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Páidi O Sé: the king of The Kingdom

I love happy serendipities in life, they are just the best. We were super lucky to encounter one during our time in Dingle. We were traveling with Keith’s parents in the car, when Eleanor got a message from her sister Carmel. She was spending the weekend with her husband in Dingle while he competed in a 110km bike race. You know when family is spread all over, it’s such a rarity to get many together in one place, so we were excited! We decided to meet at Páidi O Sé’s Pub for a catch up after the race.

(Though it’s a grainy photo, it holds such a lovely memory!) 

Páidi O Sé was a famous Gaelic footballer in County Kerry and played right half-back. He won eight All-Irelands as a player, and two as a manager.

If you want a glimpse of this guy, watch this. <--

Later in his life, he opened his own pub in his childhood town, Ventry, just about ten minutes outside of Dingle.

The pub is situated in the heart of one of Ireland’s only Gaelic (Irish) speaking areas of the country which is called the Gaeltacht (pronounced gwayal-tucked). The Irish language is absolutely beautiful to listen to, but don’t worry if you can’t speak Irish! The locals speak English as well and will be happy to teach you a cúpla focal as Gaeilge (a few words in Irish).

The walls are covered from head to toe with pictures of Páidi during his football/coaching career, and of all the famous visitors over the years. 

When we walked in, there was a large fire place that warmed up the entire place. During our pints, four different Hen (bachelorette) parties were going on, men surrounded the T.V.’s watching a football match, and young families were out for dinner. 

Páidi Ó Sé’s is really a bar for the whole community, and you can feel that the instant you walk in the door. You may stick out with your accent, but the locals are super easy going and very welcoming. I’ve yet to meet an Irish person that isn’t.

(Looking haggard but very happy!)

The food smelled and looked so good that we ended up eating dinner there. I ordered a nice chicken curry with chips and was stuffed to the gills before I was halfway through my dish. I highly recommend trying the curry in Ireland as there’s nothing like it in the states. 

In regards to drinks, the pints are extremely fresh. Give Murphy’s a try before ordering another Guinness. I find that with Murphy’s you don’t get that metallic taste in your mouth, and all together it’s a bit lighter. When we were heading out, we saw the new kegs being swapped over for the empty ones. I would say this place goes through quite a bit of drink throughout the week.

 I think the best part about this place is that it’s real. When traveling it’s super easy to get caught into a bunch of tourist traps with expensive food and drinks. I suggest to go off the beaten path and find the local spots. So the next time you are traveling through Dingle, stop for a pint, a nice curry, and learn a bit about the man who reigned supreme in the county they call ‘The Kingdom’.

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Gaelic Football & All Its Gory Glory

At the forefront of the Bohan Family’s life and many Irish families, is the sport called Gaelic Football. It was the sport that Keith’s father, Tadhg, had played since a young boy. Now Greg  (Keith’s brother) was doing the same. Tadhg was an assistant coach on the team. Training was on Monday and Wednesday nights, and games were usually on Sundays. I was lucky enough to attend two during my last trip to Ireland. Greg and Conor, Keith’s cousin, were both on the team. I felt I was not just supporting the village , but my new family. Gaelic football is a full-contact sport. Tackles fly in from left, right, and center. Eleanor rarely attended games because of this.

(Last year, Greg collided with another player mid air and his two front teeth were broken in half but that’s another story.)

When we arrived to the field, we sat down in the stand. Nora, a lovely lady in her late sixties, came over and said hello. She and Keith had worked together years before, and got along like a house on fire. She was a regular to every Moycullen game. I was told that she liked to “shout her mind”. Keith ‘informed’ me that I was not to embarrass Greg by yelling too loud while he was on the field. I gave him a “yah, yah” hand gesture and settled into my seat, excited to watch the game.

The players approached the field. Moycullen was in green and white. I was trying to memorise the number of my brother in-law on the field. I knew this was going to be different from any game I had ever seen. Keith quickly explained the rules, which I can’t even attempt to do for you. So… google it.

The game began and before I knew it, Moycullen had scored. It is a high-scoring sport. It moved so quickly, I was having trouble following the ball. Nora began to yell Irish phrases and the men in the stands shook their heads and smiled knowingly. I personally found Nora to be hilarious. She was proud of her sons, and she didn’t care who knew it. I sensed my cue as the only other woman in the stands, and began to chime in every few minutes. It started with a ” Nice!” or a “There ya go!” With every player that hit the ground, my pulse began to rise. Eventually out of nowhere, I yelled out “Hit him!!”

Keith gave me a look. “Rach!” he said, “players don’t just hit each other”. I replied that that was what it looked like to me.

It was obviously my default phrase; I couldn’t stop shouting it. Nora and I were taking turns, and having a blast.

Every once in a while Tadhg would look over from the side lines and give us a smile. A nice kind of ‘What did my son get himself into?’ smile.

All of a sudden two players leapt in the air, grabbing for the ball. BAM! It was like watching a video in slow motion as their heads clashed and their bodies fell to the ground. Silence fell over the stands. Even Nora and I were quiet. The doctors ran onto the field. One player had broken his nose. I suggested that the other player had a serious case of “the headaches”. I was then informed that this was not an actual thing. The guys slowly stood up and left the field, to applause from the relieved crowds. Within ten minutes of watching Gaelic football, I had learned why it takes a lot to keep an Irishman down.

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Home Is Where You Make It

Traveling can be tiring. You are constantly moving around to places that just aren’t as welcoming or familiar as home.

By the end of your vacation you are ready for your own bed, your routine, and that comfy feeling you’ve been missing.

Maybe this is because people make their vacation “home base” a place that doesn’t allow you to feel at home, or anything close to it.

This is why I love to stay in peoples’ homes when I travel. Today, it’s s easy (and affordable) to book an entire home, or stay in one as a B&B.

Most recently, our “home” was in Dingle. After a lot of research, I found Claire, Reid, and their lovely dog Rua (the Irish for “red hair”).

I wanted a place that truly could become ours during our time there.

Contact was quick, easy, and I could feel from the very first email that they were lovely people.

They’ve a unique love story which brought them together, one that Keith and myself can easily identify with. They both met in New York and their romance kept on for thirty five years before saying “I do". She’s originally from County Cork, and he is from Canada.

Their home and our cottage for the weekend was built in the 1800’s. Over 8 generations of family lived there until it was sold to Claire, who had admired it for years.

The stone walls and cozy fireplace envelop you as you walk in. The cottage contains all unique pottery which happens to be made just down the road by a local artist of international fame. (Louis Mulcahy)

As you flick the kettle on, a reflex in Ireland upon walking in the door, you instantly feel at home; something many people never find while traveling.

The beds are so comfortable, there’s plenty of hot water, and the heat is on all evening. You never feel the cold even in the winter months.

We began our first morning with breakfast in Claire and Reid's home. We started out with fresh fruit and homemade brown bread, followed by fresh coffee and Irish Tea. We then moved onto cereals and muffins, before delving into our Irish breakfasts complete with Rashers (bacon), Sausages, and white pudding.

There really isn’t a better way to start the day.

I know what you must be thinking- this sounds expensive, Rachael. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I won’t go into numbers, just trust me. You won’t find a better deal in Dingle.

I recommend staying farther out from the city, so you can truly experience the South-West coast. The views, the sounds, the smell of the sea, and the hikes are just a few of the reasons to journey out on the Peninsula.

This is an excerpt from Seamus Heaney’s poem, The Peninsula. 

When you have nothing more to say, just drive For a day all around the peninsula, The sky is tall as over a runway, The land without marks, so you will not arrive But pass through, though always skirting landfall. At dusk, horizons drink down sea and hill, The ploughed field swallows the whitewashed gable And you’re in the dark again.  Now recall The glazed foreshore and silhouetted log. That rock where breakers shredded into rags, The leggy birds stilted on their own legs, Islands riding themselves out into the fog. And then drive back home, still with nothing to say Except that now you will uncode all landscapes By this; things founded clean on their own shapes Water and ground in their extremity.  

From beginning to end, our time in Dingle felt like a home away from home. We walked in and made it our own, for a weekend at least.

Next time you travel, try to find a home. I assure you, it’ll make all the difference.

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Enjoying The Journey

As much as I love New York, you need to leave it to continue to love it.  I knew this trip to Dingle would be a great way to start my time in Ireland after leaving the city.

Neither of us slept on the flight over. The movie selection was just too good to ignore.

But we knew that we would struggle to keep our eyes open later on. We grabbed our bags, then sat down to get a much-needed caffeine fix while we waited for Keith's parents to arrive.

There is just something invigorating about the air in Ireland. You notice it as soon as you get off the plane. It smells and feels different; really fresh. Since Shannon Airport is tiny, we came into contact with nature almost immediately: cows, sheep, green fields, and stone walls. It’s a beautiful novelty for any outsider.

The west of Ireland reminds me of a National Park in the United States. So much nature free from huge modern buildings, food chains, Walmarts and parking lots.

My in-laws, Tadgh (pronounced Thai-g, Irish for Timothy) and Eleanor picked us up at Shannon airport, and we headed on down to Dingle. It was a 2.5 hour drive along tiny, narrow, meandering roads overlooking the water. I felt extremely lucky to have a chauffeur for our trip so I didn’t have to navigate these roads on the left hand side. Instead, I hung my head out the window like a happy dog, taking photos.

For those not lucky enough to have an Irish chauffeur, I would recommend taking your time, take deep breaths around those narrow bends, and let the locals pass you; you’re in no rush!

You could easily fill your USB card on just the views down to Kerry. Every turn in the road brought a new ‘WOW’ moment, a new shade of green, and- most importantly- lots and lots of sheep. They happen to be my favorite thing about Ireland. According to a souvenir I saw in Dublin Airport last year, the name ‘Rachael' also happens to mean ‘Female Sheep', so obviously I feel a real connection to the furry blobs in the fields.

I think sometimes we are so concerned with getting to the next destination that we forget to enjoy the journey. It’s hard to live in the moment in your day-to-day, but travel forces you to.

I truly enjoyed the journey to Dingle, and I am very thankful because it’s not something I do very often.

Your next trip, make sure to stop and take time for the journey, even if it’s on your commute to work. You never know what you may find along the way, and you might just surprise yourself.

And now, sleep! :)

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Mistakes

Are we making enough mistakes? You go through your early twenties freaking out that you are making a million mistakes, or that you’ll never figure it out. You have this battle against your own mind on a daily basis. Then you arrive to your mid twenties and you have a better hang of “adulting”. You don’t wait till you have zero pairs of underwear to do your laundry; you’re okay with the fact that not everyone is going to like you; and you become a bit more picky about the quality of wine you are willing to drink. ‘Life choices' are still a concern, you just feel more comfortable. But are ‘comfortable choices’ a good thing?

Sometimes I am so worried about making the wrong choice that I don’t really make any choice. Maybe we are better served by embracing the possibility of each decision being a mistake, but a learning experience too. Feel the fear, and do it any way. Fear inhibits everyone. We let fear steal away our moments, our opportunities, and guide our decision processes like a backseat driver. I think we need to face it head on. We need to make more mistakes. Ignore the negative, laugh at the fear, drown out that nay-saying voice inside your head telling you to run in the other direction. To really be alive, to be present, to learn new things, to meet new people, we must go outside our comfort zone. We are all human, isn’t it time we ‘err'? I urge you to try something new, keep getting back on the bike, push yourself to feel alive, don’t allow yourself to just ‘be’. And, who knows, someday very soon, you might get it just right. :)

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Tea Time In Paris

There are many places to have a wonderful cup of tea in Paris, but only one that creates such a divine and tasty experience. 

Mariage Frères was established on June 1, 1854,  by two brothers Henri and Edouard Marriage in Paris. They are France's oldest importer of tea, and members of the Mariage family where active in the colonial trade as early as the 17th century. 

There are seven locations in the French capital, but the very best is hidden in the 4th arrondissement. In 1983, on Rue du Bourg-Tibourg in the Marais, they opened the tea room in the same building where Henri Marriages office was over 150 years prior. There is a 19th century colonial theme complete with antique tea instruments, scales, cash registers, and furniture.

This is heaven for any tea lover or those who desire a truly unique experience.

My recommendation would be the Champagne Brunch. Reservations are a must as this place fills up quickly. The food is fresh, uniquely presented, and beautiful to the eye. You will not only leave feeling stuffed from all the amazing courses, but like you have traveled back in time.

When my in laws came to visit me in Paris, I decided it was a must for them to experience. We arrived at half eleven on Sunday and entered into a sunlit space that reminded me of a green room terrace. The men who serve you are dressed in all white and care for you with great detail. Chairs are pulled out for the ladies, and napkins are laid on your laps. You know from the very start, you will be treated like royalty. 

You begin with a tea book that is over fifty pages long. It is a tough decision, but they make sure to give you plenty of time to choose. Your first course arrives with champagne, scones,  and homemade jam. Tea arrives shortly after, and the presentation is marvellous. The next course brings unique creations from the chef which are out of this world, and you finish at the incredible dessert cart. What more could you desire in a meal!?

For your next trip to Paris, make Mariage Frères Tea Room a MUST on your list! 

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What brings us together

This crisp afternoon in Astoria, I find myself sitting in the apartment and craving a big bowl of Aligot. If you haven’t heard of this French mashed potato and cheese combination, your life is about to change for the better. This dish dates back to southern France in the middle ages. It was created by Monks at the Domerie d’Aubrac Monastery who fed pilgrims that were stopping through on their way to Santiago de Compostela. (This is the famous religious pilgrimage that is still done today.) Since this trip lasted over a month on foot, the Aligot was meant to refresh them and give them the strength to continue on their journey. The first time I experienced this incredible dish was when I was living in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. I was out having a glass of wine with my roommate at my favorite wine bar called Milord, on rue Lepic in Montmartre.

The gentleman sitting next to us ordered this incredible mini cast iron pot of what we would later find out was called ‘Aligot'. Alongside it was grilled sausage and a spring salad. He would twirl his fork at least five or six times before he could bring it to his mouth. The stringy substance just wouldn’t let go. We decided we needed to order this dish and give it a try. I’ll be honest: we finished this giant dish in less than ten minutes. Both unfortunately and fortunately, we became hooked. Hooked, meaning we ate it once a week, every single week, until it was no longer in season. That first Aligot-less week was rough for us. We had withdrawl symptoms, and our first go at trying to make it at home was an utter disaster, although hilarious. So even when it was out of season, Aligot was an excuse to get together. Now, we no longer live in the same city or even the same continent. We are thousands of miles apart, but for the time we had, that was our special thing. Something I didn’t share with anyone else. What brings you together with the people you love? If you haven’t given Aligot a try, DO IT! It's no longer accompanied by a month long walk, but it will certainly give you a bit of a lift on your own daily pilgrimage.  

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Fear the goodbye and do it anyway

I’m that person who cries saying goodbye to people. Or to the places I have come to love. The snot runs down alongside my mascara, and it’s usually a rough day for myself (and anyone around me). I am a “wheepa” as my Great Aunt Audrey would say.

You make friends from all over the world when you travel. That’s one of the coolest parts about it. You have the opportunity that most others don't. Each and every day, you can walk outside your “door”, and meet someone from a completely different background, country, and culture. It’s exhilarating when you think about it.

By immersing yourself in your location's culture- wherever that might be- you create memories and friendships you will keep for a lifetime. Some of my dearest friends on this planet are those I met while they or myself were traveling. Those were the friends that flew across the world to be at my wedding. Some I hadn’t seen since saying goodbye to them three or four years prior. To me, that says a lot.

Our friendship didn’t just hinge on bi-monthly catch ups over coffee, snapchat stories, or absent-minded messaging throughout the day. It’s forged out of being somewhere new, or doing stuff together that maybe you’ve never done before. You’re more open. You’re spending time with fellow adventurers. Because of this, you can pick up right where you left off the last time. Perhaps months have gone by, maybe a couple of years, but the connection stays the same. That’s what gives me hope for the world we live in today.

It’s easy to get caught up in this depressing, media-driven, negative news kinda world. We are pounded with stories of groups abroad who want to take over the world and kill everyone who is different, or mass shootings at home. We are warned about traveling. “Crazy people are out there!” You’re advised to be weary of how ‘they' look, dress, or the language they speak.

I don’t buy it. There are good people ALL over the world. Friends to be made, ALL over the world. From Greece to Ghana, from California to the Czech Republic. There is good everywhere- once you don’t close yourself off from it. The longer you live in a tiny bubble of fear robs more and more life experiences that could have been yours.

Strive to fear saying that dreaded goodbye- yet do it anyway- because another adventure is out there. More friends to be made and more mascara-spattered goodbyes to be had. Search out that experience or new friend worth crying over.