Honeymoon Blogs pt 3

The last leg of the trip home. Writing this from the skies over... well,
over somewhere between atlanta and austin. Two things stick in my mind
as I watch the glowing spiderwebs of cityscapes pass beneath me, one,
that relevance is a matter of perspective, and two, it's an odd thing to
be racing the setting sun in a thin metal tube.


Things that have happened since I last updated, as they often do. We
found food, a not so inexpensive Chinese place not far from the hotel. A
review of the place had described it as not bad a bad place to eat, with
the usual food and atmosphere. I have to say, who ever wrote that review
must have been quite used to pomp and circumstance. The waitstaff was
polite, and responsive, the former being much more common than the later
among dublin servers. The food was tasty, with a slightly different
selection than I would expect in the states. I had the salt and chile
chicken, and it was delicious. The wife had the green curry, and said it
was the best green curry she's had.

The night wound up with us enjoying a few pints in the bar in the
hotel with a talkative contractor from northern ireland. He told us tales
of a misspent youth, the economic troubles facing workers in the emerald
isle, and the location of a bar where the bartender's daughter poured
the perfect pint of Guinness. We closed the place out, talking of life,
drinks, and ages gone by.

The next morning found us on a bus, touring county Wiklow. Here we found
the lush beauty that had been so often described to us, the peaks and
valleys that had given birth to tales of fairies and other creatures of
magic and wonder.

Anyone you ask will describe me as a city boy, too long from the pulse,
the action, the throngs of people, and I go a little crazy. But ruins,
oh the ruins, so rich and full of history. The remains of buildings over
a millennium old, the tales of kings and queens, abbots and bishops,
saints and sinners, all laid out in the ground before us. I could spend
a year, or two, or more, wandering the Irish countryside, cataloguing
the history of this wonderful place, though I'm sure it has been done,
many times over.

We finished the tour with a stop at a little cafe in a town full of
weavers. My old hat, having been bent, battered, and misshapen from the
wind, rain, and time, was replaced with a rather smart wool cap.

The trip home was long, and sprinkled with socio-political commentary
from our driver, a jovial yet jaded man who felt the recession, and had
hope in change.

That night we wandered swords, and I found myself trying irish fajitas,
which weren't so much bad as confusing. The irish seem to have a rather
solid disdain for any dried seasonings except salt and pepper, leading
to a much different eating experience.

The next day was our last full day in this beautiful country. We decided
to turn our focus to the city we had come to visit. A hop on, hop off
tour of the city, where we got the grand tour of the cities rich
heritage, a walk through a green (park (square)), and a tour of the
Guinness brewery. Unfortunately, we're finding most beverage tours to be
the same, and, save for the free pint at the end, wasn't quite worth it.
We ended the tour in the Temple bar area, the area we tried to explore
the first night in town.


Pausing now, to fill up on airline peanuts and margarita, complements
of our previous delay. We are losing the race with the sun, only a faint
rainbow glow on the horizon. 30 min of laptop battery remain, and I hope
I can finish this before it goes.

Refreshed, I return to the tale of our last night in town. In the temple
bar area, we stumble upon a pub, if you could call it that, called the
Bank. Situated across the street from the more local Banker's lounge,
where we went the first night, the bank was a historic site, carved from
a quite obviously victorian bank. A copy of the book of kells lay on
display in the lobby, and the place was nothing if not posh.

I was finally able to have the long sought steak sandwich, cooked to
perfection, delightfully vegetable free, and served with fresh cut
fries, something that I had been missing from home.

I had my last pint of Guinness with the masterpiece of thin sliced
cow-meat, and capped the night off with a finger of the 18 year Jameson.
In case any of you are wondering why you didn't get souvenirs from this
trip, I must confess, I drank most of them away that night. And let me
tell you my friends, it was magnificent. Full of flavor, smooth, the
perfect whiskey.

All good things must sometime come to an end, and so it went that this
morning, about 18 hours ago, we woke and headed for the dublin airport.
Plagued by mechanical failures and odd customs' customs, we are drawing
near to the end of our journey. My first trip off the continent, my
first exploration of the old world, the first step of the journey into my new life.
I can tell you, my friends, it won't be my last.

Until next time, a fond farewell, kind regards, and a heartfelt cheers.