Ireland, parts five and six (it's a long one...!)
March 29, 2007
Shelbourne Lodge
Kenmare, Co. Kerry
I think I found the secret to journal writing - don't write it all at once. So while I wait to eat dinner I'll regale you with today's adventures. It astonishes me, the age of this place. Our B&B in Kinsale was built in the late 1600s. You'd think it'd be fairly rickety, but I guess they knew how to build them back then. Aside from the odd creak, very sturdy - at least I hope. That would be horrible, to be contentedly asleep, then have the building fall down like some Buster Keaton movie.
Our next B&B, the one I'm actually in now, is the oldest house in the city. Built and completed in 1779 but started in 1750. Now that's dedication... 29 years! Either they're very thorough or incompetent. I hope the latter. Or is it the former? Well, we're off to dinner. Karen isn't coming. It's quite a long walk into town and a long story to boot. I'll tell it when I get back.
Kenmare, part II
Now I realized last night that I love beer. But can I say I love wine and cheese? Thank you. I love wine and cheese. Now that I can barely think straight, back to today's events. It's funny, I hardly drink state-side (wow, is that elitist or what? "stateside" Like I'm some big international traveller... oh wait, I am.) So I hardly drink at home. I've practically had alcohol with breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I don't feel like an alkie. I fell good, especially now. Oh well, when in Rome...
I was very sad to leave Kinsale, our inkeeper Michael was kick-ass! We go history lessons, Gaelic vocabulary lessons, where to go, what to see, what and how to pack (onebag.com), and all with a cheery smile, rosy beared cheeks, and an Irish accent. The village itself was simply quaint. I know I've used that adjective before, but blame the fucking country. It's not my fault that this place defies definition and exhausts one's mental thesaurus! Rustic, there is that better?! Shops close together, narrow streets, cars parked on curbs. I love Ireland - such lack of concern for traffic laws, but surprisingly considerate drivers all in all.
Long drive today. I SAID long drive today! Well in comparison to my everyday commute not long. But my commute is usually in a reasonably straight line. Not on the Mr. Toads Wild Ride of one lane mountain driving. Not only bumpy and winding, next to a cliff with no guardrail but torn up with rubble everywhere for miles, sorry, kilometers at a stretch. Erin and I had a blast. Wishing we had some high-end tiny penis sports car to careen around the curves looking dashing and fashionable. Karen I think had a hard time keeping lunch down. She gets motion sick and she forgot to take her dramamine.
Stopped in Skibbeerdeen for lunch. Good seafood chowder (the chowder on P.E.I. was better, but then, I'm biased.) Only one other stop. Drombeg Stone Circle. That's right a baby Stonehenge! It was quite an ordeal to get there involving "well-posted" signs, u-turns, more one lane roads blocked by asphalt trucks, gravel roads, and a tree in a partridge family. So we arrive. Now, remember that long story I mentioned? It's a long walk over what I was sure was going to be, but what turned out not to be, uneven terrain. I suggest to Karen that she use her knee brace, cause her knee is bad enough as it is. If you can prevent it from getting worse, why not? I'm met with silence. That's fine. I have been a little pushy so I let it go. Off we trek, or track? Round bush and fen (what the fuck is a fen?). To...TA DA! A circle of rocks. Yet it was more than that it was, just, hmmm. You know that feeling you're supposed to get in church? That sense of universal cosmic muckety muck oneness, peace, blah blah blah? I usually only get it on the golf course. As soon as I came around the bend and saw it I stopped, and for an instant with the blue sky puffy white and grey clouds fleeing across the sky above a hill enframed horizon, sparkling with the rays of the sun reflected from the ocean, I felt it. Surreal, eerie peace.
The circle dates back to around 500 B.C., with two large entry stones and one meridian stone directly across. A total of 17 stones form a circle, with their center in line with the Winter equinox. (Editor's note: Jared insists on calling this an equinox. It's not. It's a solstice.) Strange how "uncivilized people" knew more about astronomy than I do.
So as I'm standing there, I can her E & K talking. I'm not eavesdropping. I have good ears and voices carry. I basically hear Karen say that the reason I bug her about her knee is not out of love and concern. Vesuvius just went off! Needless to say, I was non-communicative the rest of the way. Not to punish her, but to ensure that I don't say anything hurtful. After we arrived at our B&B and got settled in, Prettyhead and I went to dinner. We discussed the situation because she knew I was mad. I can't hide anything from my baby. And ultimately we came to what we thought would be the best solution: We both feel the same about Karen. We love her very much, but are exasperated to no end. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Dinner was delicious. We had the roast duck with the mango salsa, I mean, duck a l'orange, (Editors note: 10 points to Jared for making a Geico caveman commercial reference! Hehe) with a great bottle of French wine, and cheese and port for dessert. Nothing was shriveled on the walk back this time... we both had "wine coats" on this time. A brisk walk and two broken seals later, we are finally relaxed and ready for bed.
March 30, 2007
Shelbourne Lodge
Kenmare, Co. Kerry
The weather for this whole trip has been absolutely ideal. A little chilly, but no rain or dank, gloomy mist. Just partly clouded, sunny skies. I guess it doesn't rain as much here as people think. Now that I've said that, I'm sure it will start in with the downpour.
So much! So much to tell. I'm sure I'll be forgetting things and be coming back to them, so please bear, or is it bare, with me. First stop: Muckross. Not Macross, you RoboTech nerds, you! Muckross. House and gardens, in Killarney National Park. If you want a mental picture, imagine women in Empire-waisted dresses and men with tailed velvet coats in front of some weathered, grey, multi-chimney-ed mansion, with expansive grounds trailing all the way down to a choppy, wind-swept lake. In a work, it was fucking beautiful. This led to the best local interaction on the trip. So we're walking up, "would you be wantin' a cart ride, then?" We turn and see a classic Irish old man. Tweed hat, greying red hair and a gap-toothed grin complete with a nearly unintelligable accent. We all clamber into the "jaunting cart" and Sally was off! Sally was our over-furred, winter-coat shedding, small-block pony cranking out a thunderous one horse power! It was exhilarating screaming around the curves at breakneck speed, traffic whizzing by. Wait, that was the drive over. No, the cart ride was leisurely and informative. The cart driver, who never told us his name, will be referred to from now on as "Seamus."
(excuse the angle - we were in a jaunting cart, after all)
Seamus was full of information about the house and grounds having lived in the area nearly 50 years. The house was built in the 1850's by a coal miner and was used as a vacation house by Queen Victoria. The house sits on "tree hundred acres o' good land and twenty fuyve tousand acres o' trees, woods, forests and deer park." This tidbit he repeated several times throughout the tour. Between encouragement to Sally, whom he also called "Maggie." This confused me until afterwards Erin explained that he was referencing a Rod Stewart song, "Maggie May." (Editor's note: Seamus loved to sing. Especially to Sally... "Wake up, Maggie I think I got something to say to youuuuuuuu...")
The cart trail led down to, and around, the lake - which was simply amazing. All the while, Seamus is pointing out trees, wildlife, prominent structure, and, well, everything. "Now up ahead are the dry and wet boat docks. Mind they haven't bee used since 18 something-or-other when Queen Victoria sailed her guest barge on the lake. And over there, here, I'll stop the cart so you can see, is a 400 year old cedar." The jaunting continued with much of the same. Playful encouragement to Sally interspersed with bits of song and info on the surrounding area, where the deer are hiding, because "they've been eating all night and have to rest themselves now." We finally arrived at the trail to the waterfall. "You go on ahead now. Just a few hundred meters up the trail - Sally and I'll wait for ya."
The head of the trail started through a low tunel under a stone bridge, that seemed to teleport us right into the middle of Fanghorn Forest. Crooked, knotted trees encased in brilliant green moss of varying shades stretched towards the sky forming a thick canopy overhead. Boulders, fallen logs and ancient looking walls were completely carpeted. The only thing not covered by moss was a dark, well-worn path winding its way up into the hills, ending at a beautiful waterfall called the Torc. Which, by the way, is a necklace or bar-like choker favored by the Celts.
Back we headed to find Seamus feeding and talking to an enormous rook, which looks kind of like a crow. Off we bustled back towards the house. "That there's the family tree" Seamus says, after a bit of song, and points to a cluster of 10-15 trees all grown together at the bottom. "Back to the house, is it? Or would y'like to see the abbey if y'got the tuyme?" Naturally we whole-heartedly agreed and zoom, we were clip-clopping down another track. "Now there is middle-lake walk and there is Arthur Young trail. He wrote some books and poems in the late 1800's and enjoyed dat walk." More song and nature advice. Karen pointed out a beautiful bird, of which we'd seen several but did't know what it was. "Dat's a magpie, dat's the male, there be more of 'em."
"One for bad luck, two for good,
three for a wedding, four for silver
five for gold and six for a story that's never been told."
He ended with a chuckle. It was one of the coolest things I've ever heard. It's amazing how old this place feels. I know Ireland, as a piece of earth, is no older than, say, Yosemite. But I've been to both, and the true weight of time rests firmly on your shoulders here. We finally jog up (jog as in the horse jogs while we sit our chilled, frozen-cheeked asses under a warm blanket in the cart) to the remains of the Muckross Abbey. "Dis here abbey was built in 1462 and survived all the way to the 1600's when Cromwell had it destroyed." We would have stayed to tour the abbey, but we still had the Ring of Kerry, so off we went back along the lake. "Now dis lake is fuyve tousand acres. If y'look on that island over there, there was a castle knocked down by who?" "Cromwell," I replied? "The very same Protestand Blackguard!" Seamus said. This was very surreal. Not just because he used the word "Blackguard" but it made me realize with stark clarity how Catholic a country Ireland really is. Oh sure, I've seen the bazillion churches, one huge cathedral for every town, but to actually feel it - there was genuine animosity in his voice. Just weird for someone [meaning me] who comes from a country who talks about God a lot, but has little to do with him. Sadly, our jaunt was ended and we were forced to continue on our tour to the Ring of Kerry. More after dinner!
Part II, or is it IV?
That was bullshit! What the fuck?! Here I am in Ireland, the home of Guinness. So when I go to eat, I expect to be able to order a pint of Guinness. Did I have Guinnes with my dinner? NO!! I managed to find the one restaurant I'm sure in all of this country that doesn't serve it. Really, the nerve is just appalling.
Now, the Ring of Kerry is supposed to be this big, tourist draw. Like, it's soooooo beautiful. Well... it was... ok... um... kinda... bleak. Not the cool bleak like... well come to think of it, bleak isn't cool. It was an ok drive, the pub we stopped in for lunch was ok. The only real cool thing was halfway around the peninsula, on the top of the pass, is a huge status of the Virgin Mary, with a mountain behind her. Seeing the statue, I squealed to pull over! Out we step, into you guessed it, cold, icy, windy, Atlantic-winter weather. Well, like some poor ADHD-ridder booger-eater, I lost interest in the Virgin Mary and became fixated on the tall, steep, tufted-grass covered hill. "I can climb that thing and take a great picture from the top!" the genius in my head shouts. So through a hole in the low wall erected (ha ha, erected) to keep people from doing what I'm doing, I go. I start off quickly, finding several narrow cow paths to follow. I am now emboldened! "If fucking cows can do it, so can I!" says the optimst in my head. About a quarter of the way up, the former smoker in my head says, "Houston, we have a problem." Unfortunately, the decreased lung capacity from years of smoking, combined with lack of exercise, coupled with the altitude, compounded by the biting cold air began to reduce me to a gasping, wheezing... have you ever heard a set of bagpipes that were half-inflated and then dropped so all the air came out in a horrifying death-rattle? Yeah. It was like that. So I'm at what I think is the half way point.
Genius: "You can do it!"
Ex-smoker: "I need a smoke."
Grim Reaper: "Here, non filtered. Just suck on that. Once you reach the top it'll all be over."
Looking further up, I see that what I thought was the top is just a plateau. The hill goes on at a steeper rate for what looks like an eternity.
Realist: "Go back and have a pint."
This voice I listened to. So, while still sucking wind, with tail tucked firmly between my legs, I hopscotched back down to the warm car. Erin was amusedly peeved, and received a playful slap on the hand, a roll of the eyes, and that mischievous smile that I love so much. The rest of the drive was punctuated by the odd branch swiping the side of the car, and Karen's snoring.
We had a nice, relaxing break in front of a crackling, warm fire in the parlour. No, there was no bearskin rug. Otherwise, it would have been on like Donkey Kong. It's hard to believe we still have almost a week left in Ireland. Although at the time of this writing, it will only be 6 days, 5 nights. But I can't complain. This has been one of the best experiences of my life. Not to mention, I got to spend it with my darling love. And yes, I mean that. Life is so much better when the wonder you experience can be shared with your love. On that super-cute note, yes, I actually wrote super-cute, I'm off to bed. Hopefully the man-council doesn't confiscate my balls while I sleep. That would just be embarrassing. (Editor's note: I love how he seems to end his entries with a reference to his junk. LMAO.)
Shelbourne Lodge
Kenmare, Co. Kerry
I think I found the secret to journal writing - don't write it all at once. So while I wait to eat dinner I'll regale you with today's adventures. It astonishes me, the age of this place. Our B&B in Kinsale was built in the late 1600s. You'd think it'd be fairly rickety, but I guess they knew how to build them back then. Aside from the odd creak, very sturdy - at least I hope. That would be horrible, to be contentedly asleep, then have the building fall down like some Buster Keaton movie.
Our next B&B, the one I'm actually in now, is the oldest house in the city. Built and completed in 1779 but started in 1750. Now that's dedication... 29 years! Either they're very thorough or incompetent. I hope the latter. Or is it the former? Well, we're off to dinner. Karen isn't coming. It's quite a long walk into town and a long story to boot. I'll tell it when I get back.
Kenmare, part II
Now I realized last night that I love beer. But can I say I love wine and cheese? Thank you. I love wine and cheese. Now that I can barely think straight, back to today's events. It's funny, I hardly drink state-side (wow, is that elitist or what? "stateside" Like I'm some big international traveller... oh wait, I am.) So I hardly drink at home. I've practically had alcohol with breakfast, lunch and dinner, but I don't feel like an alkie. I fell good, especially now. Oh well, when in Rome...
I was very sad to leave Kinsale, our inkeeper Michael was kick-ass! We go history lessons, Gaelic vocabulary lessons, where to go, what to see, what and how to pack (onebag.com), and all with a cheery smile, rosy beared cheeks, and an Irish accent. The village itself was simply quaint. I know I've used that adjective before, but blame the fucking country. It's not my fault that this place defies definition and exhausts one's mental thesaurus! Rustic, there is that better?! Shops close together, narrow streets, cars parked on curbs. I love Ireland - such lack of concern for traffic laws, but surprisingly considerate drivers all in all.
Long drive today. I SAID long drive today! Well in comparison to my everyday commute not long. But my commute is usually in a reasonably straight line. Not on the Mr. Toads Wild Ride of one lane mountain driving. Not only bumpy and winding, next to a cliff with no guardrail but torn up with rubble everywhere for miles, sorry, kilometers at a stretch. Erin and I had a blast. Wishing we had some high-end tiny penis sports car to careen around the curves looking dashing and fashionable. Karen I think had a hard time keeping lunch down. She gets motion sick and she forgot to take her dramamine.
Stopped in Skibbeerdeen for lunch. Good seafood chowder (the chowder on P.E.I. was better, but then, I'm biased.) Only one other stop. Drombeg Stone Circle. That's right a baby Stonehenge! It was quite an ordeal to get there involving "well-posted" signs, u-turns, more one lane roads blocked by asphalt trucks, gravel roads, and a tree in a partridge family. So we arrive. Now, remember that long story I mentioned? It's a long walk over what I was sure was going to be, but what turned out not to be, uneven terrain. I suggest to Karen that she use her knee brace, cause her knee is bad enough as it is. If you can prevent it from getting worse, why not? I'm met with silence. That's fine. I have been a little pushy so I let it go. Off we trek, or track? Round bush and fen (what the fuck is a fen?). To...TA DA! A circle of rocks. Yet it was more than that it was, just, hmmm. You know that feeling you're supposed to get in church? That sense of universal cosmic muckety muck oneness, peace, blah blah blah? I usually only get it on the golf course. As soon as I came around the bend and saw it I stopped, and for an instant with the blue sky puffy white and grey clouds fleeing across the sky above a hill enframed horizon, sparkling with the rays of the sun reflected from the ocean, I felt it. Surreal, eerie peace.
The circle dates back to around 500 B.C., with two large entry stones and one meridian stone directly across. A total of 17 stones form a circle, with their center in line with the Winter equinox. (Editor's note: Jared insists on calling this an equinox. It's not. It's a solstice.) Strange how "uncivilized people" knew more about astronomy than I do.
So as I'm standing there, I can her E & K talking. I'm not eavesdropping. I have good ears and voices carry. I basically hear Karen say that the reason I bug her about her knee is not out of love and concern. Vesuvius just went off! Needless to say, I was non-communicative the rest of the way. Not to punish her, but to ensure that I don't say anything hurtful. After we arrived at our B&B and got settled in, Prettyhead and I went to dinner. We discussed the situation because she knew I was mad. I can't hide anything from my baby. And ultimately we came to what we thought would be the best solution: We both feel the same about Karen. We love her very much, but are exasperated to no end. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
Dinner was delicious. We had the roast duck with the mango salsa, I mean, duck a l'orange, (Editors note: 10 points to Jared for making a Geico caveman commercial reference! Hehe) with a great bottle of French wine, and cheese and port for dessert. Nothing was shriveled on the walk back this time... we both had "wine coats" on this time. A brisk walk and two broken seals later, we are finally relaxed and ready for bed.
March 30, 2007
Shelbourne Lodge
Kenmare, Co. Kerry
The weather for this whole trip has been absolutely ideal. A little chilly, but no rain or dank, gloomy mist. Just partly clouded, sunny skies. I guess it doesn't rain as much here as people think. Now that I've said that, I'm sure it will start in with the downpour.
So much! So much to tell. I'm sure I'll be forgetting things and be coming back to them, so please bear, or is it bare, with me. First stop: Muckross. Not Macross, you RoboTech nerds, you! Muckross. House and gardens, in Killarney National Park. If you want a mental picture, imagine women in Empire-waisted dresses and men with tailed velvet coats in front of some weathered, grey, multi-chimney-ed mansion, with expansive grounds trailing all the way down to a choppy, wind-swept lake. In a work, it was fucking beautiful. This led to the best local interaction on the trip. So we're walking up, "would you be wantin' a cart ride, then?" We turn and see a classic Irish old man. Tweed hat, greying red hair and a gap-toothed grin complete with a nearly unintelligable accent. We all clamber into the "jaunting cart" and Sally was off! Sally was our over-furred, winter-coat shedding, small-block pony cranking out a thunderous one horse power! It was exhilarating screaming around the curves at breakneck speed, traffic whizzing by. Wait, that was the drive over. No, the cart ride was leisurely and informative. The cart driver, who never told us his name, will be referred to from now on as "Seamus."
(excuse the angle - we were in a jaunting cart, after all)
Seamus was full of information about the house and grounds having lived in the area nearly 50 years. The house was built in the 1850's by a coal miner and was used as a vacation house by Queen Victoria. The house sits on "tree hundred acres o' good land and twenty fuyve tousand acres o' trees, woods, forests and deer park." This tidbit he repeated several times throughout the tour. Between encouragement to Sally, whom he also called "Maggie." This confused me until afterwards Erin explained that he was referencing a Rod Stewart song, "Maggie May." (Editor's note: Seamus loved to sing. Especially to Sally... "Wake up, Maggie I think I got something to say to youuuuuuuu...")
The cart trail led down to, and around, the lake - which was simply amazing. All the while, Seamus is pointing out trees, wildlife, prominent structure, and, well, everything. "Now up ahead are the dry and wet boat docks. Mind they haven't bee used since 18 something-or-other when Queen Victoria sailed her guest barge on the lake. And over there, here, I'll stop the cart so you can see, is a 400 year old cedar." The jaunting continued with much of the same. Playful encouragement to Sally interspersed with bits of song and info on the surrounding area, where the deer are hiding, because "they've been eating all night and have to rest themselves now." We finally arrived at the trail to the waterfall. "You go on ahead now. Just a few hundred meters up the trail - Sally and I'll wait for ya."
The head of the trail started through a low tunel under a stone bridge, that seemed to teleport us right into the middle of Fanghorn Forest. Crooked, knotted trees encased in brilliant green moss of varying shades stretched towards the sky forming a thick canopy overhead. Boulders, fallen logs and ancient looking walls were completely carpeted. The only thing not covered by moss was a dark, well-worn path winding its way up into the hills, ending at a beautiful waterfall called the Torc. Which, by the way, is a necklace or bar-like choker favored by the Celts.
Back we headed to find Seamus feeding and talking to an enormous rook, which looks kind of like a crow. Off we bustled back towards the house. "That there's the family tree" Seamus says, after a bit of song, and points to a cluster of 10-15 trees all grown together at the bottom. "Back to the house, is it? Or would y'like to see the abbey if y'got the tuyme?" Naturally we whole-heartedly agreed and zoom, we were clip-clopping down another track. "Now there is middle-lake walk and there is Arthur Young trail. He wrote some books and poems in the late 1800's and enjoyed dat walk." More song and nature advice. Karen pointed out a beautiful bird, of which we'd seen several but did't know what it was. "Dat's a magpie, dat's the male, there be more of 'em."
"One for bad luck, two for good,
three for a wedding, four for silver
five for gold and six for a story that's never been told."
He ended with a chuckle. It was one of the coolest things I've ever heard. It's amazing how old this place feels. I know Ireland, as a piece of earth, is no older than, say, Yosemite. But I've been to both, and the true weight of time rests firmly on your shoulders here. We finally jog up (jog as in the horse jogs while we sit our chilled, frozen-cheeked asses under a warm blanket in the cart) to the remains of the Muckross Abbey. "Dis here abbey was built in 1462 and survived all the way to the 1600's when Cromwell had it destroyed." We would have stayed to tour the abbey, but we still had the Ring of Kerry, so off we went back along the lake. "Now dis lake is fuyve tousand acres. If y'look on that island over there, there was a castle knocked down by who?" "Cromwell," I replied? "The very same Protestand Blackguard!" Seamus said. This was very surreal. Not just because he used the word "Blackguard" but it made me realize with stark clarity how Catholic a country Ireland really is. Oh sure, I've seen the bazillion churches, one huge cathedral for every town, but to actually feel it - there was genuine animosity in his voice. Just weird for someone [meaning me] who comes from a country who talks about God a lot, but has little to do with him. Sadly, our jaunt was ended and we were forced to continue on our tour to the Ring of Kerry. More after dinner!
Part II, or is it IV?
That was bullshit! What the fuck?! Here I am in Ireland, the home of Guinness. So when I go to eat, I expect to be able to order a pint of Guinness. Did I have Guinnes with my dinner? NO!! I managed to find the one restaurant I'm sure in all of this country that doesn't serve it. Really, the nerve is just appalling.
Now, the Ring of Kerry is supposed to be this big, tourist draw. Like, it's soooooo beautiful. Well... it was... ok... um... kinda... bleak. Not the cool bleak like... well come to think of it, bleak isn't cool. It was an ok drive, the pub we stopped in for lunch was ok. The only real cool thing was halfway around the peninsula, on the top of the pass, is a huge status of the Virgin Mary, with a mountain behind her. Seeing the statue, I squealed to pull over! Out we step, into you guessed it, cold, icy, windy, Atlantic-winter weather. Well, like some poor ADHD-ridder booger-eater, I lost interest in the Virgin Mary and became fixated on the tall, steep, tufted-grass covered hill. "I can climb that thing and take a great picture from the top!" the genius in my head shouts. So through a hole in the low wall erected (ha ha, erected) to keep people from doing what I'm doing, I go. I start off quickly, finding several narrow cow paths to follow. I am now emboldened! "If fucking cows can do it, so can I!" says the optimst in my head. About a quarter of the way up, the former smoker in my head says, "Houston, we have a problem." Unfortunately, the decreased lung capacity from years of smoking, combined with lack of exercise, coupled with the altitude, compounded by the biting cold air began to reduce me to a gasping, wheezing... have you ever heard a set of bagpipes that were half-inflated and then dropped so all the air came out in a horrifying death-rattle? Yeah. It was like that. So I'm at what I think is the half way point.
Genius: "You can do it!"
Ex-smoker: "I need a smoke."
Grim Reaper: "Here, non filtered. Just suck on that. Once you reach the top it'll all be over."
Looking further up, I see that what I thought was the top is just a plateau. The hill goes on at a steeper rate for what looks like an eternity.
Realist: "Go back and have a pint."
This voice I listened to. So, while still sucking wind, with tail tucked firmly between my legs, I hopscotched back down to the warm car. Erin was amusedly peeved, and received a playful slap on the hand, a roll of the eyes, and that mischievous smile that I love so much. The rest of the drive was punctuated by the odd branch swiping the side of the car, and Karen's snoring.
We had a nice, relaxing break in front of a crackling, warm fire in the parlour. No, there was no bearskin rug. Otherwise, it would have been on like Donkey Kong. It's hard to believe we still have almost a week left in Ireland. Although at the time of this writing, it will only be 6 days, 5 nights. But I can't complain. This has been one of the best experiences of my life. Not to mention, I got to spend it with my darling love. And yes, I mean that. Life is so much better when the wonder you experience can be shared with your love. On that super-cute note, yes, I actually wrote super-cute, I'm off to bed. Hopefully the man-council doesn't confiscate my balls while I sleep. That would just be embarrassing. (Editor's note: I love how he seems to end his entries with a reference to his junk. LMAO.)