Exploring and Accessibility

Sunday mornings are a great time of the week if you delight in attending mass; for those tourists that don’t, expect everything to be closed. No shopping, no people on the streets, and certainly no breakfast options—except the hotels. L and I picked up K from the bus station and wandered through O’Connell Street—the main street for pubs and shops in Limerick (pronounced Lim-rick)—looking for food, but we found nothing. (We did, however, delight that it was sunny in Ireland, even if just for a few hours!) Eventually we came to my new hotel (Jury’s Inn) and found a nice—albeit simple—breakfast on the Lower Ground floor. For €9.50 (a little over $14) we had an all-you-can-eat buffet of fruit salad (in which L found a hair, at which time the entire bowl was replaced by the waitress who couldn’t say she was sorry enough times), assorted breads including—of course—soda bread (popular here because flour grown in Ireland is too soft to react the same way with yeast as American flour), yogurt (Yoplai, but with a different label), prunes, fruit juices (I haven’t figured out if juice here is always watery, or if the machine was low on fruit juice concentrate), and tea. (The Irish love their tea so much so that, when examined per capita, they drink the most tea in the world—out-drinking even England!) Upon going to the register to pay for our breakfasts, the cashier didn’t want us to pay full price because there wasn’t a full continental breakfast. (I never have managed to understand what she meant, for breakfast on Monday had the same options as Sunday.) She charged us half-price, but that’s where the humour began. She couldn’t find the option to charge €4.50 per person, and she muttered, “I can’t find it; I kill someone I swear. I kill meself.” I was at first put off by her scary comment, and a few seconds later remembered what my guidebook said: the Irish lack must self-esteem and love sarcasm, especially against themselves. She ran the credit card, but then the machine was out of paper, again more of the killing comments. Eventually she got more paper, the charge went through, and we went upstairs – laughing all the way.

I said goodbye to L and K, came up to my room, and began to ponder how to spend the rest of my day. It was only then that I remembered that I had been storing my traveller’s checks in L’s backpack. He was long gone, and off to the bus station. I hoped that he would notice before leaving for Galway, but that didn’t happen. He’s in Galway for a short time, then off to his bike trip, and returns to Galway at some point. Here’s to hoping that we can meet up later in the week, though I am frustrated that he doesn’t know what day he’ll be in the city…oh well. One day at a time.

Annoyed, but knowing there was nothing that could be done now, I plotted my journey to Arthur’s Quay (pronounced Key), a shopping centre in Limerick about ten minutes from my hotel. IFSA-Butler had recommended purchasing a mobile (pronounced mo-bye-l) phone from The Carphone Warehouse. I found it an odd name for a reputable store, but they are an authorized reseller of all four major Irish mobile companies: O2, Vodafone, Three, and Meteor People in Ireland rarely pay for contract plans as we do in the United States. Instead, they purchase pay-as-you-go phones. These plans work just as those in the U.S. where you pay only for the minutes and texts that you use, whenever you use them. But a gimmick that many companies use is encouraging users to “top up” every month by a certain amount. Topping up is the act of adding extra funds to your mobile phone balance. If you top up by €20 every thirty days, then O2 gives you either free texts to any Irish network or free texts and calls to 10 of your favourite O2 numbers. The beauty of the top up promotion is that if you decide next month that you don’t want to, there’s no penalty; the promotion drops off and you pay 13c (€0.13, pronounced 13 cent—notice the singular) per message.

This trip, for me, though meant more than buying a phone. If you’re wondering on the title of this post, now is the time to start paying attention! I had walked around with L for about 18 hours, and had gotten used to the city’s layout and generally what shops were along O’Connell Street. But he was the one reading the map to say turn left, right, etc. It wasn’t until I ventured to Arthur’s Quay was I realizing how independent I could be. Without Phoenix, it’s sure been an adjustment here. (I should mention that—on the whole—I am glad he’s at home; most pubs here would barely have the room for him, seeing as there was barely room for me!) I only made a few wrong turns, but I still knew where I was enough to find my way back. Going the wrong way was fun too, for I saw parts of town that I hadn’t ever before and likely wouldn’t have otherwise seen.

Along my walks, though, I noticed several nuanced accessibility features of the town. (The only inaccessible part of the town I have noticed is a lack of Braille on this hotel’s elevators – but I’ve managed.) At every street corner during the day, you hear posts clicking. Those posts are the posts that have the “push for walk signal” type buttons that we’re accustomed to in the States. Why the constant clicking? My thought is that the crosswalks aren’t directly in one’s line of travel, and they’re rarely in the same place at each intersection. That clicking makes it much easier to find the posts. Then, when you touch the button, a beep confirms your touch. When it’s clear to cross, the clicks quicken until the yellow light, when they go back to a more normal speed. Until I point it out, though, to others they do not seem to even notice, whereas in the States the chirping and whistling lights annoy most anybody walking across the intersections. (Roundabouts, I have found, are deadly to attempt to cross and—like Washington, DC—I’ve found my best method is to avoid them entirely!)

Another accessibility feature: escalators that are like ramps. Rather than being flat and breaking into steps, the escalator stays at an incline. Strangely enough, I found the ones at Arthur’s Quay are ramps on the way up, and steps on the way down. Even Buddy could take the escalators up, but coming down could be an issue without an elevator, for I fear a repeat of the Kennedy Center, in which he went head over heels. (See YouTube video below.)



And a final accessibility feature: all the streets, just like the novels say, are painted with “look right” or “stop look ==>” at each intersection. I learned, though, that it’s not only the Americans that have problems looking the same way, but even those from mainland Europe for they drive on the right like the States. Every time I see one of the painted phrases, though, I am reminded of my father telling me (on multiple occasions before leaving home) “don’t forget to look RIGHT.”

Throughout all of this, though, I realized that IFSA-Butler had not given us details about when and where we would start the program. They gave us our hotel information and they told us to have our flights land by 15:00 (yes, it’s military time over here), but they never gave us specifics on when our dinner was. They did give us other programme participants’ e-mails, but they did this so late that it was virtually impossible to find people here at the hotel on Sunday. I had a good, quiet afternoon, though, when I wrote e-mails, this blog entry, talked to Dad, and set up my Irish cell phone.

The dinner was fine: buffet-style, food was average, and meeting people was like freshman orientation. I met more people than I can remember, and forgot virtually all their names. The names that I didn’t forget, though, I couldn’t match to faces. This wasn’t a problem, for everybody had the same issue. On the way back to my room, I discovered that I had a roommate. K is from Galway, Ireland originally and attends school at University of Texas-Austin. Nice guy, easy-going, and a fun one to talk to. The Irish people’s method of conversation is interesting. Within 30 minutes, he knew a lot about me and my blindness, but I knew little about him. I’d been advised by my guidebook that this was common; the Irish are a welcoming bunch, but they’re very shy about their personal lives until you get to know them – or rather they get to know you!

I ended up going to a couple pubs with K and several others – unfortunately travelling in a big, loud group of Americans. We found a pub called The Bank, located on O’Connell Street right off Lower Manlow Street—the one outside our hotel. We later learned from Noel, the bartender, that it used to be a bank, but was previously a church. The bank (and subsequent pub) was built atop its graveyard! I haven’t had bad luck yet for drinking on the site of a church, but we’ll see what happens; I remain optimistic! We ordered drinks, a Carlsberg for myself—which tastes much like Miller Genuine Draft, sort of a wood-flavour aftertaste. After paying, I inquired about a discount for being the only American in the group with the most Irish name. The bartender said no, but then came back later with shot glasses for everyone filled with a green liquid. When I asked what it was, K quieted me, saying “never ask until you drink it when it’s free.” I don’t know if that’s an Irish thing or not, but I figured that I had nothing to lose seeing as I was with a group and at a reputable bar (minus the whole built on a graveyard part!). It was a green apple liquor, containing virtually no alcohol and lots of sugar. That’s probably the best tasting shot I’ll ever have! Noel even drank with us, though he asked first, “Mind if I join you for a round?” I thought about what this would be like in America if a bartender was seen drinking on the job. I find the Irish culture much more fun! Live Celtic music started, then a Johnny Cash song, Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark,” and then it was back to the Celtic. I enjoyed the music – not too loud, and we were near the band. One lady kept buying drinks, saying her cousin was playing. K said, “That’ll happen all the time. Everyone’s related to everyone over here.” I thought he and she were kidding – they most certainly were not!

I was proud of myself for actually finishing a pint of beer, and then we were on to another bar. We wandered and stopped in at one place, which asked for IDs before entering. That was my first time being carded for anything: I didn’t get carded for my first R-rated movie without parents near my 17th birthday, I didn’t get carded last summer for a lotto ticket, but now I have been! Not everyone had IDs, but enough did and we sweet-talked him into letting us in. Unfortunately after all that, though, there were few people inside and no music. We promptly excused ourselves and wandered to a new place along the Shannon River. I found that bar far less exciting, for the music was loud (the noise level of a rock concert) and therefore I couldn’t enjoy talking with the people. The crowd was much older than us, though, and looked to be the working class that had to wake up early for work! Nevertheless, the party continued well after we left, and that was around 00:30 (30 minutes past midnight)!

I came back to my room and had to talk to O2’s Customer Service about my text messages to the U.S. not working. We finally got that sorted out, and after a chat with B, it was bedtime.

Whew that was a long post, but then again it was an eventful, fun day!