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Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 March 2016

Belfast, Northern Ireland

At the beginning of February, I visited Belfast in Northern Ireland with Cory, Nicole and Dan. The entirety of the thanks belongs to Cory and Nicole who organised our accommodation, recommended flights and booked us into the tour.

Dan, Nicole and I arrived in Belfast late on the Friday night, Cory having already arrived earlier that day direct from Dublin.

Our hostel was a little bit out from the centre of town, but it was comfortable; a room of bunk beds to ourselves in the attic and after we received our wristbands, we settled down for the night: we had a big day on the morrow.

The Giants Causeway
Cory had booked us into a tour to see The Giants Causeway and I had readily said 'yes'. To be completely frank, I had no idea what The Giants Causeway was, but it certainly sounded like something I wanted to see. We arrived at the tour site and were shown towards the coach. A young man from the company spoke to me.

I gaped a couple of times. Oh! He mentioned the weather! I opened my mouth to respond, when he said something else.

Quick...translate brain, translate! Turns out, I am really bad at deciphering the thick, Belfast accent and thankfully the young gentleman accepted my laugh, my quiet "Oh yes, I hope it holds out!" without thinking I was being rude.

We hopped on board the almost-full coach, and set off out of the city of Belfast. Our coach driver was also tour leader, and he was a wealth of knowledge, facts and figures that kept us entertained for much of the journey.

"If you can understand what I'm saying," he said, to which I nodded vigorously, "it's because I'm not from Belfast. I'm from Londonderry!" That explains that, then.

Much to my delight, I discovered that the tour was not just visiting The Giants Causeway (whatever that was), but a range of other places along the way. First stop: a Northern Ireland distillery. Whiskey for breakfast, anyone?

There was a quick hop-off-the-bus-photo-opportunity on the way, at Dunluce Castle, which was easily spotted as the House Of Greyjoy from Game of Thrones. It was cold. Very cold outside the bus, so photo taken, and we were back on in the warmth.

The Bushmills Distillery was expecting us, and laid out their triple distilled honey whiskey to try. It worked. I bought a couple of miniature bottles as I had never met a whiskey that didn't make me shudder.



Soon, we approached the visitors centre for The Giants Causeway, and advised to avoid it. As a group we decided to get the shuttle bus to the site to be able to spend a bit more time there. As the shuttle rounded the corner, the scenery before us was beautiful, crashing oceans on a wide expanse of hexagonal rocks.

The Giants Causeway is an incredible vast array of approximately 40,000 interlocking basalt columns, resulting from an ancient volcanic eruption.  As the lava melted, it formed the columns, creating stepping stones out to sea.

What I want to know is, who counted them? It was beautiful, set to the backdrop of the rich green mountains as we battled to stay atop the columns and not be blown off into the ocean (or tumbling down the side when we climbed too high!). I couldn't imagine the area in summer: winter created a sense of underlying danger, a wild, rugged beauty.












We spent as long as we could here, taking photos from every angle before finally remembering to just...be...exist...and watch the waves crashing against the columns. We jumped on the next shuttle bus, attempted to get some food and returned to the coach.

Our next stop a little way up the road was the Rope Bridge at Carrick-a-Rede, which was built in 1755 by salmon fishermen to avoid taxes.



Unfortunately because the wind was blowing a gale, we were not allowed to cross the rickety bridge, but we were allowed, two at a time, to descend to the beginning of the bridge and take a photo as if we were crossing it. As the lady marshall said, it's not often you get a picture with a completely bare bridge!

The coast was a beautiful sight, with the blue green water, the rugged green cliffs and the ominous grey sky, and we were exceptionally lucky that the weather held out for us.



Soon we were back on the bus and our tour continued up to the very pointiest tip of Northern Ireland and back down towards Belfast again. At one point, we were very close to Scotland and I could see a lighthouse shimmering on the horizon.

To be honest, I dozed a little on the bus at this point, and missed some of the facts and information from our guide. I wasn't the only one, as the movement of the bus had sent many to sleep.

We found ourselves back at the starting point and alighted from the bus, straight into a brawl between two men frantically punching each other in the face. I found this mildly ironic, as not an hour previously our guide had told us, "Belfast is the 2nd safest city for tourists in the world!" Maybe he was right - these were locals belting each other.

The guide had recommended a couple of good Irish pubs and I unfortunately was put in charge of finding one, which naturally meant we walked in entirely the wrong direction. Salvaged by the rest of the group, we finally found one of the recommended pubs which boasted being Belfast's oldest pub. We did a couple of laps but alas, no spare seats.

The other recommended pub, Whites Pub wasn't too far so we decided to give it a try. It too, was apparently Belfast's oldest pub, but this time we were able to get a seat quite easily.

We naturally ordered Guinness's and, you will be proud of me, by the end of the night I'd managed 3 and a half. This guinness was delicious. At the time, I had only had 2 guinness in my life and they had both been in Ireland, so I determined that I would try one in London later to see how it compares. I have since done so, in an Irish pub, no less, and it is true: the guinness in Ireland tastes supremely better.

While we ate dinner (for me, an incredible steak) we were entertained by a couple of live bands, one of which took Nicole's particular fancy. We were also accosted by some ladies on a hen's night, one in which was particular boisterous and took a shining to our table. It was finally time to flee, and so we made our way back to our hostel to pack and get ready for our final day in Belfast.



Titanic
"The say we may get into New York by Tuesday night!"
We had two things we wanted to accomplish today: visiting the Titanic museum and seeing the Belfast Peace Wall. We started with the Titanic museum, which was a reasonable walk from our hostel.

Since visiting the museum, I have re-watched the classic film Titanic, which, while Rose and Jack are fictional characters for plot purposes, the details of the movie are very true to the actual series of events. It made me feel extremely sad and hate stupid people.

The museum took us through the making of the Titanic, the unsinkable ship which created a huge industry boom in Ireland but was also extremely taxing on the men working the ship. This then led to how the Titanic came to sink, and why there were so few survivors.

We all know the story. 2200 people on board, only enough lifeboats to carry roughly half of these people. Then, when the boat did sink, the lifeboats were only half filled before being deployed, meaning in the end, approximately 700 people of 2200 were saved.

The final message got to me the most. Before SOS was the distress signal, it was the morse code for Come Quickly. Distress (CDQ).

The final message from the Titanic:
CQ.....



From the Titanic museum, we made our way to the Peace Walls via a lunch stop as it was going to be quite a hike. I ordered for the table 4 Irish Coffees as that was what we had agreed, and was promptly humiliated by the waiter and the table as he returned saying, "Can tell you're not from around here as no one orders an Irish coffee!"

Oh well. It was still delicious. Very strong, but!

Peace Walls
Cory had visited the wall the day he arrived and we followed his lead. However, when we approached the entrance he had used, it was blocked off. A large, metal gate blocked the traffic across the road; a constant reminder of times past. Googling this, it turns out that yes, the main gates are closed still to this day on a Sunday, but there were other entrances and so we wandered that way.

The Peace Walls were first erected in 1969 and divide the Catholic and the Protestant neighbourhoods of Belfast. They were created very, very high and span over 5km, to try to curb the violence between the two factions.



Now, the wall remains, and has a completely different feel to the Berlin Wall, another divider that I have visited. The Berlin Wall, as we all know, was torn down in 1989, whereas the Peace Walls remain upright to this day, even if movement can be made between the two sides now. It was eerie, and the mood was completed by the distance sound of a Mr Whippy icecream van, with the faint tones of Greensleeves the background music to our visit. Few cars came past, no other foot travellers.

Like the Berlin Wall, it was covered in interesting graffiti and artwork, and after studying it for some time we realised we had to return to the station so we could catch a bus back to the airport.

Right about here, it began raining on us, and a bunch of kids threw stones at us. It was a sombre end to the visit, but I am so very glad I have no seen Northern Ireland, the British part and I do very much recommend this little city.

Til next time,
x

 





Thursday, 2 April 2015

#BBGoesGreen for St Paddy’s Day - Part 2

Tuesday 17 March 2015
Today was the day. Having not partied too late the night before, I was able to be up and about bright eyed on St Paddy’s Day morning (well, sort of). Kailey and I decided to make our way down to breakfast early and we were met by the hostel owners, beaming, yelling “Happy St Patrick’s Day! Have a shot of Baileys!”

What a way to begin the day - it put an instant smile on our faces and a warmth in our bellies. We grabbed our hot Irish breakfast (no pudding) and watched as an Irish band set up in the corner, serenading us with uplifting jigs and fiddle music. Straight into Goodmoodville!

Breakfast!

Kailey and I watched for a short while before returning to room 420, instructing everyone remaining to go to breakfast to get their breakfast shot. Meanwhile, we poured ourselves our first mimosa of the morning - orange juice and champagne - and began donning our green attire.

I was initially going to wear a green dress but in the end decided to wear the Topdeck supplied green t-shirt as it was comfortable and had St Patrick's Day, Dublin Ireland splashed across it. I put on my little miniature hat, reapplied my bright green nail polish, pinned my shamrock to my chest and threw my shamrock scarf jauntily around my neck. Cynthia, it was discovered, was an expert shamrock drawer and face painter, and so we each waited patiently for our turn to be adorned with the green, white and orange. 

All the green!

Outfit: ready! Drink: low! Time to pour another! By the time we were meant to meet in the lobby at 10am to head to the St Patrick's Day parade we were all rather merry. In the lobby, the hosts cried, "We poured too many! Drink up!" And so we did, I think somewhere around the 4-6 shots mark for me. Someone enterprising soul also grabbed the remaining Bailey's bottle and so we continued to swig from it as we sauntered, high on life, towards the main street.

Little did we know what was in store for us. If we had, there were a few things we would have done differently. 
1) Brought more roadies. 
2) Considered taking some kind of hallucinogen.

We staked our claim on the side of the road - it was about 10.30am and the parade was to start at midday. And so we waited. It rained a little. We took a hundred selfies. To keep up our spirits we made up a chant. It went thus:
BritBound gets around 
BritBound gets around.
Original. Punchy. On point.

Time passed. Feet ached. Sobriety loomed.

Little did we know that this would be our facial expressions for the
next hour. Um, what?

Then suddenly Jeremy, who was closest to the barrier, exclaimed "It's starting!" The crowd surged forward. Two ladies holding a banner followed by an American marching band walked through the middle of the street, smiling and waving. American marching band? Wait, what?

If only we had an audio recording of us watching the St Patrick's Day parade.
"Did someone spike my Baileys?"
"ANOTHER American marching band? Are we going through all 50 states?
"This is driving me to drink."
"What the fuck is going on? I don't understand."
"Imagine if we had dropped acid and watched this."
What nightmares are made of.

The St Paddy's Day parade consisted of about 15 American marching bands, and some of the weirdest, mind-melting floats and costumes we had ever seen. After the fact, we read that the theme of the parade was showing off costume designer's abilities, but at the time we had absolutely no clue what we were witnessing. There were two Irish themed floats. The marching bands, too, were explained later - they paid to be part of the parade for practise purposes and so the organisers seemingly let all the states in. 

"How will we know when it ends, will there be a sign?" Thankfully, there was, and we stood looking at each other.

It was one of the most hysterical things I have ever witnessed, and it took about an hour to wipe the look of confusion from my face.

By now we were sober, hungry and needing a sit down. On St Paddy's Dar in Dublin, pubs don't serve alcohol until midday and supermarkets barricade their liquor off until 4pm, presumably to try to curb some of the impending drunkeness. A few of us grabbed some pizza then found a local pub we could squeeeeeeeeeze ourselves into to throw down a quick drink before heading to the Topdeck party.

We congregated on the corner, a sea of green. Together, we made our way to a local pub where the whole basement had been hired out for us. Initially, I had been a fraction disappointed that we weren't going to be mingling with locals, but after seeing the utter chaos inside each pub, I was extremely pleased we had space to ourselves. It didn't disappoint. Irish musicians were on stage accompanied by spectacular Irish dancing from two men and two ladies. Many drinks were had (Bulmers cider for me). Lizzie was saved many a time, although my speed drinking skills were not up to standard and people got bored waiting for me to finish my drink (thankfully). 

Drinking!

We took to the dance floor. Jumping, singing, yelling, legs up, before suddenly a CONGA LINE WAS FORMED. And so we went around the room again and again and across the stage before collapsing and needing another beverage to quench our thirst. The laughing, singing, dancing, talking and drinking were unending. Our carefully painted shamrocks were long sweated and smeared off our faces. My contacts were hurting my eyes and I can safely say that I have now had the experience of a stranger in the ladies toilets putting eyedrops into my eyes. We were all friends, and it was amazing.

My photo taking skills got increasingly worse.

After a while, it was time for this revelry to end - but not time to go home, not yet! We made our way up to the top level of the pub where we continued our drinking and talking, although slightly more subdued by now. Soon, however, we thought we had enough (little did we know!) and so we collecting our belongings and started towards the exit. Along the way, we had to pass a stage - a stage with an incredible[ly hot] and talented musician belting out fun and amazing tunes.

By now, just to talk, I was holding my throat from the pain of all the singing and yelling. But continue singing I must! And so we threw our stuff into a pile and there was yet more singing and dancing. At one stage, I accidentally lent against the Exit door handle and a few of us went tumbling into the street. Whoops! Back inside, the singer was gearing up for his encore; the night was ending. We were tired, sweaty, sore, drunk, happy.

It was midnight and, running into a few more of the group, we grabbed some pizza. It was delicious and scalding hot, but knowing how much liquor I had consumed I knew it was not going to be enough food to help me stave off the impending hangover (as we kind of forgot to have dinner). Zac and I decided to go to the nearby Maccas (my third for this trip, an extremely balanced diet!) before calling it a night back at room 420, surrounded by the contented snoring of many drunken souls.

***

Wednesday 18 March 2015

EVERYTHING IS AWESOME
EVERYTHING IS COOL WHEN YOU'RE PART OF A TEAM
EVERYTHING IS AWESOME
WHEN WE'RE LIVING ON A DREAM.

Jake's alarm sounded alarmingly. 

I had hardly slept and was already showered. Possibly still drunk, I wasn't hungover, however my tiredness left me feeling like rather a shattered individual. It was 6am, and we had to be at the bus by 6.45am to start the journey home.

Many bleary eyes were present. Surprisingly few horrible hangovers, and surprisingly still some people who should have been nearing death appeared to be functioning, albeit slowly. We climbed onto the bus quietly and it was only a short drive to the ferry terminal.

On the ferry, everyone dispersed. A few strong souls sat at the bar; most scattered around the ship to lie down and sleep. It was a ghost ship, full of prone bodies. Sadly, as usual - my inability to sleep prevented me from doing this but I did rest, quietly, or chatted intermittently when people woke up.
We got through the bus ride back into London with three movies; the bus was either asleep or singing along to Pitch Perfect. Back through Wales and into England, through the countryside and then the wonderful London traffic. 

A song came over the speakers. We neared the end of our journey. Amazing friends had been made, many laughs and spilled drinks shared and promises to see each other again at the next one exchanged.

Time to say goodbye…

***
Til next time, BritBounders ;)

#BBGoesGreen
#BritboundGetsAround
#winningatlife


xx

St Patrick, a bit of a hussy ;) 
Going bananas for bananas
Picture pinched from Jake at BritBound. ##BBGoesGreen

Tuesday, 31 March 2015

#BBGoesGreen for St Paddy’s Day - Part 1

Sunday 15 March 2015
4am. My alarm sounds and I leap out of bed, wide awake, prepared and eager for the day.

Who am I kidding. In actuality, I rolled out of bed and bleary eyed fumbled down the stairs for breakfast and a shower. Good thing I had finished packing the night before because I was in no state to be conscious. 

Soon I made the slow stumble down the street to the thankfully close meeting point. I was on my way to Dublin for St Patrick’s Day with almost 40 other BritBounders. It was going to be disgraceful.

***

I boarded the bus, my sleepy eyes struggling to make out faces, but near the front I spotted Sally. “May I sit here?” and plopped myself down. It was complete night outside and the clock ticked down to 5.15am at which point any stragglers not on the bus would be left behind. A final flurry of movement at 5.13am and we were all aboard.

We set off into the darkness.

Before we all fell asleep, our Topdeck trip leader Sabrina made the rounds to find out insurance details and emergency contacts. She stopped next to me.

“What’s your name?” Sabrina asked, pen and paper in hand.
“Sasha,” I replied, sleepily.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m Sasha.” I look confused. “Wait. No. I’m from Adelaide. My brain isn’t functioning yet.”

Sabrina laughed and gave me a hug. It was a sleepy, mildly humiliating start to the journey.

We had 3 hours before our first stop. Sally and I made small talk for a little while but sleepiness soon overcame us. A look up and down the bus saw everyone catching up on their Sunday morning sleep in, sitting upright, heads lolling to the side.
Feeling my way through the darkness
The music was suddenly cranking, and startled faces abounded as BB’s were rudely awakened.
Guided by a beating heart.I can’t tell where the journey will endBut I know where to start.
So wake me up when it’s all overWhen I’m wiser and I’m olderAll this time I was finding myselfAnd I didn’t know I was lost.

Ok! We’re up! We’re awake! We were approaching our first stop for breakfast and a leg stretch.

***

12 hours since our departure from London we arrived in Dublin, having travelled through England, Wales and then across the channel to Ireland on the ferry. At some point during the journey, the room allocation piece of paper had been passed around. There were to be 4 large rooms of 12-14 people in each, and my name had been written down for me in group 4.

We arrived at the hostel in Dublin, some of us already a little green from the 3 hour ferry ride, and our room allocations were distributed. Group 4 remained unaccounted for. 

“There was a problem with the fire alarm in your room last night,” the hostel owner announced, “therefore we’ve left the best until last..you all get an upgrade for tonight.”

Reading out names in groups of 3, we excitedly split up to see what our private rooms could possibly be like. I was to be sharing with Alex and Kailey. We swung open the door to our room and saw three puffy white beds, neatly folded towels, exquisite lighting, a television and a shiny white clean - and private - bathroom. 

#winningatlife!

Throwing on the TV, we prepared ourselves for the Welcome Party that night. There was commotion coming from below and, looking out, we saw naked revelry as one of the BB’s streaked through the courtyard. This pretty much set the tone for the next 3 days.

We made our way down to the lobby to set off into the night. Straight to the bar, I spotted Coopers Ale in the fridge and I exclaimed in surprise. On closer inspection, I realised we were in an Australian bar - which felt a little strange considering we were in Ireland. No matter, I decided to fill up on Bulmers Cider - decidedly Irish.

Here we drank and chatted (and threw back strange green shots - #BBGoesGreen) before moving onto Temple Bar, where we sweated and danced until the early hours.

***

Monday 16 March 2015
Thankful for the Maccas run I had taken the night before, I woke up a fraction groggy. We turned on the TV and watched Catfish and 16 and Pregnant, high quality British TV, while getting ready and enjoying a private shower in our private room. We had to take our suitcases down to breakfast with us because our luxury was to be short lived - we were moving into our big 14 room dorm that evening.

Breakfast was a lovely hot Irish breakfast where I did not try the pudding, and today Sabrina our Topdeck guide took us on a walking tour of Dublin before depositing us at the Guinness Storehouse. We learnt about the Spire of Dublin, affectionately known as the Stiletto in the Ghetto, which at one point had lights at the top but “Ireland couldn’t afford to replace them”. The Stiletto was our beacon home - it had lights on the base that lasered into the night sky so anytime we were lost and drunk wandering the streets of Dublin, we only had to look up for the Batman lights and the calling of the way home.

We learnt about the Dublin Post Office and the Easter Rising, and saw the bullet holes in the major statues that line the middle of the main road. Ireland has had a rocky and turbulent past - with basically all of the 4 provinces, and within each province each of the 9 counties, and within each of those 9 counties each region - hating each other (and continuing to do so). So much hate and so much love bundled up in one place. But then everyone banding together to hate the English when necessity arose.

She has a bullet hole in her chest.

We visited Trinity College which was founded in 1592 and where women were first admitted in 1904. Here at Trinity, if you have been made a scholar, you are officially allowed to request a Guinness while undertaking your exams. Apparently this was tested and the student was fined for not wearing a sword - part of the official attire supposedly required to be worn by scholars (not that they do). I love Ireland.

Soon it was time to make our way to the Guinness Storehouse to learn all about how the hefty beverage is made.

The Guinness Storehouse tour is self guided - we were each given a map (which I probably would have benefitted from looking at) and a voucher for our pint of Guinness - and pointed in the direction of the START sign. Architecturally and interior design-edly, the Storehouse was amazing. Facts and figures graced the walls, the floor - no boring signs situated in front of a boring display. Moving pieces, gushing water (to symbolise the fresh Irish water that goes into Guinness, part of the reason it tastes so different to Guinness elsewhere around the world), exposed piping. I didn’t spend a long time reading the facts - I figured I can google them later. Instead, another BBer Jeremy and I revelled in the green lighting and the structural design and collected our little sample of Guinness bread.

Pure Irish water - and make a wish!

Round about here I did my usual Sasha trick and wandered off, losing those I was walking with and continued up the building by myself. As it was the day before St Patrick’s Day, the Storehouse was teeming with people. I would have been interested in attempting to pour my own Guinness (it takes 1 minute, 19 seconds to pour perfectly) but a) the line was ridiculous and b) I didn’t want to mess up my first ever Guinness by doing a shitty pour.

There was a level dedicated to Guinness marketing which I found particularly interesting - as well as left field and random - and I stood transfixed by a mechanically moving fish for enough time that people probably started doubting my sanity.

I made it to the second-to-top floor and spotted some BBers. They instructed me to head up to Gravity Bar - the top level of the Storehouse to grab my pint of Guinness and to take in the 360 degree views of Dublin. I wandered mindlessly past a long line and asked the girl at the lift how to get up to the top as she wasn’t letting me into the lift. She said that the line was people waiting to go up, but if you “just look lost and walk through there, you’ll be able to go straight up.” Looking lost is a Sasha speciality! I donned my best “I wonder what’s in here” face and pushed into the queue heading up to Gravity Bar.

Lots of BritBounders were congregated up here, so I went to the bar and ordered my pint. Before my first sip, I insisted on a photo with the drink - this was to be my first ever Guinness and I had insisted that I wanted to experience it in Ireland. 

Sip.
Not bad!
Sips again.

Before my first sip!

Still going down ok. I could get used to this! I was pleasantly surprised - I expected to instantly hate it but I found it quite nice and oddly refreshing (maybe I was just thirsty?). I congregated with the others and we sipped and drank and laughed - and became increasingly drunker. It was almost lunch time and we were all drinking Guinness directly onto an empty stomach - it certainly went straight to my head. We gave ourselves Guinness moustaches and posed for many a photo.

I had heard it said that Guinness in Ireland tastes different to Guinness everywhere else. There are two reasons for this. One: the water, as mentioned above, is pure and clean Irish water. Two: the gas used to push the beer through the lines. In the rest of the world, it is carbon dioxide. In Ireland, they use nitrus oxide - this then has an affect on the flavour.
Now that I have had an Irish Guinness, I will need to test this theory.

Powering through our Guinness!

I was about an inch from the bottom of the glass when it became a bit of a struggle. Guinness is a like a meal - it is thick, and you could almost eat it with knife and fork. It tastes a bit like vegemite, for those who haven’t tried it. It’s a drink. Like, a drink drink. It knows who’s boss. So about an inch from the bottom, finishing it was an endurance event - it had gone a little warm and I was full and my eye sight was legitimately blurry. I wasn’t the only one, so, bottoms up! we decided it was time to go to the pub for lunch.

First pub we went to wasn’t serving for some time, and a few of us were keen to experience the ceili, or Irish social dances. We found another pub (the service was appalling, but I did have an Irish coffee to keep myself awake..and drunk). 

We rushed to the meeting point and made our way to the ceili (pronounced kayley). A road had been blocked off and a stage set up with dances instructing us on the moves. We laughed and danced and jigged until we could hardly breathe, bumping each other and into strangers - watching those around us who actually knew the steps in awe. Too soon it ended and we went back to our room to collapse.
Kailey, Sally and myself popped into a few kitsch stores on the way back to see if there were any other green accessories we could purchase for the big day on the morrow. I hung back and ended up buying a shamrock scarf and a little shamrock pin to add to my brooch collection.

Back at the hostel, it was time to find my new room. The new room now being room 420. The gentleman gave me specific instructions on how to find the room, instructions to which I was not listening, so I nodded and thanked him and walked in the general direction he waved his hand. The lift only went up to level 3. I stood, finger hovering over the button, deciding I’d wander around and try to figure this out by myself. Room 420 was through two doors, across a stairwell and then up a flight of stairs. It was the only room on level 4, and I do think they were having a laugh calling it that.

There were no bunk beds in the room, but beds laid out in rows like a hospital. In the middle of the room, an intense match of beer pong was being played. I was exhausted, the Guinness finally catching up with me, and so I collapsed onto a spare bed. It wasn’t long before we learnt that liquor would be difficult to purchase on the morrow - not until midday in pubs and not until 4pm in supermarkets - and so a few of us went to the local store to stock up on breakfast beverages.

Note: You will likely need to show your passport if you are trying to buy liquor in Ireland. They wouldn’t accept my drivers licence, strangely enough. I don't know if this was because it was the lead up to St Patrick's Day or a year-round occurrence. Luckily Kailey had hers and we were able to purchase all the requirements for breakfast mimosas and Jacks 'n coke and thus we were set for a drunken morning.

For now, though, it was time to get ready to head out into the night and again see some of Ireland’s night life in Temple Bar. Temple Bar is an area, not an actual bar. I was still struggling from a slight hangover a la the night before, and was feeling rather desperately tired. Our first stop was a very hot loft space in The Long Stone (I thought it said Long Scone..) before moving onto another more alternative bar. I wasn’t really feeling it and so left shortly after - going home, yet again, via Maccas. 

***

I shall continue St Paddy’s in the next one
xx