Quist World Tour

About a year ago, a friend asked us if we’d be interested in going to Scotland for the British Open if he won the chance to buy 4 tickets in the ticket lottery. At the end of October he found out he’d won. For a few hours I was celebrating my opportunity to see top-notch tennis players, until my ignorance became apparent to the rest of the foursome. Turns out it’s a golf tournament; I offer that tidbit for anyone else out there like me. After 9 months of anticipation and almost 2 weeks of touring Scotland, the big day was here. Our fellow traveler not only won the chance to buy tickets, he won the chance to buy them for the final day. Again, for those like me, that means they have already played a round of golf for each of the first 3 days, and those that made the cut play a last round on the final day. The excitement of it was heightened because it was the 150 th anniversary of the British Open, and it was being played—as it is every 5 years now—at the birthplace of golf, St Andr

Ireland and Scotland are green. And moist (sorry if that word triggers you, but it’s true). And beautiful. They are also filled with ruins. Everywhere we drive, major or minor stone buildings are in varying states of disarray, amidst well-kept farms, towns, cities and islands. One hollowed-out castle is part of a park with a small lake, a playground, and a sculpture walk. When we wandered into the “inside” of the castle walls, a man was throwing a ball to his dog, a child was climbing the walls, and a family was spreading a blanket for a picnic in the grassy center. It’s just part of the city. Our first night was in a hotel called Castle Kilronan, which was more of a big manor house than a castle. Still an amazing place. It had to be completely restored because the last family that lived there couldn’t afford it, didn’t want to pay taxes on it, and so they removed the roof. If there’s no roof, it’s not technically a building for tax purposes. But even lovely restorations require ma

Last week we had the opportunity to go to a hurling match. It was the All-Ireland Semifinals in Dublin, with Galway up against the favored Limerick. We had been staying in Galway, where people we met at a pub told us all about hurling. From the moment we decided to go to the match, all we had to do was bring it up with anyone we encountered. No further icebreakers necessary. We would hear their opinions about the game, about the team, about their fellow Irish as well as a number of opinions about other sports or countries that are less superior. What is hurling, you ask? We had no idea. So. Picture thirteen people from each side (at least by my count) running around on a pitch that is larger than an American football field. They each have a helmet and a hurling stick. Imagine a giant wooden spoon, and you sort of have a hurling stick. They use the stick to keep a very heavy tennis ball in motion by bouncing it, hitting it, scooping it off the field or carrying the ball on the stick