Ireland - Day 3 (Saturday 4/1/2006)

Time to catch a flight home. April Fools! Though, at times over the past 2 days, I HAVE felt like going home. But what kind of adventure would it be if nothing happened, and what kind of person would I be if I packed it in the moment something DID happen?

So, my gear is packed; now it’s time to find my car. Easier today than it was yesterday, at least. I schlep my way down to the parking garage and insert my ticket in the machine…payment due…TWENTY-FIVE EUROS?! What happened to eight? Tricksters. Well, I don’t have the bills on my so I head to my car to drop off my gear before I take the time to figure this one out. But I forget my ticket in the machine, so when I return it’s gone. Now this isn’t good.

Luckily it’s not so early that there isn’t anyone in the booth. I make my way to the booth and inform the, yet again, non-Irish worker of my plight. He seems to understand…until he tells me that my card is in the machine, but I didn’t pay. Considering that’s exactly what I just told him it’s nothing to be proud of. At least, when he finally tells me what I owe, it’s only nineteen Euros, so in the end I saved a few Euros, and only at the cost of a few gray hairs and a few lost ones. No big deal there; I need to shave my head soon, anyway.

Getting out of Dublin proves easier than getting into Dublin…until I see that the main road, the M1, is closed. Who closes a highway? On a Saturday? Time to try and find my way around the closure.

That wasn’t fun, but eventually I make my way around the closure and back onto the highway, where I’m going to head north for a bit to see Monasterboice, Newgrange, and the Hill of Tara, before heading south again (AROUND Dublin) and through the Wicklow Mountains, ending up on the southeast coast in Waterford. It’s a lot of driving, but should be fun, AND it should be good practice for my much-anticipated tour of the United States later this year.

One good thing about leaving Dublin so early, well, two good things: not much weekend traffic and I had Monasterboice all to myself. Literally. Aside from the barking dogs on the way in to this tiny cemetery with a single large, round tower, I was all alone, and that was nice. It was a peaceful sort of moment that allowed me to unload the previous days’ troubles and make a fresh start.

After contemplating life, love, and the pursuit of happiness (or just farting around), I got back in the car and made my way to Newgrange. Newgrange was built somewhere around 3000 B.C. and served, quite possibly, as a burial chamber. This giant mound sits atop a hill in the middle of some beautiful country. I should know, since I drove it. Twice. The first time I made it to Newgrange I was informed that, though that monolithic beast in front of me was indeed Newgrange, I had to go back around to the visitor’s center (a 15 mile drive). Apparently I made it to the place where the busses would drop me off, IF I went back around, but not to worry, the busses have their own “secret” route that cuts off, say 14 miles of my necessary journey. Hell, why can’t I go that way? Nonetheless I made the journey, parked my car, bought my admission, and boarded the bus. A few minutes later I was at Newgrange. Again. But it was worth it.

After Newgrange I decided to drive by the Hill of Tara, another large hill surrounded by earthworks. Apparently it’s more impressive from the air. Regardless it was good to get out and stretch the legs. And fall in the mud. And nearly get run over by some Slavic Punks’ gas-powered R/C cars. Putting all that behind me I once again took to the road to loop back south, around Dublin, and through the Wicklow Mountains, on my way to Waterford, home of the famous Waterford Crystal.

The drive around Dublin was, as always (or my idea of always, at least), not the best of drives, but the drive down through the Wicklow Mountains, past Glendalough, and back onto the coast near a town called Antrim was quite a stunning drive. Even when I thought I might be lost, and thought I wouldn’t make it to Glendalough, a site where a bunch of old monks hung out (good choice I must say), I didn’t care. Being lost here wasn’t a problem.

After the mountains, I made my way down, sort of along the coast, through Wexford, which looks like a nice place to stay by the by, and into (eventually) Waterford.

After what will soon become the classic struggle to find my hotel, I’m able to park my car and check into this nice little hotel on the water. Now to find some grub, since it’s a bit late. The pub around the corner has some good food and a nice, pleasant atmosphere. And, if you go, look out for James, my semi-homeless friend I met on my way out of the bar.

I’m not really sure if James is homeless, but he appeared it, and I think he’d just been thrown out of the bar that I just ate at. He offered me some whiskey from his flask as he casually ripped the filters off his Marlboro lights. At first I declined, but he seemed so eager. At times it was difficult to talk to James, the long days of drinking whiskey having apparently done their damage on both his mind and his body. But the conversation was good, and I learned a bit more about the island, and what I should do while I was there. When I got up to leave he pulled his hat off and had me remove this pin of the Irish flag. I obliged, not knowing what it was for, until he offered it to me. I couldn’t possibly take this man’s pin. But he insisted, so I pinned it to my jacket and thanked him profusely. Some people will give anything for someone to talk to. I don’t know if I’m talking about James, or myself, but I will always value that old man’s conversation, and I will always have that pin to remind me. I said my goodbye, and took my leave. A short while later I was back in the hotel, asleep in bed. What a good day.