Gallagh Man

In the U.S., our last name is pronounced "Galla-ger" (or alternatively, "Galla-grrr"). But here in Ireland, we have learned to say "Galla-hare" (or alternatively, "Galla-her") or face dealing with very confused people.

"Galla-grrr," they say (or alternatively, "Galla-gare"). "And how would you be spelling that now?"

We spell it for them, and they say, "Oh, you mean Galla-hare, why didn't you say so?"

Yesterday, we visited the National Museum of Ireland - Archaeology, where we learned about Gallagh Man:

Here is an illustration:

Fortunately for me, my Gallagh Man is not dessicated, although perhaps he would look nice in a "deerskin cape that [extends] to the knees."

Here he is, surveying the landscape of Temple Bar:

"This is my land, and with so many of my people"

And here he is in front of Gallagher's Boxty (potato pancake) Totally Irish:

The next window over has a nice poem. It's hard to see; it says:

Dream me a city where I can be myself.

Where brewery hops drift on the morning breeze,

     & a tin whistle swells your soul

Where the rain sparks the cobbles, laughter surrounds 

   And a nation's woes are solved from a barstool

Where tales grow taller, and old friends become new

   Where conversations start as day ends

Dream me a city, and I'll show you Dublin

   And you will feel home