Galway and I have a complicated relationship.
After nearly dying in Limerick, I was ready for Galway. I was looking forward to seeing NUI Galway and scouting out the venue for Itzacon. I was curious to see if I remembered how to find my way around. And after driving (well, being driven) around Limerick, I was a little worried that it would be a lot bigger than I remembered.
Living in Dublin and travelling around the country with a couple of hard-core Dubs, it’s easy to slip into the Dublin mindset: that Dublin is the biggest, awesomest, most user-friendly place in Ireland, the only place worth seeing, working, or living in. Every other town in Ireland is a backwater tourist playground (at best), tiny and devoid of “mod cons.” I acknowledge this is all ridiculous, and I will tease the daylights out of any Dub who expresses these opinions, but it clearly seeped into my head because I was surprised at how much of Limerick there was, and how clueless I was at navigating through it. So I was nervous about Galway. Especially when we finally found the B&B and so far none of the landmarks I remembered seemed to line up with each other.
The sock liked Galway.
Upon arrival, I borrowed the company laptop, checked all communication channels, and did some searching for food. I was craving takeaway Chinese, but would have settled for a decent sit-in Indian place. I found a couple possibilities, noticed patterns in where eateries were clustered, and tried to memorize the map. I set aside any memories I had of the place, trusted the map, and set out into the unknown.
The first few sights were unfamiliar, so I watched street names and minded directions carefully. After a few blocks I noticed the train/bus station, and the old memories clicked into place with the map in my head and the streets I was on. I felt my way through town until I found the Spanish Arch and a decent Indian place, then proceeded to have a great dinner. I have big plans to eat there again when I head out for Itzacon.
The promotion itself the next day went okay. We were huddled in a corner of an out-of-the-way snack bar, and not permitted to venture out to advertise, so we spent a lot of time hanging out, knitting, and chatting with the people who did find us. My sock lounged on the table:
I tried to get a decent picture of the little knitted cupcakes (or “buns” as everyone called them):
People went out of their way to come see the buns. I have lost track of how many times I have been asked, nay, begged to consider selling them. People will come, often brought by people who have been by before, and look longingly at them. They will pick them up, coo, and make eyes at me. They believe that if they convince me of their deep longing, that their lives will be complete if I will only sell them a bun, just one bun, then I will relent and take their money in exchange for a little knitted confection.
Alas, I have a hard heart and a vague fear of being fired. I did consider whipping up a few on my own to sell, but realized quickly that if I started making money on the side from this gig I would probably never work again. It’s probably bad enough that I’ve been giving out pre-stamped shop loyalty cards to people who seem interested.
As with every other location, even freezing Limerick, I enjoyed Galway. I appreciated the opportunity to see a little more of it than I did the other locations, and I am looking forward to heading back. On the way home, I finished off the toe of the second sock, resulting in a finished pair of socks from the trip. I didn’t even have to cheat — I cast on for the first sock while waiting for my lift on the way to Dundalk, and grafted the toe while in the van on the way back from Galway. They’re in the laundry now, so no pictures…but they are a lovely memento.
Dixie Stix 