As some of you may recall, we were in Bruges earlier in the trip. If you don't recall, you haven't been paying attention or drugs have rueened your mindtank - either way, I can't be bothered to recap such things for you. The point is, upon our arrival in Ireland (and long ass car ride due to us programming the GPS to avoid toll roads; while the countryside was lovely, we probably could have done with about 3 hours less of it), we checked into our hostel and unpacked. After supper at Dublin's oldest pub (The Brazen Head - fill in your own filthy jokes here), we decided to watch a movie. "Oh," said we, "let's watch In Bruges,
because it is awesome and we were recently in Bruges!" Excellent plan devised, we went down to the front desk to rent our movie. In order to do so, I had to hand over my passport (this will come up later). When we went downstairs to actually view the video recording, we met a very nice man named Paddy Kelly (niiiiiice), who runs a tour here. We decided to sign up for his tour once the movie was over. After figuring out the dvd player, we started watching the hilarious story of two assassins chilling out in Bruges. We were about an hour in when we heard a peculiar sound. That sound was, apparently, the call of the drunken English hooligan, aka Drinking Game Charlie and his gang of miscreants. Needless to say, they raised such a clatter that we were forced to abandon our movie. Titboxes. So, despite having actually been to Bruges, and taking the initiative to rent the movie In Bruges, C has yet to see it. Oh, the humanity.
C awoke much earlier this morning than I did. Much, much earlier. And walked around in
the rain. I'll let her fill in her harrowing ordeal trying to put the car park. If it were a Harry Potter story, it'd be 'Harry Potter and the Wide Vauxhall'. This is true. Basically, I was tired as hell last night, and we drove into Dublin at 4pm (read: rush hour) so I eventually gave up on finding parking and parked on the street. It was free until 8am, so I figured I'd just move the car to a car park in the morning. That was a great plan.
I awoke at 5:30am and decided I should go down and move the car before rush hour. I really didn't want to navigate with a pile of cars, so 5:30am was definitely the time to try it out. I went down to the front desk and a rather crotchety young man was working. He demanded a 20 Euro deposit for the key, and 8 Euro for the night. Fine enough-- I gave him my credit card. Well, this proved inadequate. He put a 20 Euro hold on my card, but demanded cash for the 8 Euro. I had none. Whatever, I said I would go to a bank machine after I moved the car-- but he wanted it by 8am. Ugh. Ok, fiiiine. I'll do whatever inefficient douche thing your require, dick, just give me the FOB for the parking garage. Finally, I got it in my hot little hand and was out the door.
It was raining. Pathetic fallacy, I believe. I walked a few blocks to the car, stopping at the gas station to try and get cash out. Alas, their ATM was on a time delay and refused to let me have
my monies 'til 8am-- too late. So, I decided to move the car and deal with the ATM later. I drove to the street where the parking was supposed to be, but I couldn't find a park. I noticed one, but there were big metal doors closing the entrance and I didn't know what to do. So I drove around a few more times trying to see if I had the wrong place. Luckily, I saw a woman go in--she got out of her car and there was a tiny little fob reader outside the door--she clicked her key, and went in. I decided to try the same. It did work, but the metal door kept swinging back and forth
like it was possessed. I was afraid it was going to hit the car, so I let it close and re-opened it again. After zipping into the car park in an open opportunity, I realized I had to get up to level 8.
I can't even navigate a car park in Canada-- the only accident I have ever had was scratching the side of a car (not mine...even worse) on a pole in a damn parking garage. So, I was in some fear. I made it up the first one, but when I got to level two there was a car parked opposite the UP ramp. I couldnt get enough space for clearance to turn my long-ass car around to get up the ramp. I tried a few times, to no avail, and eventually just went up the DOWN ramp. I was very glad it was 530am at this point. I eventually made it up all 8 stories unscathed, but I am not looking forward to coming down tomorrow.
As for the 8 euros, I walked around in the rain until I found an ATM and took out enough for the day. By the time I got back to the hostel, it was 7:00am. It took me 1.5 hrs to move the damn car. Perhaps a lame story.... but try to picture the expletives coming out of my mouth as I tried to get up the whore ramps and you should appreciate and be amused by the situation.
We tried to go to the Jameson Factory, but we didn't have enough time to get there and get to Kathleen's tattoo appointment. So we walked over to the Jervis shopping complex and while she was being needled, I went shopping. I have zero monies for such things, so I went to Penneys (aka Primark in the UK) and bought some comfy 8Euro boots for walking around. Then, it was off to meet Kathleen and take a Dublin Tour! Now, while Cane was shopping, I was, as
mentioned, getting a tattoo. Nothing really spectacular there, except that, when I went to show the nice tattoo man my passport as valid id to prove I was of age to be tattooed, I noticed something odd about it. The picture on the passport I held in my paw was, strangely, of a girl
with shoulder length hair named Bailey. She is from Kitchener and was born in November of 1984.
All of this would normally be fascinating for me, but it was not at the time. Nosireeee. Basically, panic closed its cold claw around my heart and I could not think of anything other than
'where in the GEE DEE EFFING ESS is my passport?' (that one's for you, mom). The answer: remember back up there when I....okay, I will continue this story in a minute, but I have to
comment on the fact that the French dudes behind us are listening to the Ketchup Song. And singing. It is hard to concentrate. Okay, anyway, my passport was at the hostel....in the movie jacket...and not with me. Luckily, I had my birth certificate on me, so I got my tattoo, but holy Jesus, if I hadn't checked it this afternoon, I'd be at Heathrow in a couple of days SOL.
The Dublin Tour. All epic win. We started with with Irish Museum, which contains the remains of an entire Viking village that was excavated in the middle of Dublin. Sounds lame, but it very interesting. There are very uniquely preserved human remains, and the equivalent to Irish crown jewels (The Brooch of Tara). We also hit the art museum, which
has a surprisingly vast collection for such a small country. We also saw Dublin Castle, (Edinburgh's retarded cousin castle) which was far less impressive than other castles. We also saw Trinity College and the incredible collection at Chester Beatty's Library. We also hit city hall and Christ Church Cathedral, which contains the excavated ruins of a monastery from a few thousand years ago. It was a great afternoon, about 4 hrs long. We missed going to the Guinness
Storehouse because we were walking around, but we saw enough to make it worth our while! We also learned a few fun facts... My favourite?
1) This may be an urban legend, as some say, but our genius guide (an Irish historian and teacher) swears that the etymology of the word FUCK can be found in the time of Henry VIII. He told us that Henry started taxing prostitution to fund his new church, and legal prostitutes had to have a parchment with a royal seal on it--the seal said FUCK--Fornication Under Consent of the King. Hence, the term. Some swear by the truth of this, and some say it is total bs...but either way, its a good story. UPDATE--this is definitely untrue. Oh well.
2) In North America, the hand gesture for "Fuck You" is the middle finger-- in the UK it is the first two fingers flipped off at someone--a backwards "peace" sign. This comes from medieval times. Archers use these fingers to shoot, and when they were captured the opposing army would cut their first two fingers off so they could no longer shoot. If they ran fast enough to get away, they would turn back and flip their first two fingers off to the other badasses, as a sort of "screw you".
3) We also learned where "pale" comes from, in reference to being afraid. This one isn't naughty, so you can skip it if you're only reading for our sexual and vulgar references. In viking times,
there was a community within a walled city, and outside there was a wicker barrier around the
city called a pale. If someone within the walls screwed up and was thrown out of the city, and had to live "beyond the pale". This came to be synonymous with feat because if there was an attack, those living beyond the pale were too far to get back to the safety of the city. Hence, they were scared as hell and "pale".
The more you know.
Tomorrow, we are off to Rosslare to catch the ferry to Wales! The final hours of our journey are approaching...and we are considering jumping off the ship to avoid returning.
xoxo C
NNB, K
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