Moving on, Ireland. A place where bus drivers will call up other buses on the same route to pick you and 4 of your friends up from a place not on the route, because you are tourists who missed the stop for your hostel by 15 minutes. A place where there is a GIANT NEEDLE in the very center of Dublin, holding nicknames such as "erection in the intersection", or "stiffy at the liffy". A place where the Guinness honestly just tastes better.
..And a place where the announcers on the airport transfer buses sound a little something like this:
I was honestly afraid no trip would ever match up to the times we had in Paris and all over France last weekend. The weekend in France was beyond anything I ever expected, and we hardly faced a single complication. I was a bit scared Dublin would be a weekend of trying times.
Well, if "trying times" includes "trying" to stop drinking anymore Guinness, or "trying" to wake up in time to catch the bus to the beautiful cliffs on the Galway coast, then yes, you could say it was a difficult weekend. But it really wasn't.
Traveling to Ireland went rather smoothly. We took a bus straight to the Gatwick airport, and made it through security without anything too horrific happening. My friend, Becky, was searched from head to toe, as her rings set off the metal detectors. Then, the attendant saw a "mysterious object" on his screen that xrays the organs of luggage. See, sometime in her past, Becky purchased a "so fetch" luggage bag from Goodwill. Apparently the person that owned it before her was a wine connoisseur and had a corkscrew tucked away inside the bag.
Which brings me to the *Featured Soul* of this entry: Rebecca Sue Button.
A girl of many personalities, all of which I'm almost certain I saw this weekend. But, it's important to point out one particular event. Before I get into the details of the weekend, I must explain what happened immediately upon arriving back in London. There we were, reflecting on a fabulous weekend and the approaching storm clouds. Before we knew it, a jet black London taxi flew by, absolutely nailing a puddle on the side of the road. Becky, with a look of a young fawn on her face, was just standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
So, back to the times in Ireland. Dublin really is a beautiful city, but in comparison to London, it's about 1/8 the size. Our friends told us we'd be capable of finding our way around the city after a couple hours, and this was absolutely true.
Friday night, in search of some live and wonderful pub music, we found ourselves attempting to use the worst map ever created, right outside the place with the worst voice ever created.
Dancing brought to you by Michael Harshman (aka "George Michael" or "Babyface".
After the pub on Friday night, we headed to our oven of a hostel. It was a well-kempt place, but we were the unlikely souls to be tucked into a literal corner room, where there was absolutely no air flow or ventilation. Deep, enjoyable sleep was a thing of the past.
The next morning, we had to be awake by 5:45am to catch a bus to take us to the Cliffs of Moher and Limerick and The Galway Coast for the day (I felt really bad for our 6th roommate, who had to deal with the 5 of us the night before). We shared a room with another person that we never even saw the face/body of, and we didn't udder a single word to a part from a timid whispering of "sorry". Tiptoe-ing and dropping coins all over the floor, we miraculously made it out of our hostel on time.
So we almost missed the bus, had it not been for a 60-something Irish woman, traveling by foot, sheltered by umbrella, that offered to literally escort us across the city of Dublin to the exact spot the bus was schedule to pick us up at (by Trinity College). What a God-send. We'd probably still be stuck somewhere by that river, walking in the wrong direction for hours.
The tour was absolutely beautiful. We stopped in a little town called Dooling, with every aspect of small-town life tied to it. In the words of our tour guide, "Ireland- Tha coffee is shet, but da tea is lovely."
There's nothing quite like the countryside of Ireland. Growing up in the boonies of Wisconsin, surrounded by cornfields and soybean fields and trees and nothing for my entire childhood, I was very surprised I still find rolling hills and open terrain to be so beautiful today. I wouldn't have taken this moment bak for anything.
The Cliffs of Moher were almost mythical. We half-expected unicorns to submerge from the mist off the edges of the cliffs.
Then it was off the the natural Limestone fields. So wonderful.
We ended up going out on Saturday night as well, which proved to have us back at the hostel roughly around 4:00am. Somebody told us that the sun starts to peak out around 3:00am in Dublin in the summers. We made it a goal to see this.
It's okay.. I didn't want to see the sunrise in Ireland, anyway. (Yes I did).
Sunday morning we got up and binged on the free breakfast at our hostel. This consisted of Bran Flakes, Bread, and Coffee. Breakfast of champions.
Travels home were better than smooth, and we made it back to London in one soggy, water-logged piece. Overall, a successful weekend. My Irish knowledge base has increased exponentially.
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