Biker Bar

Our most interesting days in Galway always seem to start with a phone call from Mick- climbing mountains, nights in Ballinrobe, road trips to Cork. Thursday it was a text message that went something like this: "Have you ever been to the biker bar? You have to go. Cultural experience." Well, you know Erin and me- can't pass up a cultural experience. 

So, off we were to Sally Long's, a bar in the heart of Galway that we never knew existed (after a night there, I realized that the regular clientele probably like it that way). At first glance, it was sort of a dive bar, full of guys with long hair and leather jackets. The bar staff looked like they had seen their fair share of rough nights. We had a few pints, and the place started to grow on us. Well, most of us. I think Erin was a little uncomfortable the whole time we were there. The coolest part of the bar was a mural that depicted the Last Supper. Don't worry, it didn't compromise the edginess of the bar; the heads of Jesus and his disciples were replaced by those of rock n' roll icons- Van Halen, Elvis, etc. There was a good rock band playing, and the bartender gave us vouchers for 1 euro off each of our drinks (possibly because we were among the only females in the place, but we'll take it). 

After witnessing a surprisingly subtle drug bust, we decided to call it a night. The wind practically carried us home. It was really bad that night; our curtains blew all night even though our windows were locked shut. 

Friday and Saturday were girls' nights out. Erin, Sheila, and I went to Monroe's to see David's band play. I suppose I should stop calling it David's band since he's no longer a member... Nights like Saturday help us realize why Americans tend to have a bad reputation in Europe. We spent a good portion of the night watching girls from Florida make complete fools of themselves. We decided to claim Canadian citizenship for the night. After the show, we hung out with the band for awhile until the bar staff made us leave. At the next bar, we met some Irish boys. One was from Donegal and the other two were from Dublin and Tiperary. When the bar closed, we all went to McDonald's where the conversation turned to, of all things, the American welfare state. That's when we knew it was time for bed. We said goodbye to our new friends and headed home. 

It was still windy on Saturday, but Sunday was the most gorgeous day yet. It was about 70 degrees and sunny all day long. We sat out in the backyard, got bagels, and walked around the city. 

Our time in Galway is winding down quickly. We are both going to quit work on Friday, and we leave for Scotland Saturday morning. I'm lucky to still be working- I was pretty sure I'd be fired last Thursday. I was on Men's Floor talking to a couple of my co-workers about our managers. We discussed our opinions of them for a few minutes- one uses her pregnancy as an excuse not to do anything and another is the reason no one likes working there, among other things- when I heard someone on my walkie talkie saying, "Hello? Men's floor?" I said, "Go ahead," and Aisling responded, "Turn your radio off. We can hear everything you're saying." 

Our jaws dropped and cheeks turned an unhealthy shade of red. We stared at each other with our hands over our mouths for a solid minute. It was almost 5pm, and just about time for the change in shifts, so everyone was leaving, but I had to stay on until 6pm. I walked downstairs to lady's floor, where everyone looked at me. "You ALL heard me?" They just nodded, and I laughed uncomfortably. I was positive that I would be fired.

Luckily, all the managers were having a meeting in the office upstairs. I guess they turned their radios down because no one mentioned it after that day. I guess I learned my lesson: don't gossip... and if you do, make sure your radio is off.

We don't have much time left in Galway, so we'll have to pack a lot in this week. You can count on some adventures over the next few days. Hopefully they'll involve more calls from Mick and less radio mishaps!