I had not had the opportunity yet to taste (sober) beers like Smithwick's, Galway Hooker, Hop House 13, and a lot of craft beers. Not mention foreign brands like Carlsberg or Tuborg. I still was obsessed with Guinness’ pints. So, that’s all I was ordering every time I was getting close to the bar in Matt Molloy’s pub.
Inside, I loved its different atmospheres. In the first area I enjoyed the evening with live traditional music. According with locals, I was so lucky listening one of the legendary musicians of The Chieftains playing with friends and invited musicians a kind of Irish jamming for almost two hours. The pub has his name, Molloy born in a very well-known area for its talented flutists.
I took some pictures and recorded short videos of that night. Unfortunately most of the files are stuck now in the Gmail account I used with my Irish mobile to create a backup of my WhatsApp chats. I just recovered few.
I stayed in the traditional area a couple of hours. Later, I moved to the second part, a modern one, with a contemporary music. There was a local band playing. (I can´t remember the name). I was tipsy, and one year after my visit I only can remind a table with 4 or 5 persons where I was invited to have a place. I talked with all of them but particularly with a white-dressed girl. She told me they were friends visiting Westport just for the weekend. She was a Spanish teacher in a closer town.
Place was full. At least two bachelor parties and a gay birthday celebration were taking place at Matt Molloy’s. I was having a really great time.
The next day, when I woke up, I assumed I spent some cash in my wallet and after some pints I went to bed.
I was wrong.
In some point of the night I got out from Matt Molloy’s, under the rain, probably straight to the Old Mill Hostel. But I saw an ATM and my drunken mind said: Let’s have a last round of pints. So, I returned to the pub and then a really blackout came to me.
That was my second alcoholic-awkward moment in my trip. A couple of days before, in Dublin, K and A invited me to take a walk. We visited Glendalough. On our way I was in the middle of a hangover, trying to think in English when I barely could have a thought even in Spanish. So K, A, guys, that’s the reason why I was so quieted on the road. Well, in Westport I was feeling worse than that day.
I had a remarkable night, a perfect way to begin a new week. But I promised to myself stop drinking like a thirsty camel after passed the Sahara. I kept my words, until the day I was a tourist guide for an Italian new friend, in Galway an evening of November.