Current location: Westport, Ireland

I’ve always heard about black pudding. I’ve never really known what it was, but I’ve been hearing about it all of my life. It’s an Irish thing. I had determined that while I was here in Ireland, I would do as much as I could to sample local culture and cuisine (aside from the consumption of "real" Guinness); and so yesterday, I had black pudding as a starter before my meal.

I arrived in Ireland safe and sound on Sunday afternoon, without any problems save for a bit of confusion in Heathrow airport about which connection flight I was supposed to be taking. After that was sorted out and I took a flight two hours after my original one, I got to Dublin and hunted down a bus to take me to the hostel where my reservations were set up. Again, there was confusion; the hostel is located on Mountjoy Street in Dublin, but whenever I asked anyone for directions, they invariably thought I meant Mountjoy Square; which, I soon discovered, is nowhere near Mountjoy Street itself. So I wandered about a bit, backpack on my back getting heavier and heavier, until I finally discovered where Mountjoy Street is and made my way there. I got to the hostel, checked in gratefully, and settled in a bit.

Forget what I’d planned; I discovered very quickly that the hostel notion is a good one when you’re young and broke, but I’m not either of those things; and I haven’t liked sharing a room with anyone since my third year of college. The first night was spent sharing a room with nine other guys, noise made tolerable by my earplugs. I’ve decided that as much as possible for the rest of this trip, I’m going to avoid the hostels.

The second day, Monday, my friend A– and I met up in front of Trinity college as we had planned in a rushed 5:30 a.m. phone conversation a month before. Together we saw the Book of Kells and wandered around Dublin for a bit. I decided that I liked the hotel she was staying in off of Gardiner Street, and checked in there. Yesterday, we took a cab from Dublin to Westport, visiting an archaeological site along the way; once here we found a bed and breakfast (helpful hint: bed and breakfasts in rural Ireland are nearly as cheap as the hostels, and are much more comfortable) and wandered around the town. Westport is a gorgeous city and I love it here — of course, I’ve loved every bit of Ireland that I’ve seen (with the exception of the damn hostel). After checking out of the B&B, we went downtown to have dinner and a look around.

We finally had dinner at about 9:00, sun still shining (the sun sets late at this time of year in Ireland); and it was here that I had black pudding for the first time. I’d heard of it, like I said, and I saw it on the menu; when the waitress asked what I wanted for a starter, I said, "This looks interesting: black pudding. I’ve never had it, so I’d like to try some." This is generally a good way to find new foods; just look at the menu, find something you’ve never had (and, indeally, can’t pronounce), and pick that.

A– paled when she heard me order the black pudding. I turned to her. "What?" I said. "What’s black pudding made of?"

"You’ll find out," she said.

The waitress tried to explain. "It’s very nice," she said, "especially the way we make it here. It’s made from–"

A– interrupted. "No, don’t tell him," she said. "Let him find out for himself."

By this point, I’d figured it out; I didn’t want to say it out loud, because I didn’t want to bother A– any further than I had to. And, to be honest, I was beginning to feel a bit wary about eating it.

But the waitress brought the plate with its two discs of a black, gelatinous and almost doughy substance. I poked at it, marveling at the white bits and noticing that it wasn’t nearly as liquid as I’d expected. Hesitantly, I took an experimental bite, and discovered that I quite liked it.

"This is really good," I told A–. She paled again, but chuckled and went back to her own salmon cakes. I took a sip of my Coke (they have Coke in Ireland — it’s very popular over here, apparently) and went back to eating black pudding; all the while imagining myself as Charlton Heston in the final scene of the film Solyent Green, riding the back of a knacker lorry and screaming, "Black pudding is COW’S BLOOD!!!"

I don’t know how funny the above story is, but it amused me at the time. It’s still amusing to me a couple of days later. I’m going to be here in Ireland for a couple more days, and then A– and I are headed over to Scotland and Wales and England. Then on the 19th, she heads from Aberdeen to Iceland, and I head over the channel to Belgium. I’ve decided to cut Italy out of my trip; I gave it careful thought and realized that Ireland by itself is really worthy of the whole month, and there would be no way that I could see everything that I want to see in Europe without feeling pressured or rushed. So the plan now is Ireland -> Wales -> Scotland -> London -> Belgium -> Germany -> France -> Amsterdam -> home. I’m keeping an extensive written journal while on this trip, and will post on line when I can. Suffice to say: Ireland is a beautiful country, and I could live here quite happily. Strangely enough, I actually feel quite at home here. I couldn’t possibly move here, of course; after all, the other place where I feel completely at home is with Jennifer. I like having A– here with me to enjoy Ireland with, but without Jennifer to share it with me, it seems like somewhat less than it could be.

Slianté!