Day 3 – (August 24th, 2014)
I woke up beside myself with self-loathing because my beloved Bertha had once again gone missing. This time, I only had my own stupidity to blame. Well stupidity and many, many pints of Guinness.
At this point I let all the possible options run through my brain and think of the most likely scenario that will reunite me with Bertha (or at least the complete version of her). Luckily I made business cards for the trip with detailed information about this website, my email address and Instagram accounts. Being the proud and shameless over-sharing individual that I am, I passed them out throughout the night when people asked how they could follow the trip. If the luck of the Irish was still on my side, someone could possibly contact me over the next few days.
Still, I did not want to leave anything to chance and I tried fruitlessly to rack my brain on other possibilities to get into contact with that merry Irish bunch. Considering I had no one’s contact information outside of their first names, some occupations, and life stories, I started searching Facebook using all of the stalking techniques I have picked up over the years.
Unfortunately, the spellings of Irish names are so unique and all over the place that I was at a loss. For example, I knew Sinead’s brother’s name was Colin (at least it sounded that way) but it very easily could have been Collum, Colm, Collin, you get the point. Next, I knew he was a doctor in the area so I started searching for all doctors in Clare County with some variation of that first name. I even called 4 of them that could be matches to no avail.
Finally, I called 10 of the most popular bus charter companies in the area after I scoured through all the photos I took the previous day to see if I could find the name of the charter anywhere. Again, this was a fruitless endeavor.
Dejected, I gave up my search after 4 or 5 hours and pinned my hopes of continuing my trip on the kindness of the Irish. Considering how wonderful and generous everyone has been to this point, I liked my chances but was still frustrated with myself.
At this point, I knew that I had exhausted my personal capabilities to find Bertha, so I just needed to let go and enjoy the next few days without worrying too much about her. Shortly after this realization, I started chatting with a friend I met earlier in the day at the hostel. She is a South African living in London named Holly and doesn’t know anyone in Ennis like myself so we decide to grab dinner and a few drinks. After a few drinks, we meet up with a few Americans she met on a tour bus earlier in the day. What could have been a night of sulking and self-deprecating turns into one of merriment as we once again jump from bar to bar in search of the best live music and the most savage craic.
The night goes later than expected considering I want to get to Shannon airport before Jason Diggs arrives so that I can drop off a few bags in their storage area before he and I tour Ireland together.