Galway 1

October 11, 2008

Imperial Hotel, Eyre Square, Galway. My window looks out on a specifically unscenic carpark. This might be well. There will be nothing to see in my room.

Threw my (quite destroyed by the Continental baggage gorillas) luggage down and hit the town, trying to take as much in as I could before jet lag and swollen legs drew me back. I sat in Java’s on High Street drinking tea, and wrote in my little journal–several times–"I’m drinking tea in Java café, looking through an open window onto High Street. And I am happy." I threw blessings around me to the left and right. If I were not so tired, I would still be out on the street blessing that Galwejians.

It has been a rainy autumn. The low places are wetlands, and the Corrib as a raging brown torrent, bashing the underside of the Wolfe Tone Bridge.

Café Journal is gone.

Outdoor market day around St. Nicholas. Bought a Camembert from the cheesemonger, which I had to do because he calls himself a cheesemonger. The fragrance of it fills the room.

PM: Launched out to find Tony O’Dwyer of Crannog Magazine at the Spanish Arch Hotel. I asked twenty people if they were him or knew him, until I slunk away defeated. Tried to take Paul Grealish’s poem to him at the King’s Head, but was told he doesn’t come in weekends at all. Like a tiger, I miss five times for every time I strike.