A locked door, a key, and the beautiful Irish countryside

A few weeks ago our daughter Heather and son-in-law Toby came to visit, and we took our first cross-Ireland trip. We headed to the west coast and saw the Cliffs of Moher, the city of Galway, and an area called the Connemara. We drove winding, narrow country roads, dodged sheep, saw beautiful vistas, mountains, lakes, castles, ancient ruins and everything green, green, green. Sandy drove the car while Steve navigated, an arrangement we have mutually agreed is best for our marriage. Actually she has become quite a good driver over here, and she handled the twisty, tight, stone-wall-lined country roads with grace and courage. 

Here are some of the highlights:

The Cliffs of Moher.

Heather and Toby.

Traffic jam.

Kylemore Abbey.

Doolough pass.

Our next album cover.

More Doolough Pass.

Narnia?


We arrived back home to our apartment on Friday evening, the first night of a three day holiday weekend (Monday was to be a public "Bank Holiday"; something the Irish celebrate fairly regularly). As Sandy bent to unlock the door, she suddenly stood up wide-eyed and said,"Oh my gosh, she locked the other lock! We're locked out!!!"

An explanation is in order. Our apartment door has two locks. One is opened with this key:

And one is opened with this key:

The building is around 150 years old and we think that the brass key is nearly that old. We had decided not to use the brass keys because they were so clunky to carry around. And so in our wisdom had safely stored them away inside our apartment. Unfortunately, while we were on vacation our landlord, the owner of the apartment, had come over to let some maintenance man into the apartment and proceeded to lock up the apartment when she was done. So now it is Friday night, the beginning of the holiday weekend, we are locked out and our landlord lives about two hours away.

We managed to find one neighbor home who had the phone number of the apartment management company. We called thinking of course they would have an extra set of keys.  But of course, they informed us only the landlord has the brass key. We called a locksmith who informed us that such locks could only be opened by drilling them out. We couldn't quite see doing that to a historical building. So we called our landlord hoping against hope they hadn't left for a vacation themselves. They answered, and were appropriately aghast and apologetic (and probably a little incredulous that we stupid Americans weren't using the brass lock). But the question was, how do we get the brass key from their home to ours, late on a Friday night, with them living so far away? Well it turns out there is a tour bus that runs from their town to Dublin, and they happen to know the bus driver. And that's how we found ourselves a couple of hours later trudging two miles into the center of Dublin, to stand in front of a hotel in an area we didn't know, and wait for a big white tour bus, carrying a man, who was carrying our brass key. And who, without exchanging a word, based only on eye contact, a smile, and Sandy mouthing the word "key", tossed us an envelope from the top step of the bus. Brilliant!

Only in Ireland.