Bringing a Hangover to Northern Ireland

23-24 April 2009

Bringing a Hangover to Northern Ireland

On Thursday night the endocrinology residents that I work with at Connolly Hospital invited Ryan and me out to drinks and a fancy dinner courtesy of one of the many pharmaceutical sales reps who come to the hospital. Ryan and I arrived towards the end of the cocktail hour at a bar called Ron Blacks. When met the pharm rep and two of the residents, Dave and Ben, who were already a few beers in. Since the pharm rep insisted we get a drink, I ordered a Guinness and Ryan got a gin & tonic…and so the night began! Although dinner was scheduled to begin at 8:30, we ended up staying at the bar well after that as more people showed up and drinks were continually ordered. Eventually we walked the few blocks down the road to a new trendy Italian restaurant called Il Segretto. More drinks were ordered as well as bottles of red and white wine. We had a three course meal. I had artichoke and cheese ravioli as a starter and for my main, a dish whose name was the butt of many of the night’s jokes: Spatch-cocked Poussin. With a name like that, I had to try it. It turned out to be far more ordinary than the name suggested, it was a roast chicken and apparently spatch-cocking was the manner in which they split the breast and removed the spine.

As the wine continued to flow, everyone got sillier and sillier. The pharm rep did a quick talk on the drugs she sells, had us fill out some questionnaires, and then drew our names out of a hat to win prizes. I won a joke gift that is called the Nag-a-gator. It looks like a car navigation system, but all it does it say annoying back-seat-driver type comments when you push the bottom. Ryan won this head massager thing that is actually not a bad prize. One of the interns, Ben, got the funniest gift by far: a giant ballpoint pen the size of my arm that was unmistakably phallic in nature. This gift also sparked a countless number of jokes for the rest of the night. Finally, after all of the wine was drunk and the dessert platter licked clean it was midnight. We watched in awe as the pharm rep paid the €876 bill for 10 people.

It was already much later than Ryan and I ever expected to be out for a “work” dinner and plus, we had booked tickets on a train to Northern Ireland that left at 7:30 the next morning! We assumed that everyone would call it a night, but much to our surprise, the whole group of about eight of us headed over to another lively and crowded bar. It seems that they were not ready to end the night yet. We told ourselves we would be polite and go for one more quick drink. Before we had even finished our first beer, someone had bought us a second round already which of course meant we had to stay and drink longer. Now don’t get me wrong, we were among great company, the residents are a lot of fun, but we were exhausted and dreading getting up a few hours from now. We were so desperate to get rid of our beers without having to chug them and be wasted that both Ryan and I went to the bathroom and dumped some of it in the toilet. When we came back, there was a third round waiting for us. We didn’t really attempt to finish most of that though and finally said our goodbyes. Everyone was well on their way to being quite drunk at that point. I was impressed that they could go out and do this knowing they had to be up early and into the hospital for a long day. The life of a resident is definitely more laidback over here, but still! The Irish definitely know how to hold their liquor and party. By the time we finally got back home, it was 2:30 in the morning and at last we could sleep.

The next morning with only a few hours sleep, we were certainly exhausted. We dragged ourselves out of bed feeling dehydrated and a bit hungover. I thought of the residents who actually had to go into work that day and wondered how they were managing and how much longer they stayed out and more they drank. Luckily we only had a 5 minute walk over to Connolly Station where we boarded the train to Belfast in Northern Ireland. About an hour and a half later we pulled into the station.

Our plan was not to stay in Belfast, but rather to head further north to the Causeway Coast which is the northern most coast of Ireland. We had about 45 minutes until our next train came so we took a stroll down the road and happened to find a wonderful market that only takes place on Friday mornings called St. George’s Market. Inside of this large warehouse type space were antiques, junk, and lots of food including fresh seafood, produce, Irish soda breads, potato farls and scones, farm fresh eggs from ducks, geese and chickens, meats, cheese, and much more. I am a big fan of markets and could spend a couple hours in one taking pictures, looking at the local foods and hopefully having a taste. I bought a few scones and then we picked up an early lunch from a food stand. We had these delicious sausages on floury soft rolls with sautéed onions and a delicious red pepper spread. It makes my mouth water just to think of it. The prices were so much cheaper than in the Republic of Ireland too. Although we were still on the same island and had only taken a 1.5 hour ride, we technically were in a different country as Northern Ireland is part of the UK, uses a different currency and different phone systems just to name a few. The people were a bit different too, still just as friendly, but their accents were quite different, sounding like a mix between Scottish and Irish (they pronounce “now” like “nigh” and hour like “ire.”). Their faces also looked a tad more English than the people in the Republic.

We took the next train north to a town called Ballymena and from there had to take a bus to Coleraine. This was the closest we could get to the coast by major transit. From there on out, we needed to use local buses (which ran very infrequently) or rent a car. Once we arrived at the Coleraine bus station, we found there was a bus headed along the Causeway coast that would leave in about 20 minutes. In the meantime we walked down to other tourist office to see how we were going to fit in all the sights we wanted to see in Northern Ireland that weekend without a car. In talking to the woman there, we found out that frankly it was not easy to get around by bus outside of the heavy tourist season. As we were chatting with the woman in the tourist office, I looked at my watch and realized that we had literally a minute or two to get back to the station and catch our bus. We hesitated for less than a minute, and then I ran down the road with Ryan following behind carrying our bag. The bus was literally pulling away from the station as I approached, I ran after it a bit as it approached an intersection and then I gave up knowing how the drivers won’t open bus doors in the middle of intersections. Ryan was upset that I hadn’t at least tried to get the driver to open the door. We went back to the station and found that the next bus wouldn’t be going that way for another two hours! It was not a happy moment. Coleraine wasn’t a town you needed to spend two hours in and we felt trapped and I think Ryan wanted to strangle me for not planning things better or arranging a car back in Dublin (I had agreed to plan the weekend for us…and it didn’t help that we were cranky and sleep deprived.) I unsuccessfully made a few phone calls to try to find a local rental car. Finally I approached a taxi driver and bargained him down for a ride to the near by Bushmills Whiskey Distillery. We got over there for about £7 which we later discovered wasn’t really anymore than a bus ride for two.

Now that we had made it to Bushmills, my spirits were feeling up again, and it wasn’t just at the prospect of drinking some whiskey. When we emerged from the taxi, we could smell the grainy alcoholic odors in the air. We were already to join the next tour of the distillery when we hit another road block. Ryan and I were dragging around a small rolling suitcase for the weekend. The woman at the desk told is that bags were not allowed on the tour and that due to security reasons they were not allowed to store or watch any bags for us. She must have seen the disappointed look on our faces and she apologized sincerely and handed us each a small bottle of whiskey as a consolation. As we walked out the door, I found myself bursting into tears. It seemed so ridiculous to cry over a whiskey distillery, but it was more the frustration of the weekend so far and the tiredness I was feeling that made me emotional. Ryan calmly walked me back into the entrance and up to the front desk where he bought one ticket for the tour. “I’ll be waiting here when you get out,” he said.

Feeling better now and touched by Ryan’s selfless offer to send me instead, I joined the tour. I have to say it was quite an educational experience. Bushmills is the oldest whisky distillery in the world, begun in 1648 however whiskey was made on this site back in the 1200s. The tour guide led us through the various rooms and stages of Irish whiskey production. First of all, Irish whisky is different from Bourbon or Scotch in that it is triple distilled (versus once for Bourbon and twice for Scotch). The Irish, of course, believe that this makes their whiskey quite superior to the rest. I learned about the complete process. It begins with malted barley which goes thorough the girst. It is then added to boiling hot local river water in the mashtun. After this, the leftover grain is filtered out and sold to local farmers to feed their livestock. To the liquid remains, they add yeast and now it is termed the “wash” and is about 8% alcohol. Then it goes through the triple distilling process. That stillhouse was as hot a tropical island and it seems the fumes alone could get a person drunk! After the third distilling, the whiskey is 85% alcohol but they of course dilute it down. Then they do things like mixing it and getting the color right before it is stored in barrels.

They took us into the barrel storeroom which smelled like a wine cork. They use mainly old Bourbon oak barrels from the US. This gives more flavors to the whiskey. (Brand new Bourbon barrels are burned on the inside to give flavor to Bourbon). Depending on which whiskey they are making, it could age in a recycled Spanish Port barrel or French sherry barrel. The time spent in the barrels also depends on which of their whiskeys they are making, the longer the better and more expensive. Two percent of the alcohol is lost to evaporation. They call this the “angel’s share.” Finally, I got to have my free sample of whiskey. I chose the Bushmills 12 year single malt (single malt means it is pure distilled whiskey vs. having unmalted whiskey added). I liked it more than I thought I would. I had it on the rocks to take the edge off, but it was nice…sweet and a bit nutty.

Now with a little whiskey to take the edge off the day, Ryan and I boarded a bus to a town called Ballycastle which is one of the larger towns on the Causeway Coast. We saw there was a hostel there and figured we could get a room there. Thirty minutes later after a ride down the rugged coast, we arrived at seaside Ballycastle. The hostel as in prime location across from the harbor, but they were full! It was hard to believe considering the town seemed practically deserted. We had hit another road block. The tourist office was around the corner and a very friendly woman helped us find accommodation in the area after learning all of the hostels were fully booked. Since she knew we were there primarily to see the Giant’s Causeway and the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, she suggested we stay in a smaller town called Ballintoy and she found us the last room in a B&B. It felt good to finally have a plan in motion and luckily the next bus arrived shortly.

Ballintoy was more of a village than a town. It consisted of a tiny main street containing two pubs, two B&B’s and lots of farm land from the ocean cliff up to the nearby mountains. We received a warm welcome to the B&B and found a warm and cozy room to drop our bags. It was later in the afternoon at this point with intermittent rain, but we figured we should salvage this rest of this haphazard day and see some of the sights. Just 10-15 minutes up the road from our B&B was the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge. This bridge was built a few hundred years ago by local salmon fisherman who wanted to reach the best fishing spot, which was on a rocky island just off the coast. They managed to build a rope suspension bridge that hovers tentatively over the rough rocky sea below on its way to this island that looks more like a mossy boulder.

Due to the inclement weather, the bridge had closed early for the day but we were still able to explore the trails around it and admire the bridge from afar. Ryan decided he found this to be the most beautiful coastline he had seen in Ireland so far. It was certainly rugged and the mist and fog that day gave it a magical feeling as well. We saw ponies grazing in the fields, and huge black slugs out basking in the moisture. While we were taking lots of great pictures, we ran into another tourist who also seemed to be really enjoying the scenery with his camera. He was from the Czech Republic and we took pictures of each other before parting ways.

After a long and somewhat stressful day, we felt damp and cold and hungry as anything. We ended up at the Rope Bridge Restaurant (one of the two pubs) on the road and wolfed down a delicious meal. Ryan had a great burger and had cod which was fried perfectly and tasted wonderful with malted vinegar. We shared some garlic potato wedges which were to die for and some champ (mashed potatoes with leeks) and finished it off with some warm apple crumble.

The sun was beginning to set as we left the restaurant and it painted the sky and fluffy clouds with bright pinks and reds. Luckily we had our cameras in hand and we walked through Ballintoy. The sheep pastures line the street and we walked along enjoying the cacophony of baaing sheep all around us. Right on the coast of Ballintoy sits a simple white stucco church and small cemetery. The dramatic coast with the vivid sunset behind the church was really beautiful and we enjoyed that sunset until it was far below the horizon.

On our way back to the B&B I heard the faint sounds of Irish music drifting out of the other pub in town. We walked into a small and cozy pub with a three person band: guitar, harp and violin. I sipped my cider and enjoyed the lovely and relaxing traditional music. Just as we were about to leave, we ran into our Czech acquaintance and his two travel buddies as it turns out they were also staying in our B&B. We didn’t stay at the pub too long because the idea of getting a good nights sleep was even more appealing after our journey.