Rebel Ireland to Dutchy Land


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Europe » Ireland » County Cork
May 15th 2014
Published: May 20th 2014
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It was soon made clear to the likes of me that there was upcoming the birthday of my new buddy and hiking partner Dave O'Donovan. He invited me to the rebel country to celebrate his 40th year. Classic Irishman and his lads and lasses all enjoying the late fall night.

Cork is called the asshole of the Eire by its own inhabitants. They are a wild bunch who take joy in declaring that they were always holdouts to British rule. Indeed 'tis a special land and there the people are always happy to stop and have a 'craic' with ya (shooting the shit).

Dave O had invited me to the bar and it was time for me to meet a bunch of new people. They were lively and we were dancing at 3 or 4 in the morning.It could not have been a more perfect beginning to my European adventure II.

The next day I learned even more of Irish songs and customs from a bonnie Irish lass, Shannon. Then we met up with Dave O at the pub and had an early night.

In the morning we went around to explore the countryside and eat Irish
Home cooked Irish meal and a GuinnessHome cooked Irish meal and a GuinnessHome cooked Irish meal and a Guinness

country cooked food enjoyed immensely
meals. I had never imagined they would have such beautiful open spaces.

Dave is all about hiking and we saw horses waterfalls and good quality salt of the earth people. I couldn't believe how down to earth and genuine everyone was.

The next day I was taking a bus back up to Dublin to catch a flight out. I stayed at a hostel this time in the city centre since my flight was early. Big mistake , turned out. There was a snorer. Oh boy!

Imagine the loudest snoring ever imaginable by a 300 pound man and thats what we had. Nobody in the 12 bed dorm room slept that night. I dozed for 20 minutes at a time. Finally it was time to get up 'n get a plane. Easy peezy...(right?!?!)

I took a cab to the airport and everything seemed to be going according to plan as I went through security. I was very early. I had already printed my ticket out. I was all set. I waited at the gate and almost passed out. Usually I hang back until everyone is on the plane.

In a sleep-deprived state I handed my passport
inch beachinch beachinch beach

several miles of open beach
to the ticket agent and she leafed through it. "Where's yer stamp?", the voice Irish voice peered. "What?" I muttered. "If yer nut an EU citeezen ya need a stamp, lad. I'm sorry. But you'll have to return to the outside counter all the way through security and get the stamp and come back. We can't let ya on, otherwise".

I sprinted.

I had to ask the guard to let me back through the gate. After running the length of the airport I got to the counter. As I handed the agent my passport she called the gate to ask their status and they were closing the doors then and there.

Missed flight. Terrible feeling. All because I had been sleep deprived. I had thoughts of death towards the snoring fat man! I ended up waiting several hours for the next flight out and left on a funky sleep deprived note.

But I was on my way to Amsterdam.

And all was well.


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Horse and donkeyHorse and donkey
Horse and donkey

not sure they had much conversation..


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