The next morning I woke up feeling so dastardly that Laura said I was looking very Irish, ie. Green. Half a slice of toast made me go white for awhile and had I doused myself in fake tan like all the pikie women in Ireland did, I'd be a flesh version of the Irish flag. The side of the road leading to the Cliffs of Mohar nearly got some half digested Thai curry fertiliser, but any complaints about my state of health, and there was plenty, stopped soon after viewing our destination.
That was because the cliffs themselves were breathtaking, and I had concluded that breathing was half of my problem that day. Upon reaching the Atlantic ocean, lovely grassy hills dropped over 100 metres, and the limestone cliff faces stretched both directions as far as the eye could see. Straight down was not one direction I was willing to look or straight up something would come, but views along the coast showed that at some points the ocean petered out onto rocky beaches, in other places smashing against the cliff face hard enough to blur the impact area with mist. The sea here in Europe seems more foreboding and mysterious and not just because it is closer to a solid state than back home. Australian waters may contain more natural threats, but these waters have claimed more sailors than what our oceans ever will.
I got as close as I could to the edge, even creeping up on my stomach at one point to see how far my vomit would have to fall if heaving didn't drop me along soon after. I took comfort in knowing that I may not be the bravest, but I'm not as stupid as some who got close enough to be sacrificed by a stiff breeze for the greater good of humanitys gene pool. Fortunately Laura didn't get too close as she managed to slip down one of the muddy slopes and turn her camera into an usuable dirt magnet.
We stopped for lunch in a town smaller than the one we had spent overnight in, but it still had a pub, and plain chips was all I was able to stomach. Stopping there wouldn't have been worth mentioning had the lock on the car not stopped working and refused to let us in. Had that been any other day I would have seen that as a sign from above and gone straight back into the pub feeling divinely obligated. After 45 minutes of numerous cunning but ineffective ploys, Colin had managed to work one of the windows down far enough to squeeze inside and save the day.
I slept all the way to Kilkenny, which gave my toxic system enough time to prepare itself for the nachos extravaganza that I was expected to cook up. I should make some sort of business out of traveling around the world and cooking nachos for people in their own home. What a life that would be! Further proving how awesome they are was how invigorated I felt the next morning, possibly aided by an early and alcohol free night.
This was crucial because it was St. Paddys day and still feeling too crook to drink may have gotten me deported. Laura had her Fathers Months Mind to attend, so Shane I and took in Kilkenny Castle. While being impressive like all castles are from the outside, the interior had been resurected from a derelict state 50 odd years ago and lacked the grandeur of a place that hadn't been rebuilt just to show off a few fancy tapestries. That is being pretty harsh I must admit, but I would have been more impressed with epic ruins than the remodelled hotel feel that it had. Laura admitted that you quickly get 'ruin fatigue' living in Ireland, so they're obviously pretty keen to rebuild one when it's located right in the heart of town.
We took a drive to visit the Dunbrody, a coffin ship stationed in a town famous for sending JFK's great grandparents off to change the face of American history. The ship isn't worth detailing because even though it was open until 6, the guy locking the gate at 4:45 said that you weren't allowed on anymore. That's a bit of Irish logic for you, but it meant we got to have a nice meander home through the countryside at dusk instead of high-tailing back to Kilkenny to get our Paddy's drink on.
You would think that the Irish would start St. Paddys day by 'Irishing' up their coffee more than they do any other day, but it was surprising just how small the celebration was. There was a parade in Kilkenny, followed by a big night on it, with Shane nearly getting beaten up by a lesbian, and only allowed into the last pub if we didn't let him near the bar, but the consensus seemed to be that the Irish are more mad for it overseas because it's an effective way to combat homesickness. I'm sure it would have been mental in Dublin, and needing to be in Kilkenny for Laura made me extremely thankful I wasn't in the capital city, but apart from the over abundance of green novelty apparel, I imagine most nights on the piss in Ireland would be as much fun.
What wasn't fun was waking to the second diabolical hangover in 3 days. Thanks to Laura using sex to overcome the fact that the alarm on Colins newly smashed phone wouldn't stop, I was unable to sleep even half of what I needed. We set off 2 hours later than we had planned and by the time we had gotten to the incredibly beautiful valley of Glendalough, it became immediately apparent how much better it would have been to have had 2 more hours there.
As already mentioned, this was the last day of the trip and Mother Nature had turned the winter skies up to maximum blueness. We stopped at the upper lake first and the sight of angled sun cutting through the slighty misty air across the lake was one of the most enchanting scenes I had seen on this trip. Shane and I tried to skip a few stones across the water and proved that we either hadn't done it before or shouldn't ever try to do it again. We took a walk along the boardwalk to the lower lake but by the time it came into sight, we realised it was time to leave.
I tried to sleep as much as possible on the trip back to Dublin because this hangover was a creeper. Lack of sleep is the biggest factor and the hangover gets worse as the fatigue of the day increases. The toxic hangover from the other day was different in that you feel better as the day goes on and the body to continues to remove more and more crap from your system. Being able to distinguish the difference between the two meant that I was having them too frequently and should consider leaving Ireland before I have to bury my liver there.
Unfortunately that had already been booked in for the following morning, and a return again soon is an absolute must. As long as Laura is here, I will always have a great reason to return, and the sheer magnitude of my hangover forced me to forgo a visit to the Guinness factory. While I possibly could have staggered my way through it, I would not have enjoyed it, nor been able to even take the top off of the pint they give you at the tour's completion. Like Scotland, Ireland also has a brewery that I can use to justify a return visit to the country just to see its most famous brewery.
