OTOOLEFAN GOES TO IRELAND – Part 4
We’re sitting in the local launderette, watching our clothes tumble and spin in the window. My hands are still numb as I narrate.
Last night we did nothing but wait for it to get dark so we could go to sleep.
This morning found our room much the same – cold. There was no hot water to be found anywhere. The only thing we could do was watch our breath. I’m not joking.
We ate a meager breakfast. When it came time to pay our bill, we had one last adventure. The bill was £16.00 and I handed her a £20 pound note.
“Oh, I don’t have any change,” she says.
Steve and I exchanged eye messages.
The lady started looking in her cupboards and then her cabinets for change. Finally, she solved the problem by breaking into her daughter’s piggy bank and doling out the £4.00 pounds in two pence coins!
I couldn’t believe it.
About three quarters of the way through the doling, Steve said, “Okay, that’s enough.”
Needless to say, we just wanted to get the hell out of that house and this town!
Heard “Rhinstone Cowboy” in the launderette.
We caught the bus back to Galway City, if you can believe it. From there we inquired when the next bus to Clifden departed. There were two buses, we found out. One left at 4:45 and the other left at 6:15. The latter was a more direct route. But we decided we wanted to get out of Galway as soon as possible. So to kill time, we went into a pub and watched “World Snooker” for a while. Then we went over the The King’s Head for more Guinness.
Steve and I began trading old stories about our school days. We worked our way up to the 8th grade until a way drunk Irishman attached himself to us. He started talking to us because he thought we had mentioned “Los Angeles”. He then went on to narrate his experiencing working and getting stoned on every chemical known to man. From his descriptions, Los Angeles is not a very nice place.
“Every time I went to sleep, someone got killed.”
Steve and I were souced by the end of this story. Soon we were jogging through the streets of Galway in search of the magic bus.
We found it, but it was too cramped. Besides, we had to take a piss.
So we hit yet another pub and had yet another glass of Guinness and yet another one and watched yet another Snooker match.
Soon it was time to board the last bus to Clifden. This one was just as cramped and I had to take a piss. Nevertheless, we got on the bus.
What followed was the most painful bus ride I’ve ever had in my life. I had to piss so bad. I had to sit in some absurd position just to avoid misbehaving myself. Suffice it to say, I couldn’t really enjoy the scenery.
I was sitting, or rather squirming in the edge of the back seat, and every time we went over s bump, my bladder almost broke. After about two hours of anguish, the bus stopped in some little town and we all got out to go to the bathroom. Others were getting back on the bus while we were still unloading Guinness.
If I didn’t have to piss so bad, I might have noticed how rugged and barren the scenery was. I might also have noticed that I was surrounded by mountains.
As soon as Steve and I spilled out of the bus, we booked ourselves into Ben View House, a local bed and breakfast place.
As the guy was showing us our room, I asked him, “How far is Paedre O’Toole’s from here?” meaning the pub by that name.
“Oh, it’s about five miles from here…”
“You mean the film star?”
“No, no the pub.”
“Oh, it’s right down the road from here.”
Steve and I had a few jars o’ Guinness at Paedar O’Toole’s.