Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days

So I didn't make it up to Donegal this past weekend, but I did get up to Sligo, home county of William Butler Yeats. Here's his statue in Sligo town, where I stayed a couple nights:

He looks kind of like a butterfly. Also, he is absolutely covered in his own poetry. And note that he only has half a pair of glasses; apparently they get stolen quite frequently because people like saying that they have Yeats' glasses. I love this statue so much.

This was my first solo trip of the semester. I was a bit apprehensive to travel alone, but it was absolutely the best experience I've had here as yet. I talked to so many more people than I ever would have had I been with friends, and our conversations actually went beyond the "What part of the states are you from/do you like it here/why Ireland" stage (this is a big deal for me).
People I met on Day 1:
-An old Sligo man reading Cosmo absolutely unashamedly on the train.
-My hostel proprietress: a middle-aged British woman whom I don't think I ever saw sober. She was fabulous. Within the first five minutes of our acquaintanceship she was complaining to me (and by complaining I mean yelling) about the men in her life. I apologize to any males reading this, but if any subject is to ensure an automatic understanding between a single 37-year-old British woman and a single 20-year-old American woman, it's men.
-A country boy from a farm out of Sligo town. He was the only person I've met whose accent I absolutely could not decipher. Maybe it's just because I met him at a pub, and he was quite far along by the time we started chatting.
Saturday I took a day trip down to Strandhill, a seaside town recommended to me by both the man on the train and my hostel proprietress. It was a bit of a nasty day, but still quite lovely.
The town, with Knocknarea Mountain in the background.

Knocknarea. I wanted desperately to climb it, but couldn't find a road up to it:


From the sand dunes by the Atlantic:

If you look really hard, you can see the Statue of Liberty:

Honestly this time, if you look really close you can see two surfers--the west coast of Ireland is renowned for its surfing:

Saturday night I went to a little pub called Foley's (again on the recommendation of my drunken Brit) that was having a trad (traditional music) session. It was absolutely full by the time I got there, so I just sat down at a table with another girl (named Shauna), and thus begins the night's adventures. People I met that night:
-About ten old men, who kept buying me drinks and telling me to watch out for other Irish men.
-Shauna's mum, who was absolutely wasted and told me to watch out for all the old Irish men in the pub (and who gave me the first motherly hug I've had in months).
-A British painter named Dominick, who was there to watch his friend, who was...
-The trad fiddler (whose name I sadly can't remember); he's also an emerging playwright, and looked amazingly like Jesus except for the fact that he was sipping (sipping) vodka.
After the trad session, Dominick and Jesus took me to an artsy pub and we talked the night away about (what else) art. The whole thing was almost embarrassingly bohemian, but also the best craic I've had since I got here.
Before my train on Sunday morning I toured the town and nearby Doorly Park.

The Quays along Garavogue River:

I met one of the old men from Foley's walking his dog along the river, so we walked on a stretch together. I don't think he even came up to my shoulder. I should have taken a picture of the two of us.
The mountains reminded me of something you'd see in the American southwest (minus, of course, the deserts):

And Sunday saw me safely back in Dublin. Monday my art history class headed out for a trip to Monasterboice (a cemetery) and Newgrange, a ridiculously old (predates the Pyramids) burial mound in County Meath.
Celtic crosses at Monasterboyce:

Newgrange, on possibly the windiest day I've experienced here (it takes a lot to blow me over, but I swear I was nearly knocked off my feet):

The tomb entrance (we went inside, but couldn't take pictures):

And of course, the obligatory Irish countryside shot:

And that's it for my quick mid-midterm catch-up. I leave absurdly early tomorrow morning for the IES trip to Belfast (and haven't started packing yet), so I should maybe get on that.
Happy leap year, everyone!