One of my aunts had befriended an Irishman by the name of George, back in the States. After knowing him for a decent amount of time she found out that his last name is Hallissey. Hallissey, sometimes spelled Hallisey, is not a very common Irish last name. It is also the maiden name of my Grandmother. Hey, turns out that my aunt had unwittingly befriended a relative of ours. Upon finding out this fact my aunt talks to George, and sends me information regarding relatives that still reside in Ireland. George contacts his family, and lets them know that I will be in Ireland and that I wish to meet them. So after my studies are complete I head off to the area that my family is from, a small town in Ireland called Macroom.
Macroom is a small market town with a population of a little more than 3000, located in the southwest of Ireland in County Cork. I arrive there by bus armed with a few phone numbers, addresses, and emails. I only have three days to contact my relatives in the area, because after that I am heading to the Rory Gallagher tribute festival. Arriving in Macroom late on the first day I figure that my sleuthing can wait, so I head to the pub. I walk around and figure that the nightlife in such a small town would be as lively as a George A. Romero movie - I was wrong. The center of town being so small, I could vaguely hear the music from what seemed like the only open pub in town. I head over and sure enough there are people inside, guys mostly. So I head in, sit down, grab a pint and make small talk with the Irishman to the left of me. He's around my age so its easy to relate to him. After drinking and talking for about fifteen minutes or so, he introduces me to everyone else in the pub. Turns out I'm basically the only American in town at the moment, so everyone in the pub wants to talk to me. My ego is pleased. Fairly quickly the owner of the pub grabs a seat next to me and introduces herself. She is well traveled and intelligent, so she's actually interesting to talk to.
It's later into the night and most of the people from the pub have left. Myself, three of the first people in the pub I met, and the pub owner are the only people who remain. Officially the pub is closed, screens down and everything, but we are all still drinking. They all tell me that usually the night doesn't go this late, but something about an American being there makes the small party go longer.
After sleeping off the previous night, I begin my sleuthing with the minimal information I have from my family. Phone numbers, emails, none of them work. So I find a local phone book and start to look through the last names. I find only a few people with the last name of Hallissey, but all the numbers I try lead to dead ends. The local cemetery was also full of dead ends, with none of the headstones having the last name of Hallissey. By the time I was done at the cemetary the day had started to come to an end, and I still had no leads. So I did the only logical thing after a long days work, head to the pub. The few Irishmen in the pub were very helpful, and the pub itself was one of the most interesting I have seen. Inordinately interesting and bizarre objects were entangled in every available crevice of the pub. Sadly the leads the lads in the pub gave me didn't pan out. The next day would be my last chance to meet my relatives.
After sleeping until the early afternoon again, I woke up and immediately got to work. I looked over all of the information I had and was still stuck. That's when I noticed a detail that I hadn't noticed before. All of the addresses were in Cork City...not in Macroom. Having no other options I gathered up all of my belongings and hopped on the bus to Cork. I was going to randomly show up on one of their doorsteps.
About three hours later I am standing in front of a house where my distant cousin Paul supposedly lives. I ring the doorbell and hope for the best. The door opens and a man in his 40s or 50s answers.
"Paul Hallissey?" I ask.
"Yes." He replies in a rather puzzled tone.
"Hi, my name is Trevor. I was in contact with your brother back in the States and he gave me this address. We're related."
"Sorry, this is a really awkward time." He says.
He then proceeds to give me a phone number to contact him at, tells me to call him tomorrow morning, and closes the door on me.
My hope of getting to know my family in Ireland is crushed as soon he closes that door. I head back into town and hope that I have better luck finding a hostel to stay in that night.
After I find and check into a hostel, I figure I might as well walk around Cork City and find something to eat. Suddenly, my cell phone starts to ring - it's Paul. He apologizes for not being able to talk earlier and explains that he was dealing with a very obnoxious customer for his auto repair business. It turns out that I was in fact quite lucky that I showed up on his doorstep at that exact time. If he had not been dealing with the obnoxious customer he would have just assumed I was student selling art, and not answered the door at all. We grabbed a pint later that night and got to know each other a bit. It was one of the most enjoyable conversations that I had while in Ireland.
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