the airline's fault was the complete lack of sympathy or offered help. They seemed pretty clueless and careless as to what to do to help us out. To make a long story short, we ended up finding a flight for eleven of the seventeen of us to fly out in the early afternoon the next day. Six of us would have to stay, and I volunteered.

Leaving the eleven behind, the Super Six returned to Dublin and had a fantastic day, despite the fact that we had slept on the floor of an airport and hadn't showered in two days. We saw St. Patrick's Cathedral and I bought a cool Irish ring and we ate at the best pub in the British Isles. It was Oliver St. John Gogarty and the food was exquisite. There was also a live Irish trio. So good!

We then ran to a nearby bus station. The bus took us directly to the biggest ferry I have seen in my life where I paid too much for bland hot chocolate and slept reasonably well on a cushy seat. We arrived in Wales and had to reboard the bus, drive off the ferry, deboard the bus to go through customs, reboard the bus, and drive eight cramped hours to London. It was no picnic. The Super Six arrived back at the BYU Centre at 9:30am two days after we had planned to be back. The return trip was really hellish, but overall it was totally worth it.

-Jared