| Postcards
GALWAY Dear C--, I resisted belting out "Galway Bay" while standing calf-deep in the water, squinting at the Cliffs of Moher. Farther down, sloops used to provision for the sail west. A stroppy woman, sunburnt and swimcapped, warned us about wading in September when mackerel buck their way to shore. Tugging at the low neck of her suit, she confided, "They get into your dugs, you know." S-- says hi, and that the Guinness is lovely. The fiddlers and bodhran drummers finish their pints before they finish their sets. (No, no one has taught us to jig.) I've been savoring the whisky. Velvet as peat, especially if accompanied by a John Player cigarette. Don't worry, I haven't gone John Wayne. Soon, tough bike rides through Dingle and the Gap of Dunloe will make me kick bad habits. The bus to Kerry leaves in an hour. Galway |