Ireland - Day 4 - There Be Dragons

Slept through breakfast because I didn't get to sleep until somewhere around 2:00a.m. Wrested my tired body from the bed just in time to pack and meet up with everybody else, after having a croissant that was sent to me with well wishes from the rest of the group.

The hotel was a spa hotel in a resort town, which means that in the off season it is primarily inhabited by elderly, conservative Irish folk. At least, this is an observation with a sample of 2 from my times spent in said lobby.

We all headed to the parking garage with our luggage carts en tow, for the most part uneventfully, until the cart I was leading crashes into my bad Achilles' tendon, eliciting a very loud and what I can only assume to be a very deserved "F___!"

I only heard one person drop their teacup.

I must say climbing in to the driver's side of the van was a surreal and very arduous thing. After the previous day's debacle, I felt like a WWII B-52 pilot climbing once again into the pilot seat for another stupefyingly dangerous assignment. Wondering if I would survive my remaining seven missions and make it home in one piece.

The hulking thing beeped at me, warning me incessantly to put on my safety belt, a feature which, though necessary in the present situation, I was not inclined to be bullied into using by my great white adversary. It's Diesel engine sputtered as if to chuckle at my useless display of self-will. I leaned slightly to the wheel and whispered to the beast: "If I go, you go."

I pulled forward to a clearer spot for loading my great white whale with the accoutrements of my traveling party, my dad playing the part of one of those people you see out the window of the airliner directing the pilot before takeoff.

On the way out, the machine's antenna scraped on every girder in the lot to remind us all that we were a very large square peg headed for a ton of round tubes.

We stopped at a gas station to try and find a physical map of Ireland. No dice. The guy at the station gave Katy directions, saying, go straight, then first left at the first roundabout, then the second left at the second roundabout.

Let me tell you a little thing about the word "straight" as far as the Irish are concerned. The road can take you through every direction on the compass, take you up a mountain, drop you off a hillside, and bury you 100 leagues under the sea, then turn into a Klein bottle from which there is no escape. As long as you stay on the same road number during these directional escapades, the road is "straight." Also, certain circles aren't circles, they are merely turns. And turns aren't usually right or left on these not-quite circle turns, they are more of an ambiguous straight combined with a slight right, vice versa, or completely the opposite.

If you understand the paragraph above, you either have driven in Ireland and understand, have been hit in the head with a hammer and need medical attention, or are a complete loon and will be committed momentarily. Sit tight, and I'll see you soon.

Once we escaped the Wexford Klein bottle, and hit a road that was the non-Irish, proper straight, we stopped at a second petrol station that did carry maps. And milk, which was delicious. There's no skim milk to be had here.

The weather initially seemed to be in line with what the Irish authorities assured us, on the previous evening, would be a lovely day throughout the whole island. This brings us to another quirk of the Irish language: "Sunny." To be sunny means to be caught in the various shades of Ireland fog: thin and wafty to start, then thick with rain, then a sort of haze that you could stare into and wonder if your soul was slowly leaving your body.

Perhaps my soul was merging with the soul of the beast. My white whale becoming an extension of myself, a daemon I could summon to smite the tiny cars who dared show me there headlights. Oh yes, I was beginning to enjoy the drive. I wanted to dare the largest of Irish trucks to try and make me move. I wanted to breathe smoke. A little spark of quiet rage clicked, and man and machine melded into one. I began to enjoy my ride, and the beast began responding to my will.

I felt a great desire to either tame or eat a horse.

My navigator seemed to improve as well. Even with her past challenges in reading and even properly orienting a printed map, she seemed to come into her element. The Irish roads became more of an enjoyable sideshow than the horror they had been the previous day. The Tao had returned, and wu wei reigned supreme once more.

The Tao took us first to the Hook Head lighthouse, which even though the coast was socked in with rain and fog, was a good stop. The toilets were wonderful. We had our first glimpse of the Irish coast, grabbed a few pics, and took the beast off-road to let it spread its wings a bit to get a fine shot of the lighthouse on the way out.

On the way to the lighthouse, in every township and even scattered in the countryside, there be ruins. The oft-heard call became "RUNES!" as the run-down structures were spotted at every angle. Some right off the side of the road, some in the distance, all in the fog adding an environmental exclamation point to their sorry downtrodden state.

On the way to the ferry, Katy ventured into one of the RUNES! It looked like an old church building with a granary. Katy said the church part reminded her of the Secret Garden, but she came running out of the ruin to our great surprise and amusement when she discovered a hobo paradise in the granary. She offered no evidence, but stated that it was either a hobo paradise or a body dump.

We made our way to the ferry at Bunbartybal, which I remember because I just made up that name, and you can't refute it. It was a quick 5 minute ferry ride across the port, and then on to Waterford.

You may know the name Waterford from the crystal that used to be made here. Well, we parked, stepped in dog shit, and carried on to what is now the Waterford crystal dog shit museum. We know, we carried it in. But even without the canine filth befouling our shoes, the Waterford crystal museum is still dog shit, peddling a putrid range of gawdy nothingness for extremely offensive smelling prices.

Retreated from the stench of crystal to the street, where no restaurants were to be had. Retrieved the beast with Dad, in case the thing went rabid whilst we were away and tried to turn on its new owner. Picked up the rest of the crew by showing my true graduation to Irish driving by parking square in a tour bus company lane for the extract.

We pronounced Waterford a resounding failure and headed on to Cork. The drive to Cork was on highways with dense fog. We stopped for a break at a Lidl store and picked up a snack (bread and fresh pretzels), along with some booze for later. To get lit cheap in Ireland, skip the bars and go to the markets. Tall boy cans run about 1 euro a piece, and a 750 of Irish creme runs 6 euro.

Headed into Cork and was initially scared stiff by the horrific sights staring in through the monster's hip to ceiling windows. It is a port town, and we drove in through the anus. Industrial decay begat busy bus stops with sketchy characters begat streets lined with busy shops and streets packed with eurotrash begat busy run down streets lined with more eurotrash and even people sporting burkas.

Stopped short of the hotel since we didn't have the exact address and asked a taxi driver where the hotel was. He directed us a quarter mile ahead, near the college. This put us about a half mile away from the sketch border.

We entered the Garnish House Bed and Breakfast and a very nice German man met us and directed us to our "welcoming tea," during which we were served home-baked (at the B&B) bread, scones, chocolate cake, fruit cake, and choice of coffee or tea while the helpful proprietor introduced us to Cork, illustrated with maps, and provided us with answers to all of our questions, including safety and recommendations for restaurants.

Unfortunately, there are no lifts at the B&B, so the stairs are a bit of a challenge, but we were able to get moved in with minimal effort thanks to the parking on site just outside the B&B entrance.

Once settled, we decided to break for a couple hours and meet back at 6:15 for dinner. Katy and I went for a run on the campus of the University of Cork, which was less than a quarter mile from the B&B. Tons of students were walking, and I displayed my knack for quickly and efficiently slashing through crowds to Katy. I do admit that it helps that I am about 12 inches taller than your average Irishman.

The weather was perfect for running. We got a few miles in around campus and on the river walk and made our way back to the hotel. Grabbed a quick shower and hit the wine and Irish creme procured at Lidl with the parents before catching a taxi to 41 South Mall Street to eat at Electric.

The bar downstairs was packed with loud Irish "business" men (quotes to emphasize that I don't know what they do in Ireland, except run restaurants and B&Bs) on their happy hour. I was once again reminded that Irish schools must include lessons in obnoxious conversation and overzealous behavior. Either that, or they are truly in a permanent drunken state. Ever notice how your radio sounds a lot louder in the car when you turn it on the morning after a rough night out? I believe it is the same with the Irish, except they never have the morning after. Their BACs are enough to damage hearing throughout the day, such that all conversations must be had at the loudest possible volume.

Thankfully, the restaurant was secluded upstairs and occupied by a more modest crowd. The table next to us was filled with other Americans from the University of Michigan. This is what business majors do, get internships in Cork, Ireland. Disgusting.

I have to say, the quality of food was excellent. There was a good spread, including Beef Wellington, traditional food (steaks, burgers, etc.), along with seafood. The timing, however, not so much. Side salads were not delivered with appetizers (which may or may not be an Irish thing, I don't know), and Katy's order was forgotten. The waiter did compensate with drinks, but Katy was left to devour her filet in solitude as we finished our drinks. When we arrived, the hostess asked if two hours at the table would be sufficient. I remember thinking and voicing that that was no problem, but after the timing issues, drink delays, etc., we left just before that time. I know it's Europe, but damn . . . .

Upon leaving the table, the downstairs bar was now packed solid with even more drunken Irish. We had to part the Green sea, as it were, to escape into the night.

A cab was waiting for the parents outside, called by the waiter, and Katy and I decided to hoof it back to the hotel. On the way, we noticed a very niceish cathedral on the hill next to the river, so we took a short detour to see it and get a picture of it illuminated in the night. About a half mile later we were back at the B&B, greeted by the moms in an open window overlooking the parking lot. Stopped by for a few minutes to talk before heading to bed, grabbed some much needed water from the car, and headed up to bed.

Overall a much improved day. We will see if luck holds out tomorrow.

I make my way down the stairs to the entrance and peer out of the window, half-illuminated in the dark hallway by the glowing streetlamps. I see the beast defiantly sleeping with its rear end protruding well out of the parking space, in a measure I am certain is designed to intimidate the other cars.

"Sleep well, friend. We have a big day tomorrow."