Ireland, or, For Sure, t' Be Sure

My initial fascination with Ireland first started at a very young age when my parents told me about their first visit there. They arrived late one night when it was lashing rain, and were driving through the countryside looking for a place to stay. They just happened to stop by a small farmhouse, where the owners took them in as though they were their own children, and let them stay the night.

There may or may not also have been some heavy drinking and a leprechaun involved.

Years later, this interest was re-ignited with the discovery of Father Ted, which I was assured was the way all Irish spoke and acted.

More recently, there has been a glut of lovely Irish folk in our office, and they have convinced me of the amazingness of their people as much as my parents described many years ago.

So, with a few extra days around my Iceland trip, I was convinced (far too easily, I might add, with the promise of homemade stew) by one of my former teammates, Angelina, to come visit Ireland.

So I did.

I arrived after my Iceland trip, made my way easily and pleasantly through the airport, caught a cab to the center of town where my B&B was located, and settled in for a short while before heading out for the day. It was a weekday, so there were people actually working, but I had plans to meet up with Angelina and her partner Conal for dinner that night in Howth (consequently, where my teammate Caitriona is from). Wrapping myself up for warmth, I had a wander down the street to the train station, where I sat and pondered for some time how the 'R' in DART could possibly stand for 'rapid.'

Eventually, the train arrived, and I continued my reflection for the remaining 45 minutes of the train ride out toward the coast.

Caitriona had been kind enough to map out all of the sights I should see while in town, and I made a point of seeing as many as I could. Because I had a good 4 hours until dinner, I decided to familiarize myself a bit with the town, first heading up along the wharf, toward the restaurant where we'd be having dinner, as well as...

...seals!

Apparently they like to hang around the wharf waiting for people to throw fish scraps to them.

Adorable.

Walking down a bit further, there were a ton of seafood shops, as well as several nice-looking restaurants, including the Brass Monkey, our dinner venue.

Somehow I always end up somewhere with monkeys.

It was another gray day in Howth, which is

apparently an all-too-common sight.

I walked a serpentine path along the water until

I ran out of coastline. Not feeling like clambering

along rocks a short drop from freezing water, I

made my way back toward the town center.

Walking up a hill toward what looked like an

interesting area / the only other direction to walk,

I found these brightly-colored houses.

And some not-so-brightly-colored ones.

The Church of the Assumption - I just figured

they'd be busy or something and kept walking.

Street name in Ireland make me smile.

Shortly up the road were The Mangy, The

Disheveled, and The For-the-Love-of-God-

Won't-You-Take-a-Shower.

I inadvertently wandered into what turned

out to be an elementary school - not a place

you want to be caught with a camera and a

zoom lens - so I took this picture and high-

tailed it into the bushes. Probably even more

conspicuous, in hindsight...

Howth Castle, which is not so much a royal

dwelling anymore, as it is a cooking school.

DOUBLE WIN!

A cool wooded pathway that reminded me of

an early scene from the first Lord of the Rings

film. If you know what I'm talking about,

awesome. If not, go watch Lord of the Rings -

you clearly haven't seen it yet. Or you just

haven't seen it enough.

After I had killed nearly enough time, I made my way back toward the wharf, sat down to write a few postcards, and eventually skipped jubilantly back toward the Brass Monkey to meet Angelina and Conal. They arrived a short while after I did and we spent many hours catching up (I hadn't seen them in several months) and eating. Hopefully you guys are reading this, and I just wanted to reiterate for everyone what amazing hosts you were during my trip there - can't wait to come visit again!

Fat and happy, we decided to continue the drinking just down the street at a pub called the Bloody Stream (for those who for whatever reason think the Irish are lacking in humor...).

Y'all are awesome.

I don't think it's possible for this photo to ooze

more testosterone than it is. Even if I am breaking

the cardinal rule of man-tography: smiling.

OMG, did Jason call? *gasp* NOOOOO!

We had several more rounds there and ended up catching a very late train back into Dublin City. I immediately crawled into bed - I had a bit of a drive down to Kinsale the following morning.

Waking up, blessedly hangover-free, but still a bit disoriented, I collected my things, set them aside, and started my walk to Hertz. On the map, it didn't look too far at all, so I happily continued on my merry way, ever so often stopping to glance at said map to make sure I was going the right way.

Pausing mid-stride, I squinted at the small print, a measly 5 words...5 ridiculing, hate-filled, malicious words...

'Map is not to scale.'

I looked at the map. I looked up at my surroundings. Map. Surroundings. A man rode by on a bicycle and I heard the soft click of his bike chain.

Sighing, I continued on my walk to Hertz, which ended up taking something like 90 minutes. I finally reached my destination, only to find out that I needed to be 30 in order to rent the BMW that I had requested. The best thing they could put me in was a comfortable-yet-underpowered Opel Insignia. I'm fairly certain it was in some sort of limp mode, because there was an icon on the status screen that looked like 3 cylinder heads, and I could have sworn the car had at least 4 cylinders. Also, when I put my foot down, the car wheezed like an emphysema sufferer and lurched forward with about as much gusto as a sloth on valium. With no legs.

Car gripes aside, I set off south toward the seaside town of Kinsale, which had been recommended to me as an overnight destination by several people.

The drive down was pleasant and easy - there was a nice new freeway that my nav didn't exactly recognize, but was apparently close enough to the old one that we occasionally snaked back and forth over the path. Several tool booths, many green hills, and a sudden narrowing of the road later, and I arrived in County Cork. I had originally been planning to spend the night here, but driving through it made me think better of it. I had difficulty finding a place to park, the traffic was a bit thick, and I ended up stopping by a small park to walk around a tiny bit, before getting back in the car and continuing south.

The traffic eased, then disappeared completely, and suddenly I was driving through farmland, with signs announcing my rapid approach to Kinsale. I followed the narrow roads into the city, found an amazing parking spot across the street from my hotel, and got out to look around.

My presidential dwelling for the night - right

smack in the middle of town and a short walk

from the water.

The colorful streets of Kinsale, where I wandered

for some time in search of food.

A colorful display of flowers outside a shop.

Finally settling on a fish 'n' chips place for lunch,

I soon discovered that my greasy, overcooked

fish and cold chips weren't going to cut it.

Fortunately, the ice cream shop just down the

road would. I also noticed that the paper was

now completely transparent with grease. I

made a mental note to climb a few more stairs.

At least the views were pretty.

Yep, this direction too.

Store, I'm not sure what you're selling, but you

have my full and undivided attention.

You do as well, but for a completely different

reason. So it's a store that sells half-empty

packets of Werther's Originals and moth balls?

The streets here followed no rhyme nor

reason, so I wandered looking for something

pleasin'.

Depending on your definition of pleasing, this

might fit the bill. No, it wasn't a shop selling

weather vanes (are you still allowed to call them

that if they hardly resemble them anymore), it

was someone who apparently collected them.

Or made them. Or was the victim of a drive-by

vane-ing.

Mmm...caramel fairy... *drooooool*

With not a lot planned and wanting to find

a good place for dinner, I walked around the

edge of the harbor and up the hill looking for

a good eatery.

The sun was already starting to dip down

toward the horizon by the time I found a

suitable place a short hike up the hill.

I settled on a place hidden along the

cliffside called Man Friday. Each of those

plaques out front represents some sort of

award it had won. On a related note, I was

told by my hotel staff that I had missed the

Kinsale Food Festival by a week. Curses.

Putting my name down for a booking, I

walked back up the steps to the road heading

back into town, where I would take a quick nap

before dinner.

A short while later, rested and showered,

I plodded along back up the hill, weak with

hunger but still laden by the greasy chunks of

fish I had eaten for lunch.

The harbor was an absolutely stunning

sight at twilight.

It was not long before the sky began to

look like a delicious rainbow sherbet, and

I quickened my pace back up the hill.

Finally arriving at the restaurant. The

name comes from the character in the book

Robinson Crusoe, and generally refers to a

right-hand man who is reliable. All of that

was well and good, but I was starving.

But not so starving that I couldn't get one more

picture of the sunset behind me.

I was seated at a small corner tables, presumably where they put most of the loners so as to not make the restaurant seem like a modern reenactment of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks. I promptly perused the menu, decided, took out my book (I was reading Life of Pi at the time), and eagerly awaited my food with some wine.

The service was prompt and kind - the waitress and I chatted for a fair bit about the book, and she told me about her travels to the states and whatnot. Eventually, the food started to arrive and I tucked in.

This was actually something Caitriona had

introduced my to several months before: fried

brie. Crispy and golden on the outside, melty and

soft on the inside. This was good, but hers was

better.

My main was a chicken breast wrapped in

prosciutto, and stuffed with camembert.

Absolutely divine.

Fat and happy once again, I paid and left back for my hotel, stopping mid-stride when I heard music coming from the pub next door. I went in, settled at the bar, and listened to some live music for a bit before heading back to my room.

Having had my fill of this idyllic little seaside town, I made my way back up north toward Dublin, where I was to stop briefly in Howth again to meet up with Caitriona's parents to say hello.

Moo.

Despite the initial crappy gray-ness when I

arrived, the weather in Ireland was absolutely

gorgeous 90% of my time there.

Back in Howth, and the weather was still

stunning.

Howth looked completely different with a bit of

sun / color.

The island of Ireland's Eye sits just off the end

of the pier.

Sailboats filled the horizon off the coast - Howth

has its own yacht club and sailing is a common

activity there.

Through breakthrough technology, we are

able to peer inside the thoughts of this

lone seagull. Fascinating.

I had a delightfully long chat with Caitriona's parents and they served up not only a very warm and hospitable welcome, but lovely tea as well. As a side note, they also live just up the street from Larry Mullen, Jr. I kept the stalking to a minimum.

This is essentially their backyard. Jealousy

abounds.

I bade them a fond farewell, and headed back to Dublin City to return the car and get ready to go out in the evening - I would be meeting up with Angelina and Conal, as well as Angelina's best friend Laura, to hit a number of touristy sites around the city, also to include a delicious dinner.

Showered and dressed (again), I started my walk through the city on my way to our first stop: The Guinness Brewery.

Now, I'm not a huge beer drinker. If I'm honest, 95% of the beer that I've tried makes me frown and smack my lips hoping the exposure to air will wash out some of the bitterness clinging desperately to my mouth. Guinness, thankfully, falls into that 5%, so I was gung-ho ready to go tasting.

But first, my walk.

There were several amazing churches along

a single street. This is St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Just up the road was the slightly less-

pointy Christchurch Cathedral.

And after a quick left to head off toward the

brewery, I came upon the imposing John's

Lane Church.

Ooo...street fruit! Not pictured: street makeup,

street jewelry, and street pretty much everything

else.

Oh, and there also seemed to be a church

attached to the brewery itself.

And the door of said church that I felt

inclined to photograph for whatever

reason.

At last, after having gone through enough

churches to make even the most pious man

get a bit antsy, I reached the not-so-pearly

gates.

Just across the street was the old Guinness

Factory - I guess we were going inside the

storehouse or something. Whatever - as long

as they had beer.

It was here that I met Laura, Angelina's friend, and proceeded to stand outside with her and futilely try and stave off the cold night that was approaching until our other two arrived. Eventually they did, and after some brief hellos, we went inside.

There were options for a self-guided tour, or one as part of a group. Not liking the idea of being ushered along, we opted to go it alone.

Sweet, golden barley, as far as the eye could see.

It was everything I could do not to get in and

backstroke.

And, lo! The specimen of yeast said to have been

used by Sir Arthur Guinness himself. Probably

just a beaker full of flour, but the actual yeast is

kept in a safe upstairs, where it can be used to

replenish the yeast used in brewing today in only

a few hours.

Laura, Angelina, and Conal. Laura, you should

be thrilled to be here. Your look just screams

apathy.

A modern-day Augustus Gloop.

These are my dreams, my wishes! And I'm taking

them back. I'm taking them all back.

I don't recall exactly what this book was, so I'm

going to take an educated stab at it and say it's

Sir Arthur Guinness' yearbook. Not to be

confused with Sir Alec Guinness.

Yay! It's my name! *walks away*

Toasted barley - not the delicious grainy snack

you'd imagine, but instead, a HORRENDOUS

DEATH SEED WHOSE BITTER TASTE OF

FOULNESS YOU CAN'T GET OUT OF YOUR

MOUTH HOURS LATER.

At long last, after seeing nothing but pictures

of beer, the brewery finally delivered. The girls

each had a sip of theirs, and Conal and I finished

off ourse and theirs. The night was off to a good

start.

A map of the brewery - not something

you'd notice just walking around, but the

whole thing is shaped like a pilsner glass.

Clever!

Followed closely by the roar of projectile vomit.

This exhibit may or may not have been the types

of vehicles they might or mightn't have encouraged

you to drive while drinking Guinness.

Just for laughs - the L.E. O'Houghlighan, carrying

50 million gallons of Guinness, was found empty

and run aground of some rocks 57 years ago.

Or not - we were just ready for more drinks at

this point.

They did have a rather cool display of

vintage Guinness ads, which had a bit of

a sick sort of Normal Rockwell feeling to

them.

Moral of the story: Guinness makes you

freaking strong.

It also makes you invincible, albeit slightly

impetuous.

I'm still debating whether this one is a

health recommendation or a patronizing

retort.

And yes, beer can also be used for educational

purposes!

By this point we had seen all the barrels, hops, barley, and brewing pipes anyone would need to see in a lifetime, so we headed upstairs to the precariously-perched bar on the top floor to have a full glass of Guinness, not just the little shot we got on our tour.

Mmm...sweet, dark, frothy goodness.

A side effect of drinking Guinness: John

Waters lip.

You really need to get the full aroma of

the beer...

I know, I know. I meant to. That's how we

drink it in Belgium. It's called a Belgian dip.

A bird's-eye view of Dublin.

When we left, our only exit route was through

the poorly-placed 'Hall of Over-Zealous Stimulation,'

A dark cavern of blaring music and flashing screens

guaranteed to shock the slightly-inebriated into

a state of instant sobriety, and those three sheets

to the wind into an episode of uncontrollable spewing.

The managed to make themselves even prettier (Laura, for example, entered the brewery in jeans and a checked shirt, and left in an amazing blue dress; Angelina looked equally-stunning, and I felt horrendously under-dressed for the occasion), and we made our way to dinner. Oh, and Conal looked dapper too.

Right along the canal was the restaurant The

Winding Stair.

I'll give you a moment to guess where they

got their name. Go on, I'll wait.

'I stood at the outer fringes of the burning

inferno, staring down my own fate. Picking up

a nearby microwave, I raised it above my head

and let out a barbaric scream as I charged the

flames...'

We had a fantastic dinner, a couple bottles of wine, and like all good meals, ended it fat and happy. I was keen to visit the fabled Temple Bar, so we waddled downstairs and made our way across the canal.

Just before crossing Ha'penny Bridge to

Temple Bar.

Music and laughter issued from the archway

leading toward the bars.

Standing in the courtyard, we were enveloped by

the sweet aroma of stale booze, and the gentle

tinkling of drunken slurring. It had all the

makings of a good night.

Reasons #42 and 43 why Ireland is fantastic

(in no particular order).

The beginning of a very long night.

You'll forgive me if I don't have a complete recollection of the evenings proceedings. I found a few blurry photos on my phone the following morning (Laura = angryface), but this is what I can piece together from memory.

We started the evening at The Dubliner, sitting beneath an over-amplified loudspeaker that seemed to get louder as the evening progressed. I stuck to my standard spiced rum and coke, until it was suggested that we order Baby Guinnesses. I had never heard of these before, but it turns out it's a shot of Tia Maria with a float of Bailey's on top, such that it looks like a miniature glass of Guinness. They were lovely.

Once the music got a bit too much to bear, we made our way down the street to another pub, Dicey Riley's (affectionately referred to as simply 'Dicey's'). It was here that I was fully embraced by Irish hospitality - being introduced to people I'd in all rights never see again, and being pulled into their conversations like an old friend. It didn't matter if people couldn't get my name right - I couldn't get theirs right either - but we had an amazing time. And that time flew.

It was probably around 1:30 or 2 am that Conal and Angelina decided to hit the road. We said our farewells, but I was not yet ready to end the night, so Laura and I stayed around until they turned on the lights at around 3:30 (on a side note, I'll happily leave if you ask me to - there's got to be a less-jarring way to let people know that it's time to go than suddenly blinding them with the house lights).

Collecting our things, most of which we had managed to keep track of during the course of the evening (excepting Laura's shoes), we emptied out into the streets. After wandering unsuccessfully through the streets in search of food, we decided to call it a night and headed home.

The next morning I had planned to meet Angelina and Conal again (See? Amazing hosts!) to go to the Dublin Zoo, interestingly enough the oldest zoo in the world. Waking up bleary-eyed, and nursing a less-than-ideal hangover, I managed to stumble my way through my morning routine and head out the door to walk across town to meet them.

Not content borrowing from the source, Dublin

decides to do the next best thing and borrow from

the people who borrowed from the source.

A statue of Wolfe Tone near one entrance

to St. Stephen's Green. Referred to as a

father of Irish republicanism, he attempted

suicide by slicing his neck with a pen knife.

It took him 8 days to die. Yeesh.

Given that Ireland had not yet fully drifted

into winter, there were some beautiful colors

to be found on the trees in the park.

As well as some scenic bridges and waterfowl.

Here's some more in case you really have

a thing for water scenery and waterfowl.

I also had a wander up and down the famed

Grafton Street, where, admittedly, I did stop

to have some Burger King. You can take the

boy out of America, but you can't take the

arterial plaque out of the boy's heart

without invasive coronary surgery.

There was also a group of young boys (lads?)

doing a rather good cover of Mumford & Sons'

Little Lion Man. Note the balancing act.

I don't exactly remember what this building

was, but it's nice to get a proper glance at it

now that I'm not squinting through intolerable

sunlight.

Just down the street was 'Balls and Tits,' a niche

solution for those looking for a single shop for

their sporting goods and small avian needs.

I took a bit of a detour to walk across

the Trinity College campus.

It was a stunning campus, but not stunning

enough for me to pay a sum of money to look

at the Book of Kells, so I passed on that one.

I also happened to walk by the Spire

of Dublin / Monument of Light - a financially-

responsible purchase on the part of the

Taoiseach to the tune of 4,000,000 Euro.

Fortunately, the rest of Dublins is

considerably less spire-less.

I also managed to wander by the Winding

Stair, where we had dined the previous

evening, but of which I had no recollection

that it was goldenrod.

I believe this is a bank or something

related to banks.

Buildings of Dublin along the canal.

I made my way through Phoenix Park toward the

zoo to meet up with Angelina and Conal.

As it turned out, all three of us were suffering from sore heads this morning, but still managed to brave the zoo, catch a seal show, see some giraffes running around, and generally have an enjoyable time (more on the Dublin Zoo when I finally get around to updating my zoo blog).

Having a flight to catch in a few hours, I bade the two of them farewell for now, promising I'd come back soon. Most people just say that to be nice.

I meant it.