One week in Ireland.
Hostels and public transportation.
(At least until the strike.)
We made do, taking a daytrip to Blarney Castle and Cobh with a couple other hostelers, one of whom had a car.
You can't tell, but this is me, kissing The Stone. It was really cool - the stone has been kissed smooth - but mostly it was scary. ("Mostly it was scary." And they say that Gift of Eloquence thing is a myth. Pfffft!)
There's really nothing I can add to this.
I fell in love with the town Cobh (pronounced "Cove") as soon as I laid eyes on it. It has the very interesting distinction of being the last port of call for the Titanic before it went into open water and also being where the Germans sunk the Lusitania, a passenger ship, in WWI. Together, the number one and number two most famous passenger ship disasters. Weird, no? The museums were fantastic.
I loved that there were no supermarkets. You want bread? Go to the bakery. You want meat? Go see Henry Molloy. And if he ain't in there, go 'round the corner and check there at Maguire's. Henry's been known t'get deep in his pints, may the saints watch over 'im and his nine remainin' fingers.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!