Wilde On Part 2
Ok, maybe you could care less about my travels. Regardless, I have continued my travel diary-Rick Steves eat your heart out:
Day 4: At breakfast we get fussed at by the Pregnant girl because we kept her husband out too late. We didn't restrain nor encourage him in any way, honey! And he didn't accompany us on the fence scaling adventure, so what can I say? Nevertheless, we're off on the bus again, after a hearty breakfast of eggs & sausage that is a different color brown than the sausage we get back in the States. I love sausage (stop snickering & get your mind out of the gutter) but I was really regretting eating that sausage as our bus ambled out of Dublin & through the Irish countryside. It might be that I'm riding in the back of the bus (where there is more room to spread out mind you), or it could be the many pints I drank last night, or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Whatever it is my stomach is not doing so good this morning. We finally stop at a little store to stretch & use the can (Let me tell you folks bathrooms in Ireland are really cold). I find a banana, I think that might help to put something in my stomach besides greasy sausage. I also buy a Coke. I am addicted to Coca-Cola, but the Coke tastes different. After reading the ingredients I figure out why. Coke in the states is made with Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup and/or sucrose, caramel color, phosphoric acid, natural flavors, and caffeine(my friend, my friend). However the ingredient list on this coke doesn't look the same. I think I have blocked it out of my memory but I can't remember what sweetens cokes in Ireland, but it was something to do with vegetables. It just doesn't taste the same. Nonetheless, I feel a little better after munching the banana. We're off again and I sleep a little too. Michael the tour guide is lulling me to sleep with his voice and the flutey music over the speakers. We stop at Rock of Cashel and get the tour and have lunch. We have Shepherd's Pie and the most luscious lemon meringue pie I have ever tasted. We're off again towards County Cork. The drive is spectatular! We drive over the Galtymore mountain range and it's breathtaking. I don't know how Michael maneuvers the bus around these winding roads & no joke I saw over the cliffs the carcasses of many little cars that didn't quite make it. I enjoy the view between naps, but as we get closer to our destination of Kinsale I'm wishing I didn't eat that Shepherd's Pie. It keeps repeatin' on me. We stop again at Cobh which is a port town and incidentally one of the last stops the Titantic made before it's doomed voyage. There's a little museum, but the most interesting thing we find in this town is the rainbow over the harbor. Is there a pot o'gold anywhere? As we board the bus again, I'm hoping we get there soon or I'm gonna need a barf bag. When I'm right about at the point that I think I'm going to toss my cookies we pull into the hotel lot in Kinsale. Check in & get another nap. Dinner is great in this very nice restaurant overlooking the ocean. Kinsale is known for their cuisine. And this place is my most favorite place we visited. After dinner we get entertainment. Two members of the Irish Weavers play a fun set in the hotel bar downstairs. The gravedigger's wife leads us all in song as her uncle owns a Irish club in Cape Cod so she knows them all. There's the unicorn song that gets us all up and doing the hand movements. I guess it's the Irish version of the YMCA. Good thing I have drank plenty of pints because otherwise I'd feel real stupid. The old man gets up and dances a jig. He is a little frisky thing! After the music is over we all move to the upstairs bar and proceed to drink a whole lot more. The son of the Curmugeon exclaims that "We're gonna kick it up a notch!" which is a promise he never really followed through. I'm beginning to think my husband and I are the only party animals after all. As the party starts to end, my husband and I are still not ready to turn in. We set the tone in Dublin with our Fag in the Crag escapade, so we have to keep it up with a new challenge. There's a statue of a fisherman outside our hotel that I snap a drunk picture of my husband sitting on his lap, but it doesn't have the same effect as scaling a fence and bruising up your shins and lounging with Oscar and his sparkly purple pants. This is a sleepy town after midnight, so we head off to bed. We got a full day ahead of us.
Day 5: After breakfast we get a little history lesson about Kinsale. Their big historic claim to fame, if you will, is when the Spanish Armada sailed into port but was turned away in defeat. We learned about the strategic fortresses, yada yada. Then we get a little walking tour of Kinsale. I think I could live here. Later in the day we get to to go to the Blarney Castle. Yeah, every Irish tour group goes there & gets an opportunity to kiss the Blarney stone to get the gift of gab. So we climb up the winding passage ways because it's the tourist thing to do. Besides, I could use a little help with my communication skills. Not that I don't have stuff to say, but I'm not the most outgoing type and it takes me time to process and articulate. I'm the one that thinks of the right thing to say about 3 days later (Shut Up Becky!), so I'm kissing that dang stone. The gravedigger won't go up because he's very tall and is claustrophobic in the narrow passageways. We make it up there and I want a picture of me kissing the stone-yeah I know it's cheesy. My huband goes & I snap a perfect picture. My mother in law does it too & we get the picture. But for some reason my picture doesn't turn out-not that it's that becoming of a pose. I laid on my back and turned upside down and kissed some mossy rock that has been smooched by everyone and his brother and I don't have the picture to prove it. Lucky for me they sell pictures, so my father in law orders it for me to be delivered in 6-8 weeks. We get accosted by an "Irish poet" who is handing out his poems & sketches for a small donation. I'm not the guilty type, so we don't give him a euro, or portion thereof. Visit the Blarney Woolen Mills to shop for souveneirs. We have lunch, another turkey sandwhich with butter, not half bad again. Then back on the bus to the tour of the Kinsale brewery. I liked this one and learned a lot about the brewing techniques. The guy giving the tour is leaving the company & I tell my husband he should apply for his job. I could live here. We get to sample brews in the Brewery bar and really like the Kinsale stout. They export it over here, but only to a pub in Cincinatti, or somewhere in Ohio. We nap, dine, and are ready for another night of debauchery. We visit the Hole-in-the-Wall but its early and dead in there except for the cats prowling and napping. We then go to the cheesiest Karoake bar that all the younguns must go to. So we leave and hit the Spanish Armada, which is basically a snooker table and a few seats and seedy rooms upstairs. We shoot some snooker and have a pint and then finally hit the Seanachai. There's a guy at the bar who looks like Jerry Garcia, but he's giving us the evil eye. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I hate walking into unfamiliar establishments because there's always the moment of what do I do? do I seat myself? why is everyone staring at me? Regardless we find the coolest little booth that is tucked away so it feels like our own little alcove. I like this place. Finally the rest of our tour group ends up there and fill our booth. The Jerry look alike smiles at the real estate agent daughter, so he must not be as mean as we had assumed. Finally as things wind down & last call occurs-they close their pubs early in Ireland-12:00 on weekends and 11:00 on weeknights-not what we expected. We head back to the hotel because we know they have a residents bar. What this means is the guests of the hotel can drink for as long as they desire. The bartender is this really nice chap named Kirk. He's from Washington state, and is married to a Brazilian woman who has an Irish passport (go figure) so they live in Kinsale. We chat with some locals who just finished rescuing a wayward boat. They belong to the Irish equivalent of the Coast Guard. They're very interesting folks. They tell us lots of stories about Van Morrison and his beauty queen girlfriend and a limousine and think they're interrupting a romantic evening for my husband and me. We tell them no, we like meeting folks. We apologize on behalf of our country's invasion of Iraq. They understand that most travelers are not self-centered egocentric Americans and quiz us on the Electoral College. Sidenote: Did you know that Ireland's president is a woman? We still are not ready to call it a night & remember that the hotel has a hot tub, but it closed at 8:00. My husband convinces Kirk the bartender (which wasn't that hard to do) to let us in the hot tub because he's got the key. He eventually agrees after we promise not to tell a soul, at least not until we are well on the road to our next destination. My husband slips him 10 Euro for the trouble and the rest of the story I cannot elaborate on. I just hope they didn't have security cameras in there.
This concludes this leg of the trip. It will be time to move on to Killarney tomorrow-more windy roads. I'm staying away from the sausage.
Day 4: At breakfast we get fussed at by the Pregnant girl because we kept her husband out too late. We didn't restrain nor encourage him in any way, honey! And he didn't accompany us on the fence scaling adventure, so what can I say? Nevertheless, we're off on the bus again, after a hearty breakfast of eggs & sausage that is a different color brown than the sausage we get back in the States. I love sausage (stop snickering & get your mind out of the gutter) but I was really regretting eating that sausage as our bus ambled out of Dublin & through the Irish countryside. It might be that I'm riding in the back of the bus (where there is more room to spread out mind you), or it could be the many pints I drank last night, or maybe it's the lack of sleep. Whatever it is my stomach is not doing so good this morning. We finally stop at a little store to stretch & use the can (Let me tell you folks bathrooms in Ireland are really cold). I find a banana, I think that might help to put something in my stomach besides greasy sausage. I also buy a Coke. I am addicted to Coca-Cola, but the Coke tastes different. After reading the ingredients I figure out why. Coke in the states is made with Carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup and/or sucrose, caramel color, phosphoric acid, natural flavors, and caffeine(my friend, my friend). However the ingredient list on this coke doesn't look the same. I think I have blocked it out of my memory but I can't remember what sweetens cokes in Ireland, but it was something to do with vegetables. It just doesn't taste the same. Nonetheless, I feel a little better after munching the banana. We're off again and I sleep a little too. Michael the tour guide is lulling me to sleep with his voice and the flutey music over the speakers. We stop at Rock of Cashel and get the tour and have lunch. We have Shepherd's Pie and the most luscious lemon meringue pie I have ever tasted. We're off again towards County Cork. The drive is spectatular! We drive over the Galtymore mountain range and it's breathtaking. I don't know how Michael maneuvers the bus around these winding roads & no joke I saw over the cliffs the carcasses of many little cars that didn't quite make it. I enjoy the view between naps, but as we get closer to our destination of Kinsale I'm wishing I didn't eat that Shepherd's Pie. It keeps repeatin' on me. We stop again at Cobh which is a port town and incidentally one of the last stops the Titantic made before it's doomed voyage. There's a little museum, but the most interesting thing we find in this town is the rainbow over the harbor. Is there a pot o'gold anywhere? As we board the bus again, I'm hoping we get there soon or I'm gonna need a barf bag. When I'm right about at the point that I think I'm going to toss my cookies we pull into the hotel lot in Kinsale. Check in & get another nap. Dinner is great in this very nice restaurant overlooking the ocean. Kinsale is known for their cuisine. And this place is my most favorite place we visited. After dinner we get entertainment. Two members of the Irish Weavers play a fun set in the hotel bar downstairs. The gravedigger's wife leads us all in song as her uncle owns a Irish club in Cape Cod so she knows them all. There's the unicorn song that gets us all up and doing the hand movements. I guess it's the Irish version of the YMCA. Good thing I have drank plenty of pints because otherwise I'd feel real stupid. The old man gets up and dances a jig. He is a little frisky thing! After the music is over we all move to the upstairs bar and proceed to drink a whole lot more. The son of the Curmugeon exclaims that "We're gonna kick it up a notch!" which is a promise he never really followed through. I'm beginning to think my husband and I are the only party animals after all. As the party starts to end, my husband and I are still not ready to turn in. We set the tone in Dublin with our Fag in the Crag escapade, so we have to keep it up with a new challenge. There's a statue of a fisherman outside our hotel that I snap a drunk picture of my husband sitting on his lap, but it doesn't have the same effect as scaling a fence and bruising up your shins and lounging with Oscar and his sparkly purple pants. This is a sleepy town after midnight, so we head off to bed. We got a full day ahead of us.
Day 5: After breakfast we get a little history lesson about Kinsale. Their big historic claim to fame, if you will, is when the Spanish Armada sailed into port but was turned away in defeat. We learned about the strategic fortresses, yada yada. Then we get a little walking tour of Kinsale. I think I could live here. Later in the day we get to to go to the Blarney Castle. Yeah, every Irish tour group goes there & gets an opportunity to kiss the Blarney stone to get the gift of gab. So we climb up the winding passage ways because it's the tourist thing to do. Besides, I could use a little help with my communication skills. Not that I don't have stuff to say, but I'm not the most outgoing type and it takes me time to process and articulate. I'm the one that thinks of the right thing to say about 3 days later (Shut Up Becky!), so I'm kissing that dang stone. The gravedigger won't go up because he's very tall and is claustrophobic in the narrow passageways. We make it up there and I want a picture of me kissing the stone-yeah I know it's cheesy. My huband goes & I snap a perfect picture. My mother in law does it too & we get the picture. But for some reason my picture doesn't turn out-not that it's that becoming of a pose. I laid on my back and turned upside down and kissed some mossy rock that has been smooched by everyone and his brother and I don't have the picture to prove it. Lucky for me they sell pictures, so my father in law orders it for me to be delivered in 6-8 weeks. We get accosted by an "Irish poet" who is handing out his poems & sketches for a small donation. I'm not the guilty type, so we don't give him a euro, or portion thereof. Visit the Blarney Woolen Mills to shop for souveneirs. We have lunch, another turkey sandwhich with butter, not half bad again. Then back on the bus to the tour of the Kinsale brewery. I liked this one and learned a lot about the brewing techniques. The guy giving the tour is leaving the company & I tell my husband he should apply for his job. I could live here. We get to sample brews in the Brewery bar and really like the Kinsale stout. They export it over here, but only to a pub in Cincinatti, or somewhere in Ohio. We nap, dine, and are ready for another night of debauchery. We visit the Hole-in-the-Wall but its early and dead in there except for the cats prowling and napping. We then go to the cheesiest Karoake bar that all the younguns must go to. So we leave and hit the Spanish Armada, which is basically a snooker table and a few seats and seedy rooms upstairs. We shoot some snooker and have a pint and then finally hit the Seanachai. There's a guy at the bar who looks like Jerry Garcia, but he's giving us the evil eye. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I hate walking into unfamiliar establishments because there's always the moment of what do I do? do I seat myself? why is everyone staring at me? Regardless we find the coolest little booth that is tucked away so it feels like our own little alcove. I like this place. Finally the rest of our tour group ends up there and fill our booth. The Jerry look alike smiles at the real estate agent daughter, so he must not be as mean as we had assumed. Finally as things wind down & last call occurs-they close their pubs early in Ireland-12:00 on weekends and 11:00 on weeknights-not what we expected. We head back to the hotel because we know they have a residents bar. What this means is the guests of the hotel can drink for as long as they desire. The bartender is this really nice chap named Kirk. He's from Washington state, and is married to a Brazilian woman who has an Irish passport (go figure) so they live in Kinsale. We chat with some locals who just finished rescuing a wayward boat. They belong to the Irish equivalent of the Coast Guard. They're very interesting folks. They tell us lots of stories about Van Morrison and his beauty queen girlfriend and a limousine and think they're interrupting a romantic evening for my husband and me. We tell them no, we like meeting folks. We apologize on behalf of our country's invasion of Iraq. They understand that most travelers are not self-centered egocentric Americans and quiz us on the Electoral College. Sidenote: Did you know that Ireland's president is a woman? We still are not ready to call it a night & remember that the hotel has a hot tub, but it closed at 8:00. My husband convinces Kirk the bartender (which wasn't that hard to do) to let us in the hot tub because he's got the key. He eventually agrees after we promise not to tell a soul, at least not until we are well on the road to our next destination. My husband slips him 10 Euro for the trouble and the rest of the story I cannot elaborate on. I just hope they didn't have security cameras in there.
This concludes this leg of the trip. It will be time to move on to Killarney tomorrow-more windy roads. I'm staying away from the sausage.
posted by amyd | 2:18 AM
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