What the Cong?!
Trip Start
Jul 17, 2011
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111
124
Trip End
Dec 20, 2011
Cong, Western Ireland, Ireland
Thursday, December 1, 2011
If you told me the hostel manager was actually an gruff old mountain goat, I wouldn't be surprised. And we seem to have walked back in time to earlier days where technology was just too damn fancy as there is no operational Internet and one television station in English which cruelly plays Neighbours and Home & Away reruns. We are the only ones staying here in the middle of nowhere-ville, some 4km of dark, unlit roads away from 'town'. It will be a miracle is we don't turn to cannibalism from our boredom, and I can't stop thinking of another deserted hotel, one where Jack Nicholson's character flipped out and started on a killing spree.
But hey, it has given me something to write about after a rather uneventful day, with all of us in a slightly fragile state following the 'craic' that is Derry nightlife. The owner of the 'Derry harem' or 'smooth Steve' as the girls on our tour have renamed him, had taken us on a city tour earlier in the day. He was fantastic in explaining more about 80% catholic Derry, a place full of republican passions. But probably more instructional again was his 'guided tour' of Derry nightlife that evening at Peader O'Donnells pub. We were promised to meet many locals and we weren't disappointed. We were actually smothered by locals who crowded to chat with us. Most of the time I couldn't tell what language they were speaking as the Guinness flowed and made their Irish lilt more pronounced, and my hearing over the throbbing traditional Irish tunes worse. And as the stout kept getting downed, and the Irish dancing commenced, the passions of some men became more pronounced. Not passion for women, but passion for country. One gent decided to spend the best part of an hour telling me that Australian's are idiots for having the union jack on our flag. Another wanted to moan about England and accuse me of being British, and one kept coming up to me and whispering in Gaelic as though I should surely understand him.
It was a crazy night out on the tiles in a very different culture, and so it was probably a good day today to visit Knock. Knock seems to be the centre of Catholic worship in this area, so maybe it was an ideal place to atone for our sins. Possibly it is my Mum's Irish Catholic background that makes me feel intense guilt here as we wander about the religious relics and nuns scurrying about looking like they could take flight ala the Flying Nun in this windy weather.
They would surely approve of our night living like monks in Cong - no alcohol, no facebook, no modern facilities. Certainly we worshiped in front of our own version of an altar - tv playing Two and a Half Men. Bless the lord!
