What a Small Town in Ireland Will Give You

Galway. Land of beer, banjos and the best friends you never knew existed. This was our experience in Ireland. At least on the second night anyway. The first might as well have been in a Turkish back alleyway.

We landed in Shannon at around 8 p.m., 15 minutes after the last bus to Galway left, leaving us no choice but to split up and take two cabs. Five minutes off the plane and we were already down 40 euros. Fuck. To make things more depressing, we get to the hostel and had to dish out money for the room, and it was one of those moments where too many people have to figure out who owes what without anyone remotely skilled at math. After all that and a bag of chips, we ventured out into the Irish night.

We found a pub that resembled something from medieval times and waltzed in. Having just lived in a high end town in London for the past three weeks had me expecting a poop load of evil eyes from the locals but we were received in a much different manner. Something a small town like Galway will give you is welcome. Friendly, warm, boisterous welcome.

Thank God, because I've tried not being loud and obnoxious like the British expect me to be, and well, I'm just not about to change that about myself. Sorry, England.

About two hours later I had chugged a Guinness and met an Irish girl named Sally, a.k.a. my Irish girlfriend. Our love thrived in vein because the first words from her to me were "Are you gay?" I nodded yes, to which she responded "FOCK! WHYE?" Something I love about the Irish is that they're not afraid to yell in the heartiest, jolliest way possible about everything. Sally had the talent of saying the word "fuck" and make it sound charming. She said jokingly to me, "Soon yull lern Sam, yool be straight and come back to me." I hope she finds someone awesome.

After my second Guinness I was starting to feel a little pregnant, so naturally, we went out to find food. Our options were extremely limited; it was either supermacs, a chain offering a plethora of every kind of fast food ever created or imagined by mankind, or a shitty little Turkish stand. In the spirit of staying Irish, we went to the Turkish place.

Outside the door there was a shady Turkish man smoking a cigarette just... looking at us. I was reminded of the time I had to pass a "roudy" horse at a farm, hesitant for fear of being bitten. Regardless, we were hungry so we committed and went in. I wasn't sure at first whether the "kebab" sign was a cover for an underground meth lab working for the Irish mafia, but the employees looked pretty wholesome. One of them even smiled at us while he hacked off hunks of meat from a spit. Long story short, we were stared at for a long time, and the food tasted like people.

The second day and night were a bit more exciting. We went to the Cliffs of Mohor, the most majestic and impressive natural wonders I've ever seen.

It's funny how I have yet to see anything like it in the states. Guess I need to travel more :) Unfortunately, we couldn't stay long because the door on our bus broke on the way up.

After the cliffs we got a chance to get some lunch and dinner. Then went out pub crawling. The first place we went to had a great folk music band that played for hours while we sat right next to them and enjoyed the jam session, swigging beer and mint liquor (the liquor is not an Irish thing, most of them were actually kind of confused by how green the liquid in our glasses was). It was at this pub where I met my next girlfriends. Catrina and Norma Jean. Another thing I love about Europe in general is that the gay and the straight all dress like they're gay so I fit in perfectly. But sadly I had to let them down, which didn't stop them from hugging and kissing me and well, all of us. The Irish are very comfortable and I love it all (up to a point, let's keep it PG, PG-13 at the most).

After a few more drinks and shots of Jameson, we all had a pretty good buzz on. Except for one of us. My friend Quincy had peaked earlier on in the night, and was sober, too sober to deal with us.

He made the mistake of getting a slice of pizza and eating it in front of us. I'm not sure if it was the Irish atmosphere, but a few of us smelt the food and turned into beasts.

My friend Kelsey's eyes rolled over and glazed black like a shark as she zombie charged Quincy. I followed suit, (neither knowing nor caring who's pizza it was) and took a huge bite, as did Catrina, my wife. The only way I can describe what this might have looked like is as if a scene from Dawn of the Dead was revived. Quincy threw his hands up, eyes wider than jet engines, and said, "I'm too sober for this, give me the key I'm leaving."

In our state of obliteration, we protested his departure in a less than strategic way. For some reason we thought wailing his name and latching onto his body like crazed koala bears would cause him to change his mind. It didn't, I'm pretty sure this only made him increase velocity away from us. One down.

After losing that battle, Catrina and Norma announced we were going to a different pub. Our posse of bombed zombies loudly made its way to the next location of merriment, but not before I tripped over one of those metal, stump-like things lining the sidewalk. Catrina, like a devoted wife should, rushed over to help me up. You know you're too drunk when an Irish person has to help you off the ground.

ANYway, the rest of pub crawling consisted of more shots, more Guinness and concluded with Footloose. Then we went to Supermacs, what we declined to go to on our first night, and probably pissed off every person in there. Oddly, there was a shit-ton of people for one in the morning. Must have something to do with the sun setting at eleven (so weird). This was where I bought a double bacon cheese burger, fries and a slice of pizza, a.k.a. the formula for my demise the following morning.

I've never been hung over for 48 hours straight, or this drunk ever in my life and I only include this information because no one died or lost their pants in the street. Responsibility might as well be my middle name.

I love Ireland. Here's a picture of me cheating death.