Enter Killarney

After I finished up my studies at Oxford, I had a week's worth of vacation before my flight home. I decided to go to Ireland, and I ended up going alone. After a little research, I picked out a town in the southwest called Killarney. It's got great mountains and lakes, and several famously scenic bike rides in the vicinity.

To help you understand the events of my first day there from my perspective, I need to tell you about my preceding sleep history. I stayed up until 1:00 am on Sunday (July 22) so that I could catch a bus to Stansted airport. The ride was three hours long, and I was tired, so I propped myself up with the seatbelt and put my head against the window. I probably got an hour or two of shoddy sleep. Then I stumbled off the bus and into the airport, prodding my eyelids to try and unstick my contacts a little. I weathered airport processing with a gritty, humorless stare, and eventually boarded my tiny little airplane at about 6:00 am. On the plane, I sat next to a guy named James and opted to talk to him rather than taking the hour of sleep.

James was the beginning of Killarney day one. I sat next to him because he looked intelligent and friendly, and he turned out to be both. James was 38, if memory serves. He had dark hair, close cut, and about two days' worth of stubble. There was a snip of purple yarn knotted around his wrist so that he did not forget about his young daughter. We had a good, wide ranging discussion on the plane, and decided to explore Killarney together, a least for a little while. He advised me that whenever it's not raining in Ireland, you really shouldn't be inside sleeping, so we went ahead and rented some bikes the moment we hit town.

For present and future reference, here are some of the routes and locations I'll be discussing: I love Google maps.

After discovering my new favorite (continental) breakfast, which is mandarin orange slices on a bed of rice crispies and milk, we pedaled off toward Dunloe gap. It wasn't a particularly long ride, but it was tough at times because I had all my possessions bungied to the back of the bike. The highway got narrow, and we hugged the bushy shoulder of the road as cars flew by. Those Irish folk seem pretty jaded to cyclists. When the landscape finally opened on either side, I could really see that we were in a beautiful country. Everything was effortlessly green, and the grassy fields rolled out into the distance. The mountains off to our left appeared much closer then they really were in the clear air. It wasn't hot like a North Carolina summer, it was perfect.

As we drew near to Dunloe gap and turned off the highway, we started to see impressive clods of poop here and there on the road. They're called jaunting cars - open two-wheeled carriages pulled by ponies. We passed several on our way into the valley. Our proximity to the mountains and the size of my grin became irrevocably linked. When we paused at a couple shops near the base of the mountain, I knew it was time for another Haggis Hill experience.

James prefers fishing to mountain climbing, particularly because he has weak knees, so we decided it was time to split up. We made vague plans to communicate and meet up later, but I never got around to calling him. Sometimes it's the simplest little oversights that haunt you. That's OK, though, because I had a mountain to climb, and a good deed to do at the top. Next post: Buddy Mountain.

Haggis Hill

Here's an adventure that I alluded to way back in the post about breakfast. I was eager to write about it back then, but I was waiting to get some pictures from my companions first. Unfortunately, I forgot to save my own pictures online before handing in my rental laptop, so I have even less material to work with than before. Anyway, here's an excerpt from the breakfast post to jog your memory:

Breakfast 3: Haggis Heroes
The third breakfast came with a side of expeditionary bravado. Not only did it come with haggis, but the meal was the preamble to my spontaneous mountain climbing plan. While touring a castle the day prior, I saw a really cool hill-mountain-thing off in the distance, and declared that I was going to walk to it and then climb on top of it. I captured the imaginations of two others, and this grand adventure was set in stone. Time for a breakfast of champions. Better make it an English breakfast.

Well, the plan went forward. After breakfast, we bought some water and sandwiches, stuffed them in backpacks, and started walking across town toward the hill. We decided to first claim a closer bit of high ground so we could better plan our approach. There were some very old looking structures up there, including a group of pillars supporting nothing but the clouds. This was the vantage point for the photo in the breakfast excerpt.

Before I get too far, let me give my fellow explorers a quick biography. First is Ryan G. He was known as Ryan G because that is the extent of his name that he divulges on facebook. This is the portrait that Ryan G has chosen for his facebook profile. He's a good guy, positive attitude, and he'll be living on the same hall as me for the next year at NCSU.

This second fellow is Brett Pearce. He is a gung-ho football player turned NASA employee. When he hears an aircraft, he looks up, period. This picture is the most representative out of those he has chosen for his profile. Brett is all about power, preparedness, and testosterone in general, to the exclusion of social trifles.

It was with these two gentlemen that I struck out for adventure. We rambled through town in the right general direction while Brett discussed the optimal ways of blinding and maiming football opponents. Apparently it's not good to have a smear of icy hot across your forehead when sweat is pouring down your face. What a sport. When we reached the foot of our impressive hill, we found that there was a paved path almost all the way up. How very offensive. We immediately strode off through the grass to find our own way.

The nice thing about this hill is that it's very tall and completely clear of trees and thick brush. We had complete freedom to explore and pick our own pitch and terrain. It's also quite nice to track and appreciate your progress through the entire hike. Sometimes walking through a corridor of trees starts to feel like a road trip to the beach. Are we there yet? On Haggis Hill, you're always there, and you're always loving it.

After we got to the top, we went down into a breezy saddle of grass to eat lunch in the sun. Then we walked down to a plateau and traced the edge of a cliff. It was along this cliff that I snapped my own facebook profile picture. Beauty and sunshine under a dark, ominous cloud. Sounds like a vague and pretentious metaphor, but no angst intended; I just like the picture.

On the way back, that cloud opened up and armed the wind with shockingly cold rain. Fortunately, we were all carrying warmth from hiking about, and everybody was in the mood to laugh. We stood at the edge of that cliff and watched the rain whip around the mountain. Then the weather slapped me. A gust of wind blew sharply up and over the edge of the cliff and caught me across the face with a sheet of rain. It was an icy wet slap, and I was quite affronted, but what can you do. The sun came back out on our return walk through town, and all was forgiven.

Filling in the gaps

I arrived home last Friday afternoon, so I've been in Raleigh for a while now. I'm already adjusted to the time zone, and soon I will give up complaining about this oppressively hot weather.


However, there are a number of stories from Europe that are still untold because I didn't have the time or resources to do them justice. I'm going to start typing them up, but just keep in mind that they're completely anachronistic now. This blog is no longer the finger on the racing pulse of my life abroad. Alas.

Free Internet Causes Lines

I have a ton of things to say about Ireland, but I can't type them up in good conscience. There is already a girl waiting to use the computer. I'll get typing when I return home.

Harry Potter

At the end of the book, Harry transcends the traditional limitations of magic in his final confrontation with Voldemort. In an uncontrollable burst of power and emotion, he ignites the atmosphere and triggers the rapture. All the witches, wizards, and magical creatures are left behind to burn for their pagan beliefs. Then Vernon Dursley gives a sagacious speech about drills and the folly of sin to satisfy critics on the religious right.

That's the sort of thing you might say if you wanted to anger the long lines of fans waiting to pick up their pre-ordered copies last night. There were people with sharpie forehead scars all over the streets, and a few in full wizard or witch regalia. The funny thing to me was that in a town full of ancient stone churches and colleges, they didn't look particularly out of place. I consider that one of Oxford's selling points.

Myself, I'll be waiting a week to read the copy waiting for me at home. Fake spoilers only, please.

School's Out

I've been silent for the past week because I've been laboring over a pair of essays and some history studying. You didn't miss much.

Now that all my assignments are completed and handed in, I'm slowly coming to grips with the idea that I have no responsibilities. I'm told this depresses some people, but those people must not have a croquet tournament, banquet, and trip to Ireland to look forward to.

I'm flying over to a town called Killarney and staying for a week to enjoy the lakes and mountains and unbounded awesome. It's a bit like Switzerland, but on the cheap and in the English. As a bonus, it's famous for the sort of walking and biking tours I intend to do. My hostel promises free internet access, so I'll probably manage to write in often. The photo is obviously not my own, but I'll take plenty when I get there.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a stress relieving croquet victory to attend to.

Wicked in London

Last weekend I had my first chance to walk around London, but that portion of my visit wasn't really that great. I saw the parliament building, big ben, and Buckingham palace, but I didn't care enough to take pictures. Why should I waste my time when you can find tons of them in a Google image search? I care very little about checking landmarks off my list; I'd much rather talk to locals or see something actively entertaining.

To that end, I decided to pay up for tickets to Wicked, a musical telling the story of the wicked witch of the west (from the Wizard of Oz of course). I could tell I was in for something good when I saw the green body paint on the fans outside the theater. The production had drummed up a cult following, and there were fans milling around with painted nails and pointy hats discussing their last few viewings.

I sat next to an Australian woman who was touring Europe. I asked her about Sydney and her travels in Switzerland, and she gave me a little information, but she wasn't really a chatterbox. She may have been too busy anticipating her second showing. Thankfully, she didn't spoil anything for me.

As nearly all my friends here will attest, the show was excellent. A few even bought the soundtrack. The only person who wasn't thrilled was a guy who had no idea it was going to be a musical. I suppose it must have been like biting into a bagel when you're expecting donut. Truly, though, it was a great bagel. For several lead actors, this was the last performance, so there was extra energy in every scene and extra fervor in the applause. I'm very glad I decided to go.

Then we drank beer on the train ride back to Oxford just to keep things classy.