Dining, and Donegal

My hair, unbound, lashed at my face; long tendrils getting stuck in the crease of my mouth. Jon, two steps behind, put a hand to his hat as he looked up at me when I shouted to ask if he'd locked the door to our room. He ran by me jingling the keys in answer, and I followed his lead, the noise of our shoes crunching gravel barely audible over the swirling trees. We reached the steps together and the force of the wind blew us through the massive wooden doors like a couple of forgotten receipts. Our friends already waited in the foyer.

The storm pushed hard at the doors, trying to force its way inside with us, as I finally managed to pull the rusty latch back down into place. Immediately the warm air wrapped around me like an embrace, stinging my frozen cheeks. In the thick quiet, piano keys tinkled somewhere in the next room. A woman's light laughter, hushed conversations, the clinking of glass; all sounds were murmured by the plush carpet under our feet, aging floor boards creaking beneath our weight. We looked around, astonished by the antiquated yet lush interior.

A countless array of ancient family photographs, paintings, and personal paraphernalia hang from nails on the cherry red wallpaper. A large dusty painting holds the suggested lines of castle ruins looming up behind an early morning flight of geese. Below that, a small color photograph of a man and woman catches my eye. He sits on a silver barrel, his bushy brown hair and beard are haphazard, a little wild. His glasses glint in the bright sun. She sits below him on yellowed grass, middle aged, but there is beauty in the shape of her face, and they both hold a glass of something liquid, perhaps from the barrel. Together they give the impression of ambitious confidence gleaned from the fading strength of youth. Maybe they are lovers. What is their story?

I am wondering, lost in thought when a man appears from the kitchen. He is slightly stooped by time, his tweed suit is out of date, his hands are bony, with thick blue veins standing out among the wrinkles. His bushy hair and beard are white now, but the glasses give it away: this is the man in the photograph. When he walks us into the room where the piano man is playing classical music on an upright, I dont know how to ask about the picture. The four of us crowd around a tiny table, our knees touching, the piano much louder now as my back is leaning against it. After hours and hours of driving, we are all hungry for anything, as long as its not more cheese & ham from yet another gas station. Our little B&B for the night is luckily also a restaurant. Beers are passed around. We are happy to wait a little while longer, and we slowly relax into the candle-lit setting.

The waitress thanks the man from the picture, calling him John. So he isnt a ghost. These rooms seem to hold on to frozen time, and deserted secrets. Where is the woman now, I wonder. What is her name? But my meandering thoughts, likely airy from starvation, are brought back and held to the table by good food and even better company. We drink our wine and beer, we eat our fish and beef, we toast to our forever friendship, and laugh and talk long into the night hours about nothing. And that inconsequential nothingness is exactly that which forges us together. Only when the waitress has flipped all the chairs, turned over all the tables for the next morning's breakfast, do we begin to think about calling it. Not wanting it to end just yet, we all brave the still-raging winds outside to get back to one of the rooms, pile onto a bed, and play dice games until we are all too tired and bored to go on.

We woke up that Saturday expecting to have another normal, boring weekend at home. A stroke of genius by the boys made it into a spontaneous over-nighter in beautiful, coastal Donegal. These are the things we moved here to experience. These are the things we'll remember.

We Saw Warsaw

We've only ever seen it snow in the mountains. A snowy day in a city atmosphere seemed a little like movie magic, something that only happens in New York at Christmastime. Our trip to Warsaw, Poland was really quick (early flight in on Friday, early flight out on Sunday), so our time was limited. But after looking up Warsaw "Top 10" lists, I wasnt too worried we'd miss anything. Theres honestly not a whole lot there, but what we did see of the city was enough to fill up what would have otherwise been a boring weekend at home. And having arrived back in Dublin just two days prior from a month-and-a-half holiday vacation to California, heaven forbid we relax a little. Ahh, such is the life.

Our flight landed at 10:30am, and lucky us, cheapo Ryan Air had to close its (really far away) airport because of ice, so they apologized & landed us at the (close to town) Warsaw airport. Score: one passengers! Took a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags, and walked right back out into the rainy day. It was more of a drizzle, but it was so cold! I had on every layer I could think of, but since wearing a ski mask & goggles would just be weird, my face and eyes were numb after a couple hours of walking. And it was - hours of walking. My new boots are really very comfortable, but I dont think the makers thought of me having to wear three layers of fleece-lined tights, socks to my knees, and thick jeans altogether under the shoes. My toes fell asleep. Then at 6pm that night, the rest of me fell asleep too.

Did I mention we stayed in a 5-star Radisson Blu? And it was cheaper per night than a lot of hostels we've stayed in! One Polish Zloty is worth .24 Euros, so after conversion, we only spent 40E a night. The bed was soft, the pillows were puffy, the bathroom was gleaming, the hot chocolate was free. It was the best hotel we've stayed in yet. Not because there arent any better, but because we're cheap. But this was one case where it didnt matter! Our giant bed faced our 9th story panoramic window that looked out toward the Warsaw Palace of Culture, which is a gorgeous skyscraper that they light up at night. So on the second morning, we woke up, pushed back the curtain, and that magical thing finally happened to us: city snow!

We excitedly layered up & the front desk gave us umbrellas to borrow. The previous day we pretty much saw everything in Old Town, so we had zero agenda. Which is nice, but its much too easy to get bored if you dont have a direction. But somehow the snow falling around us, and the Christmas trees and decorations still all lit up, made it more fun to walk aimlessly for ages. I looked up a couple cafes beforehand, so we had a couple in mind. But one of our favorite things is to just walk until we get hungry, then just pick any little place to pop in. It almost always ends up being great, and we find the spontaneity exciting.

Well I guess not a lot of tourists pick the first weekend in February to visit a country that has such frigid winters, so we mostly had the cafes to ourselves! Also we usually eat at weird times anyway, so we probably just beat whatever "crowd" there would have been at a more normal hour. We were looking forward to the sausages, but neither of us realized Pierogis were Polish, so it was a happy surprise to recognize the word & order some. I thought a Pierogi was some kind of small sandwich, so the chunky thick-walled dumplings filled with cottage cheese, mushrooms, and/or salmon were a delicious peppery treat! Also Im guessing at the fillings based on tradition, neither of us could tell exactly what they were.

The leafless trees stood stark and black throughout the grey-washed city. Jolly multicolored strings of lights danced in the biting wind. A weathered green spire reflected in a puddle of muddy snow melt, a boot print crunched through the ice at the edges. American golden oldies softly blared from the old boom-box radio behind us as we sat tucked snugly inside the candle-lit cafe. Two mugs of hot honey meade and a shared bowl of chicken noodles fogged up the window as we watched the world go dreamily by, and talked about the future.