Leaving Dublin, Seeing Ireland

Deeper and deeper we drove through the Burren...

We had a First World Problem: My employer discourages carrying over holidays into the new year, so I had a week of vacation time that had to used. This sparked a search for a reasonably-priced tropical vacation, which didn’t seem to exist for us. We moved our search north, then farther north, then more north and found a deal to Dublin.

Dublin was on our bucket lists of cities to visit, but we had always thought of it was a weekender. With a week, we could go further afield to the Cliffs of Moher, which meant leaving Dublin and spending a few days in Galway.

When we arrived in Dublin, we did some sightseeing – Books of Kells, pubs, the Temple Bar, more pubs. After a day, we felt ready to leave Dublin for a day trip into the countryside. We spread out a handful of brochures from the tourist office and started reading.

There was a long trip to Belfast and the Giant’s Steps and the spot where they film the King’s Road in Game of Thrones – this thing about places where famous shows or movies are filmed would come up often on the tours. There were trips to Howth, which seemed much greener than Hoth, and to Cork. We chose a trip into the Wild Wicklow Mountains.

It wasn’t a bad choice. We drove along the old Military Road– built by the British to catch Irish rebels hiding in the mountains and now bringing tourists like us to locations where they film Vikings and the ruins of the Glendalough monastery.

We had the monastery to ourselves, since other tourists avoid the soggy Irish cold for warmer places that we couldn’t afford to fly to. It was also, to use some Irish slang, a ‘Soft Day’ – it was drizzly and mild, not rainy and cold. It was the perfect day to walk about the Medieval monastery. The park was surrounded by the tree-covered walls of the valley and the monastery's stone ruins were often shrouded in rolling mist.

Glendalough's ruined stone cathedral.

A "Soft Day" is a good day for a Discovery Walk around Glendalough.

We drove higher into the mountains. Away from modern civilization, deeper into the peat bogs and heath. The clouds got heavier and the fog thickened, so the landscape seemed almost primordial. 

Out of the bus' windows, we see shallow trenches through the mist where the turf cutters once did their work. From here, they dug up the preserved bodies of kings sacrificed to the gods when crops had failed.

Then the sun cleared as we came to some stone bridge from some movie you didn’t see, P.S. I Love You, which was a big deal for most people on our tour bus. Seriously, it was selfie city.

Very happy people on some bridge some from P.S. I Love You movie.

After a return to Dublin, for more pubs and pints and potatoes, we took a train to Galway with a long list of tips for more pubs, live music, culture, and Discovery Walks from an Irish friend we know in Budapest.

Our mission in Galway was the Cliffs of Moher, so we stopped by the tourist office to book a tour the next day. The lady widened her eyes in surprise. “No,” she said. “The weather will be awful. They have flood warnings all over the country.” She gave us a look as if we should've known that – the Irish pay close attention to their weather. That day was the only day we could go so, hoping for some of the Irish luck, we booked the tour for what might be a flood day.

The rain lightened overnight, but it was by no means a "Soft Day." It was cloudy and it was raining off and on. But all the fog and clouds just added to the ancient, neolithic feel of the landscape we were driving through.

The Poulnabrone dolmen, a portal tomb older than the pyramids.

The name of this place was the Burren, and it was barren. The hills were covered with grey limestone with the occasional granite boulder left by retreating glaciers eons ago. It felt older than old. Overgrown stone ruins dotted the landscape. There were some farms, but we saw no one out and about.

Somehow, people have been eking out a living here for thousands of years. We visited an tomb that was older than the pyramids. When we arrived, our bus driver warned us that to avoid curses, we should not walk around it counter-clockwise or take any rocks with us.


It was windy and cold and rainy. So, while half the tourists stayed in the bus, a small group of us ventured out to the Poulnabrone dolmen. Once again, with the time of year, we had the site to ourselves... aside from the cows that chewed their grass and watched us as we walked around the haunting stack of rocks clockwise and snapped photos.

Walking on the Karst 

As we approached the Cliffs of Moher, the tour guide kept looking towards the ocean as he drove, pointing out the mist rolling in. He said we might not even see the cliffs. Sometimes, he said, the fog was so thick, you couldn't even see in front of you.

We got to the cliffs and, to our relief, we could see them. They might be majestic and awe-inspiring and completely Instagram-friendly on one of those rare sunny days in Ireland. But in the horizontal rain and the howling wind, with patches of fog rolling in, the Cliffs of Moher were one of the most beautiful things you could lay your eyes on.

They tower hundreds of feet over the ocean below, stretching on in either direction, like stone waves laid down vertically, one cliff rolling out after another in the distance,

In the rain, the ocean takes on a grey colour, which makes the green clifftops and black-ish brown of the cliff faces stand out even more. As you take it all in you see the layers of limestone on the cliff-face, the green mossy patches, and the little blips that are people standing at their edges.

Of course, I feel lucky. We would not have seen all of these wonderful things if we only went to Dublin for a weekend. If we hadn't had that week of vacation to burn, we'd have stayed in Dublin for a weekend and miss out on the rest of the country. I'll take a First World Problem if it means an incredible trip like that.

The First Five Years

It was a foggy day when I arrived to Budapest, five years ago today.

Five years ago, the Toronto Blue Jays seemed like a lost team, years away from a playoff appearance. Stephen Harper was Canada's prime minister. Rob Ford was Toronto's mayor, and we only knew about his penchant for racial slurs, drunk driving, and public intoxication, not the crack smoking – we were so innocent then. It was also the year the European Union won the Nobel Peace Prize, and the year I moved to the EU 

And it was on this day, five years ago, that I boarded a plane for Budapest, a city I only knew through history books and google images. 

A job at an ad agency working for a tobacco company. An opportunity for some international job experience. A rare chance live and travel in Europe. Those were the reasons I made the move. Just a year, I figured, and I'd be back to the grind in Toronto. 

But I stayed.  

This blog has been a chronicle of my Euro-adventures and my misadventures integrating. That's been the larger story. At some point during my time here – when I got  serious about a lovely Hungarian girl – I stopped being a temporary guest worker and became a resident.  

In some ways, I started integrating not long after I arrived: taking language lessons, trying and loving the food, making friends with some locals. That city, that I only knew through google and books, gradually became home.  

I worked hard for that commitment a little later. Kata had gone to Berlin to work and wait while I searched for a job in Germany. That time was tough. Monthly overnight trains to Berlin. Dozens of job applications, emails, check-ups, follow-ups. All while the ad agency that offered me this opportunity sank. Colleagues were laid off in waves. Goodbye parties became weekly events. 

It was the end of an era for some people, especially the expats, who packed their two allowable checked bags and returned home. It was the end of a chapter for many Hungarian friends, who moved on to new jobs or started their own businesses.  

For me, it was the beginning of something else. I found work in Düsseldorf. Kata followed. I had committed to the idea of staying in Europe months ago, and the concept became very real. We moved in together, bought furniture, and made plans. It's still an adventure, but it's become bigger than myself. A relationship does that: makes you think beyond yourself.  

As I lived the evolving adventure here, life moved on for everyone else. After my first year, I came back for a best friend's wedding. I met their son during my next visit. I streamed another best friend's Vegas wedding over the internet. Other friends bought houses or bright yellow cars. Jobs became careers. Girlfriends became wives. Wives became mothers. We all moved along, maybe not in the same stream, but certainly parallel to each other.   

Putting it all in perspective, I've been lucky. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for a few chance meetings. If I didn't join an ad industry boxing event, I wouldn't have met Joe. If I didn't take a job at an agency some years later, I wouldn't have met a former employee of that agency (Joe), who offered to tell me about any job openings, which led to a job offer, which led to moving to Budapest, which lead to meeting Kata, which led to moving to Germany together, which leads to... And on it goes.

Taking one opportunity leads to another – that's the way life goes.  

It's easy to get nostalgic during a big milestone. I think about the nervous lead-up to that flight to Budapest and the strange, exciting feeling I had driving through the city in the fog to my hotel in the Buda hills. It was something I had never felt before, not even when I was traveling in Asia. It wasn't just about being in a new, strange place, but it was an excitement about where it will lead. And so today I find myself thinking about the next five years, and what opportunities lay ahead for me, and for us.

Berlin

Autobahn-ing to Bavaria

Photo by Katalin Varga

The Road

Driving on the Autobahn is about enjoying the lack of speed limits, but also taking the fullest advantage of them. Traffic slows or stops so often on the famed highways that when you have the chance, you put the pedal to the metal and cover as much distance as possible before traffic comes to a grinding halt once again. 

The speed limit isn't so much a luxury, but an opportunity to recapture lost time. 

After a few hours, you are skilled at making the most efficient use of those windows of no-speed-limit driving. You become adept at looking for the next slowdown during these bouts of high speed. You start to sense danger. You get nervous when you see the flash of a brake light ahead. 

After you're accustomed to the fear of brake lights, and after you've understood that time is lost and gained during those precious minutes when you can drive as fast as you can, then you have understood the Autobahn – it's stop and go stretched into a longer, faster scale. 

The Plan

On Google Maps, the trip from Düsseldorf to the edge of the Alps, seemed simple. Six hours of Autobahn driving, with a few pee breaks, would make it a do-able weekend trip. 

We left after work on a Friday, planning a stop for the night halfway. Then, I figured, it would be an easy drive in the late morning to the Alps. Sunday afternoon would, in my completely inexperienced and totally unprepared mind, offer plenty of time for the six-hour drive home. 

In reality, it was six hours to get halfway there. There was construction, where lanes were reduced and narrowed, so you're inches away from oncoming traffic on one side and inches from the daredevils passing you on the other side – yeah, drivers pass on the inside in a construction zone. 

Then it took us an hour to cover the final 10km. The traffic stopped after we had passed the last exit, so we were stuck, waiting to get to our exit, knowing our beds for the night were so close.

By the time we staggered into our hotel it was almost 1am. We showered and lay in bed, feeling too tired to fall asleep. 

We didn't really get a look at the city we were in – Würzburg – until we awoke the next morning and looked out the window. In the distance, we saw the fortress-like palace on a hill overlooking the city. The sun was shining and it seemed like it was a good day to be on the road. We went downstairs for our first Bavarian breakfast. 

I pity the vegan living in Bavaria, because this region knows how to do bacon, eggs, and dairy. Everything tasted fresh and delicious.  

The bacon tasted like those thick slices of country bacon you get from farmers who care enough about their pigs to name them. The butter was smooth, rich and creamy. It tasted like butter, a taste we forget in this margarine-mongering world. 

There was even a photo of the egg farmer delivering eggs to hotel in front of the scrambled eggs on the breakfast buffet table. She wasn't holding the day's newspaper for Proof of Freshness, but I still couldn't help but appreciate this commitment to serving good food.  

With our bellies full, we resumed the road trip. Again, running into enough slowing or stopped traffic that our arrival was delayed. We arrived late, so we decided to check into our hotel later and proceed straight to our destination: Neuschwanstein Castle. 

Neuschwanstein... what you can't see is all the tourists on the bridge, taking the same photo.

The Castle 

Neuschwanstein Castle was designed by a reclusive Bavarian prince who wanted to use it as a private retreat and hide from the world and his princely responsibilities. An irony, considering it's now one of Germany's biggest tourist attractions.  

A small town at the foot of the castle's hill is built for tourists, and offers carriage rides, souvenirs, and cheap sausages to visitors from all over the world. For those who decide to walk up the hill instead of taking a carriage, they are treated to fresh, pine-scented air and views of the castle as they approach it.  

Neuschwanstein is less castle and more palace. It's filled with over-the-top ornate wood-working, gold trim, fancy furniture, ball rooms, throne rooms, and glorious views of the mountains above and the valleys beneath it. It is a romantic place.  

The castle has been accepting visitors since shortly after Ludwig's mysterious drowning – for over 130 years – so the Bavarians know how to move as many paying customers through as quickly as they can. 

You book a time to get in. You follow a guide into the castle. The guide doesn't speak. You get an audio guide and the human guide waves and hustles you from room to room. As you enter a room, a tour group in front of you is leaving that room. As you leave that room, another tour group enters it. 

Of course, you don't get to see every room, because that would take to much time. The tour concludes after a brisk half hour, then you exit through several gift shops, but not before passing a few balconies with stunning views.

Impromptu Parking Lot Mountain Photo Shoot.

The Alps 

As lovely as the castle is, it doesn't compare to the beautiful mountains that surround it. Neuschwanstein is a fairy tale, but the Alps are mythical.  

As we drove south on Saturday, we were waiting to catch the first glimpse of them. At the top of every hill, we squinted south, but didn't see them. They didn't come into view gradually, but suddenly. As we rounded a bend on the Autobahn, it appeared: a big, granite wall that looks so big that you wonder why couldn't you see them sooner. 

At one point, after we visited the castle, we stopped in a gym parking lot to watch the setting sun glint off the mountain and take a few photos. From the balcony of our hotel room, it was easy just to stand there and stare at them.

Our hotel had a balcony with a beautiful sweep
of the mountains.

The Burg 

Red-roofed Rothenburg ob der Taub was one of the biggest towns in the Holy Roman Empire during the Middle Ages. The walled town grew wildly rich from trade passing through its gates.  

Then it run into some bad luck.  

A Catholic army captured it during the 30 Years War. They billeted there, which is a technical way of saying they lived in and pillaged the town at the same time. Not long after the Catholic army left, the plague arrived, killing off a chunk of the surviving population in gross and gory ways that aren't worth describing here. The city got a break for a few hundred years. It sat there on the Taub river forgotten, in a sort of stasis.  

Then the war came in 1945.  

Unlike many German towns and cities, Rothenburg ob der Taub was spared carpet bombing because it had no strategic value – no mines, factories, refineries, or military targets, unless you count the Medieval city walls and cobblestone streets. 

As the Americans approached, the German army got orders to fight to the death. The German commander disobeyed those orders and surrendered the city, sparing it from an artillery barrage and giving us a picturesque Medieval German town to visit. A rarity. 

Rothenburg's old Town Hall.

Unlike many rebuilt old towns in Germany – which look frighteningly alike – Rothenburg's old town is not a standardized cookie-cutter old town. It's a product of its medieval past – glorious and inglorious – not a post-war rebuild. The streets curve and bend for inexplicable reasons. There are pretty buildings that please the eye and functional buildings that aren't so eye-pleasing. It's often the latter that don't get rebuilt from the rubble. And rare is the city with its old walls not only intact, but so diligently maintained that one can walk around the city by walking the wall's battlements. 

With only two hours to spare, we had time for a discovery walk and a pfifferlinge-themed lunch. It wasn't enough time. Rothenburg is not the type of place you'd spend an entire weekend, but it deserves at least an afternoon of strolling and sightseeing.  

But of course, we wouldn't have come to Rothenburg if we weren't making a road trip of our trip to Bavaria.  

Europe is so dense when it comes to historical significance or natural wonders that you just point the car in a direction and drive. The Autobahn, despite its occasional slowdowns, is a fantastic way reach those interesting places.  

A true old town.