Planning
After five years of wedded bliss (no, seriously), Brooke and I decided that it was an absolute necessity that we go on a new adventure. With the exception of a few long weekends in Punta Gorda at my in-law's condo, Brooke and I hadn't gone on a vacation just the two of us since the trip that started this website - our week in Yellowstone, so we scoured the internet for months looking for great vacation deals on the other side of the Atlantic. We decided on a European destination immediately, thinking that we might as well swing for the fences since we had already decided to leave the little one at home. Finally, a few weeks into January, Brooke pieced together a trip to Ireland, touring the southern half of the country, well within our budget and giving us plenty of money to spend on food and drink. Ireland had always been a "bucket list" destination of mine, and now that our trip was booked we only had one thing to do: drink as much beer as possible so our tolerance was as high as it was when we were in college. No easy feat, I must say.
Day 1: Boston to Dublin to Kilkenny
Our level of concern for this trip peaked 48 hours prior to leaving when I took consecutive sick-days from work and could barely walk due to some insane, still-undiagnosed foot pain. Fast forward to three hours before takeoff, and a classic New England snow squall left the departure and arrival boards at Logan International Airport littered with every traveler's most feared words - "canceled" and "delayed." We had been nursing a few cold brews at an airport lounge when Brooke recommended I venture over to the US Airways counter and inquire about our flight status. Thanks to the angelic US Airways rep, and customer service that seemed too good to be true, we were put on an earlier flight that assured that we would make our connecting flight out of Philly en route to Dublin. Both flights were mildly uneventful, save for some unnerving turbulence after takeoff in Boston, and the movie Drive downloaded on my phone kept me occupied for two out of the seven hours we spent on the plane.
We landed in Dublin around eight o'clock in the morning and after clearing customs headed directly over to the rental car area to pick up our micro machine for the week. We thought my general state of malaise was our only hiccup for the trip, but we were wrong. According to some fine print in the boilerplate of our rental car agreement our car was going to cost more than $200 higher than we had anticipated. Suddenly, all of that extra money for food and booze had a big chunk taken out of it. After some rather unsuccessful haggling with the miserable Eurocar employee we cried Uncle, grabbed the keys, and headed off to grab our car, which was the smallest thing on four wheels I've ever seen. Once we circled the car three times to figure out who sits where, we jammed our carry-ons in the "trunk," whipped out the map, and proceeded to get lost in the rental car parking lot. We finally merged onto the M9 highway and headed south towards Kilkenny. It took me a good while to adjust to driving on the left side of the road and sitting on the right side of the car, and each exit ramp and lane merge proved tricky. An hour or so later we found ourselves navigating the side streets of Kilkenny, looking for our hotel for the night, the Kilkenny Pembroke Hotel.
Not to get too far ahead of myself, but the Pembroke ended up being the best accommodations we had for the entire week in Ireland. It was a small, modern, Manhattan-esque boutique hotel right in downtown Kilkenny and best of all, it was clean as a whistle! We checked in, ditched our bags, and headed off to navigate the small Medieval city on foot. After the long flight and surviving on the remnants of our airline meal, lunch was priority #1. We took a right out of our hotel and within 50 feet were greeted with the stone facade of the Kilkenny Hibernian Hotel. Brooke and I kicked off the Great Guinness Consumption Fest at the Hibernian, and paired our drinks each with a Shepherd's Pie (Brooke) and Fish Pie (Me). After what was one of the best lunches we would have all week (sensing a trend here?) we trudged off towards the Kilkenny Castle, two blocks from the Hibernian. Brooke and I spent about an hour touring the many floors of the castle, admiring its art and furnishings and enjoying the vast lawns that serve as bookends to the castle's massive stone footprint. It was unfortunate that pictures were not allowed, as it really is a beautiful spot and was definitely worthy of taking up a few hundred megabytes of space on our camera's memory. At this point, Brooke and I had been awake for a little more than 24 hours and were in dire need of a catnap. We headed back to the Pembroke, showered up, and crashed on the king size bed for two hours or so. We woke up thoroughly confused about what time it was (time change + nap), and let our stomachs dictate what was next on the schedule: dinner. The lovely lady at the front counter of the hotel advised us of three great restaurants in the city and we opted for her favorite, Cafe Sol. This little street-front cafe was four blocks from our hotel and the walk made for a nice, refreshing wake-up as the unseasonably warm winter, much like New England's, held evening temperatures in the high 40's. Our bottle of pinot grigio accompanied Brooke's cod and my braised pork belly perfectly, and a dinner this delicious was worthy of being followed up by only one thing - Guinness.
Worthy of it's own story here on Hunter's Hikes, Tynan's Bridge House is Kilkenny's oldest pub dating back to 1703. That's right, 73 years older than the United States. We sauntered in, grabbed two stools at the bar, and immersed ourselves in the #1 thing we wanted to do in Ireland - drink some pints with the locals. Everything about this bar was exactly as I hoped. It had old, mustachioed bartenders, live Irish music, and hordes of locals downing pint after pint of Guinness. Brooke and I enjoyed a few pints before striking up conversation with a nice gentleman to my right. Eamonn, from a small city north of Dublin, was in town with a bunch of buddies on a guys-only golf trip. Eamonn, Brooke and I spent the remainder of the night chatting about everything from children to golf to various sites in Ireland we should (and shouldn't) see. Many hours and many pints later, with our vision thoroughly blurred and our balance equally compromised, Brooke and I hugged our new best friend Eamonn goodnight and made our way back to the Pembroke. It wasn't the most gracious commute in the world but we eventually found the right street and the right hotel. Our night ended with both of us face down on the king size fearing what the morning would bring. Staying consistent, Kilkenny offered not only the greatest night in Ireland, but one of the greatest nights of my life. It was right up there with our first night in Holland when we got equally wrecked at a neighborhood bar in Delft.
Day 2: Kilkenny to Killarney
Ouch. Not only did our prospective 8am departure to Killarney get delayed by almost three hours, but our heads pounded and we were both overcome by vicious waves of nausea. Despite our brutal hangovers, we managed to slowly crawl from beneath the covers, shower, and make our way down to the rental car. The two cafe americanos from the shop a few doors down from the hotel helped, and we were soon on our way headed southwest towards Waterford before heading directly west to our eventual destination, Killarney.
After just an hour on the road we were ready for lunch (probably because it was lunch time, after only being on the road for an hour...stupid hangovers.) We navigated downtown Waterford and found what seemed like a nice little spot for lunch, Dooley's. Dooley's is probably a terrific restaurant in an even more terrific hotel, but unfortunately our stomachs were still in too much turmoil to enjoy food. As soon as my egg sandwich and Brooke's tomato panini were placed in front of us our faces turned green. I think our waitress was on to us when we each took only a bite or two, but managed to each drink three to four Diet Cokes before heading out. We drove around Waterford for a few minutes before remembering we still had a couple hours of driving until we hit Killarney, and that wasn't counting all of the stops we wanted to make.
Over an hour later, after getting really turned around in Cork City, we found our way to the Blarney Castle. We parked, made the long walk through the grounds up to the castle's main entrance, and climbed the hundreds of steps to the top. Despite everything we had heard - "don't kiss the stone, it's A) dirty, B) too touristy, or C) peed on regularly" - we still got in line and kissed the famous Blarney Stone. How could we not? I wasn't coming all this way to not kiss it because it's "not cool." After making our way back down to the ground floor we headed over to the cafe to grab another coffee and try to bring ourselves back to 100%. Coffees in hand, we spent the remainder of our time in Blarney walking the many trails that weave their way through the grounds of the castle, stopping every few feet or so to take some pictures. After the obligatory gift shop stop, we finished driving the last hour or so to Killarney. This last hour of driving really started to show us the beautiful, rolling terrain we had come to expect in Ireland. We had been told, both in print and by locals, that the southwest corner of the country, where Killarney lies, is one of the most beautiful areas with its rolling green hills and pastures climbing to rugged, rocky mountains. Both sources of information were right.
Just like in Kilkenny, we happened upon our hotel in Killarney after only a few right and left turns through the busy city center. Our accommodations for the night were at Murphy's, right in the heart of downtown Killarney. After checking in and dropping our bags in our (very small and plain) room, we hit the streets and tried to acquaint ourselves with all that Killarney in March can offer. And, it turns out, Killarney offers quite a bit. The streets are lined with various shops, restaurants, and of course, pubs, but because this was March, and kind of late, most of them were closed. We settled on eating dinner at the Killarney Plaza Hotel and had what was one of the best dinners of the entire vacation. Brooke enjoyed native fried cod, and I had a rack of lamb that could have been on the cover of Gourmet magazine and could have easily passed as a rack of rib from a much larger grazing mammal. This thing was huge, and cooked perfectly medium rare. Surprisingly, Brooke and I decided to wash everything down with a few adult beverages. We were back to our old selves after 12 hours of recuperating, so a couple cold Smithwick's were in order. Once we forked over enough Euros to cover the check we made our way back to Murphy's and saddled up to the bar. We downed a few Guinnesses while talking with both bartenders about, of all things, the NFL. It seems one of our bartenders was (sadly) a huge fan of the Philadelphia Eagles, and with my beloved New England Patriots having just recently shit in the punch bowl of Super Bowl XLVI, we had plenty to discuss. With our last pint of stout muscled down our gullets, we headed upstairs to catch some shut-eye. In a weird turn of events, despite it being our second night there, Brooke and I both suffered from a severe case of insomnia. We laid in bed wide awake until almost 4am local time before finally catching a few hours of sleep. This time, though, we didn't sleep three hours beyond our hopeful departure time, so that was nice.
Day 3: Killarney to Dingle
Our second morning served as the first morning in which we (read: I) enjoyed the traditional Irish breakfast. Consisting of Irish sausage, Irish bacon, white pudding, black pudding, eggs, beans, tomatoes, and potatoes, the Irish breakfast is a work of art. A thing of beauty. A gift from the gods. It is scientifically proven that the traditional Irish breakfast can sure any hangover. OK, so maybe I made that up, but it puts a serious dent in any hangover and provided me with plenty of fuel for the morning's planned activity: driving the famous Ring of Kerry.
Yet another nice thing about touring Ireland in the off-season was the lack of tourists. For example, the 155km Ring of Kerry is, according to most major guide books, supposed to take your somewhere in the vicinity of eight to ten hours to drive due to traffic jams caused by innumerable tour buses and rental cars. In March, though, you have the road all to yourself. Seriously, I don't think Brooke and I saw more than six cars on the entire drive, and it didn't take us more than three hours to complete. The drive started off just south of Killarney and headed south through Killarney National Park, passing such landmarks as the Ross Castle and the Muckross House. Brooke and I parked the Hyundai at each spot and walked around, taking dozens of photos of each beautiful location. Our drive continued for over 120 miles of some of the most scenic landscapes we've ever seen, and as you can see from this website we've been to some pretty seriously scenic spots. The Ring of Kerry is definitely the most amazing stretch of road I've ever driven, and according to Brooke supersedes the Pacific Coast Highway as her favorite stretch of road. I don't want to come off as lazy, but the pictures do a far better job serving to illustrate this portion of the trip. It was 120 miles of some of the most amazing scenery I've ever laid eyes on - that's not the easiest thing in the world to put into words.
We were pretty much finished with the Ring of Kerry by the time lunch rolled around. We found ourselves on the northern edge of the Iveragh Peninsula and saw a sign that tempted us enough to take a turn off the road in search of Jack's Coastguard Restaurant. We found it, 4km later, and took a table in the quiet restaurant that fronts Castlemain Harbor. We started with a bowl of seafood chowder, an order of mussels in a light cream sauce, and fried cod, and we devoured it. You know those meals that are so delicious that you inadvertently make noise while you eat it, like moans and groans? Well, this was one of those meals. After lunch we finished the last 70 or so kilometers out to Dingle where we would spend the night. The last 10km into Dingle were some of the best kilometers we drove in the entire country. Just when we thought the Ring of Kerry was the best scenery of the entire trip, it wasn't even the best scenery of the day. The rolling green pastures, that were once featured in the film Far & Away, were iconic Ireland and guided us down to Dingle bay, where the greatest town in the Western Hemisphere lies.
Dingle, Ireland is a coastal fishing town not unlike many of the coastal towns that dot the New England coastline. Our accommodation for the night was the Greenmount House Bed & Breakfast, up on a hillside looking down over the town and Dingle Bay. Our room was two levels and provided us with a gorgeous view of the Bay while we enjoyed an ice cold Smithwick's on our little loveseat. After our beer we decided to burn the last few hours of daylight walking around downtown Dingle. We parked down in the public lot right across from the docks and started walking up and down the patchwork of side streets that make up downtown. After poking in and out of a few art stores and jewelry shops, we needed a Guinness. A colleague of mine from Worcester recommended having a pint at O'Sullivan's Courthouse Pub, and that we did! Sitting by the wood stove while enjoying a pint of Guinness was a nice respite from the cold rain outside, and the small talk we engaged in with a few locals made it even more enjoyable. We finished up our pints and decided to continue navigating this seaside gem of a town. A friend of ours had suggested (demanded) that we go to the Reel Dingle Fish Co. for fish & chips. She is as in love with food as we are, so Brooke and I knew going in that if Alecia told us we absolutely had to eat here, then it must be as good as advertised. When we walked in we were the only two customers in the shop that had just opened a few minutes prior, so we started chatting with the owner. A true artist who takes his craft seriously, he gave us the step-by-step process he takes with every meal to ensure it is as fresh and delicious as possible. He buys fresh fish off of the boats every morning, and lists it on the chalkboard menu before opening. When he runs out of that day's fish, then it's time to close. It's that simple. The freshest food possible on your plate without seeing the likes of a freezer or microwave. He let me sample a big piece of deep friend ray wing, and it was good. It wasn't until Brooke and I got our monstrous serving of fried Hake (suggested over Cod) and chips wrapped in brown paper that I think I saw the face of God himself. I'm not kidding. If you ever find yourself within a few hundred miles of Dingle, Ireland, make the trip to Reel Fish and thank me later. Brooke and I decided to thumb our nose at dinner and just fattened up on fish and chips for the next 30 minutes.
After overeating to the point of nausea, Brooke and I decided to walk around a bit more. Not by choice, you see, but because we would have fallen asleep standing up had we stopped moving. After a little while longer of popping in and out of stores, we needed more beer. Our last stop for the night before hitting the sack was John Benny's Pub. It was the perfect place to end our day, with live Irish music, cold Tom Crean's Irish Lager on tap, and a large selection of oysters on the menu. We ordered a cold Tom Crean's, an order of baked oysters, and an order of oysters on the half shell to enjoy while listening to a few lads play some Irish music. The beer was delicious and the baked oysters equally delicious, but it was the raw oysters that deserve note. It wasn't so much that they didn't come with cocktail sauce or a fresh lemon, it was the fact that they were each the size of a catcher's mitt. I'm not kidding. They filled your mouth completely and even diehard seafood fans like Brooke and I had to gag these monsters down. It took a little enjoyment out of the oysters, but provided us with some good laughs and a reason to order two or three more beers - as if we ever needed a reason. We spent the remainder of the night enjoying the locally-brewed lager and picking bits of oyster from our teeth before making the short drive back to the B&B. All of the lights were out (I think we were the only sub-50 year old guests), so we tip-toed to our room and quickly fell asleep. We were headed to the Cliffs of Moher and on to Galway the next day, so we needed a good night's sleep, especially after not getting much shut-eye the night before in Killarney.
Day 4: Dingle to Galway
We woke up far less hungover than our first morning and far less tired than our second morning. Our bodies finally cried Uncle and succumbed to a solid eight hours of sleep for the first time since arriving. We were treated to literally one of the best traditional Irish breakfasts at the Greenmount. What, you don't believe me? This is straight from the internet, so it must be true:"Breakfast, which is served in a conservatory taking advantage of the fabulous view, is a feast which Currans are famous for (1989 and 1991 Galtee breakfast awards regional winner & The Jameson Guide Breakfast Award Winner 2001)." Brooke and I did enjoy the fabulous view of Dingle Bay from the breakfast conservatory and made sure to not linger too long as we knew we had a three hour drive to Galway, and that included a half-hour ferry ride.
Our first stop upon leaving Dingle was the infamous Connor Pass, a narrow roadway that carves up and over the highest pass in Ireland in the middle of the Brandon Mountains. The vista at the top looks back over Dingle and Dingle Bay, while offering equally impeccable views of the coast to the north. It's a white-knuckle drive, and gave Brooke and I some of the best views of the entire trip. We meandered our way down to the northern coast of the peninsula and keep chipping away at the several hundred kilometers to Galway. There were two routes we could choose from to get to Galway: one that was almost 300 kilometers and would take several hours, or one with a ferry with that would take substantially less. We opted for the quickest possible route and before we knew it we were boarding the Shannon Ferry that runs from Tarbert to Killimer. It was an enjoyable way to spend 30 minutes, slowly crossing the bay and taking a break from the stressful wrong-side driving that we were still not accustomed to. Once back on terra firma only an hour lay between us and the stunning Cliffs of Moher, one of our most highly anticipated attractions of the trip.
Holy s#@t! The Cliffs of Moher are insane. We've stood halfway up the Grand Tetons and looked onto the valley floor below us, we've stood atop Observation Point after a six mile hike and looked 3,500 feet below us into the Zion River Valley, and we've stared longingly into the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. Needless to say, Brooke and I have cast our eyes upon some pretty majestic vistas; the Cliffs of Moher rank right up there with the best of them. We took what seemed like hundreds of pictures of the cliffs if only because every time we looked at them, it was like seeing them for the first time. For over an hour, Brooke and I walked along the ocean's edge always just a few feet from instant peril. There's even a plaque memorializing all of those who have perished at the cliffs, and it's not a short list. There are sections where there is no fence protecting you and nothing stopping anyone from getting just a bit too close to the edge in hopes of capturing that perfect picture. With almost 80 kilometers still remaining on our trip to Galway, we headed back to the car and hurriedly made our way north.
Well, we didn't get very far once we left the cliffs. Our growling stomachs made the decision for us and we made a short detour to Doolin for some grub. McDermott's Pub was the place, and the food was incredible. I scarfed down a steak sandwich while Brooke made a killer decision by ordering the bacon and cabbage lunch special. Bacon in Ireland is not like bacon in the states, it's more like ham, and it was paired with boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and a white sage sauce. It was freakin' awesome. I gladly helped her clean her plate, and once our pints of Guinness washed down the last mouthfuls we left some euros on the table and hit the road. Again. It was late afternoon when we finally made it to Galway, so we checked into The Ardilaun in the Salt Hill neighborhood of town, dropped our bags, and headed into town. We found a sweet parking spot and spent the next few hours walking up and down the various side streets that make up the commercial/touristy part of town. I bought my sister a beautiful necklace and my niece some even nicer earrings at two jewelry stores, and then found my Mecca: O'Maille's. This was a very important find for me because O'Maille is what my family's name was prior to having it changed on Ellis Island to what it is today. Though we still sport an ancient Gaelic last name, if you're of Irish descent, having a last name as utterly Irish as O'Maille is hard to top. We were still full from lunch in Doolin, so our devised plan was to head back to the hotel, hit the pool and hot tub for a quick dip, shower up, and head back in to town for a late dinner - and that's exactly what we did. Once we returned to downtown Galway, we made a few laps around the neighborhood before finally settling upon dinner at The Park House Hotel. Our dinner was once again terrific, as every dinner had been. Brooke enjoyed her salmon as I devoured my duck not unlike how the Vikings use to. We just weren't quite ready to retire to bed just yet, so we headed right across the street to one of the best bars of the entire trip - An Pucan. We sat and enjoyed some more Guinness, listened to live Irish music, watched as Rory McIlroy won the Honda Classic, and chatted it up with a family vacationing from the greater Philadelphia area. If we were there for two hours, it wasn't long enough. The next day, Monday, was our last full day in Ireland, and we didn't want to taint it with yet another epic hangover, so we made sure to responsibly call it a night a little before midnight and headed back to The Ardilaun for a great night's sleep.
Day 5: Galway to Dublin
After getting another good night's sleep, we stuck with what had worked so far and fattened ourselves up with our last traditional irish breakfast of the trip in the restaurant of The Ardilaun. We had a light day planned, and with a two hour drive to Dublin we decided our best bet was to just hop in the car and head east as fast as our glorified lawn mower would drive.
Our drive to Dublin, a little over 200 kilometers, was two hours of utter depression. Not only was it our last time cruising around Ireland thus signaling the end of our trip, it was also two hours of boring, bland highway. We had been spoiled the entire trip with rural, winding, country roads over hills and through valleys, giving us a taste of off-the-beaten-path Ireland, and now, on our last full day, we were treated to a three lane highway as generic as it gets. After a quick fill-up in Athlone, we finished the remaining uneventful hour and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Dublin. It was late-morning, so we headed into the Grafton Street shopping district to walk around. My mother had given Brooke and I some spending money with the explicit rule that it be spent on an anniversary gift, so we popped into Weir & Sons, a rather large and expensive jewelry store to find a nice little "something" for the house. I have to give Brooke all the credit here, as she did the lion's share of shopping, because I was too busy drooling over their enormous watch collection. I'm a watch guy, and wear an Omega, and this store had every model of every big brand imaginable. Finally content that my mother's gift money should not go towards a watch or anything of the ilk, I met up with Brooke in the gift section and helped pick out a beautiful silver picture frame handmade in Ireland. Once our shopping was complete, we went out of our way to walk every side street in the neighborhood, making sure not to miss anything Grafton Street had to offer.
Trinity College was only a couple blocks away from the shopping district, so we made our way through the gate and walked across campus until we saw signs for the main attraction, the Book of Kells. I'm not going to pretend to be a historian, nor am I going to bore you more than you already are, by trying to tell you what exactly the Book of Kells is. All I know, from the pamphlet I spent 45 seconds reading, is that the Book of Kells is from the 9th century and one of the oldest existing books in the world. Sure, it was interesting to learn about the book through the various exhibits, and looking up close at a book written more than a thousand years was mildly exhilarating, but the best part of the whole tour was walking through Trinity's Old Library. One massive corridor with two stories of books on either side of you, it looked and felt like something that would appear in an Indiana Jones movie. Like I said, I'm no history buff.
What trip to Dublin, Ireland would be complete without touring the Guinness Factory? It was around 4pm when we finally made it across the city and found the unassuming brick complex that produces the single greatest beverage in existence. There was no line, so we sauntered right up to the counter, paid our thirty euros for admission, and proceeded to spend the next hour and a half making our way through the seven floors of exhibits and tutorials. Was it interesting? Yes. Was I more interested in the free pint of Giunness at their rooftop bar? Yes. Once we made our way to what's called the Gravity Bar, Brooke and I turned in our tickets, got our pints, and proceeded to get a seat on a bench right against the glass looking out at the underwhelming Dublin skyline. We liked Dublin, we really did, but it paled in comparison to the smaller cities and rural towns in Ireland. If I could give one bit of advice to people it would be to spend the majority of your time in the small towns. That's where the magic of this country reveals itself.
After spending a few minutes contemplating how to sneak our two Guinness pint glasses by security, we gave up and hit the gift shop. I promised myself I wouldn't come back home with a beer glass purchased in a gift shop. I have an awesome Heineken glass that Brooke swiped from a bar in Amsterdam in 2004, I have the two aforementioned Trappist glasses from the bar in Delft, Holland in 2007, and I have the two cowboy boot beer glasses from our hiking trip in Utah. And here I was, leaving in less than 18 hours, and I didn't have a pint glass from Ireland. Unacceptable. We sullenly made our way back to the car and headed back across the city to find our hotel for the night, the Roxford Lodge, so we could check in and drop our bags off before returning to downtown for dinner.
Once we ditched our worldly belongings and returned to the Grafton Street section of the city, our only thought was dinner. We walked several blocks without finding anything that piqued our interest until we stumbled across a nice little spot called Kitchen. The menu was promising, the atmosphere was perfect, and the food sucked. We each ordered sea bass off the specials menu and were presented with pieces of fish that would have passed as bait. Granted, the prices were reasonable, but the servings were an absolute joke and the flavor was, well, nonexistent. We couldn't possibly end our trip with such a horrible meal, could we? Nope. As fast as we could physically pay the bill we raced out of there in search of some good food to end our trip the right way. As fate would have it, just a few blocks away from the debacle that was dinner was a place we should have chosen originally, O'Neill's. A classic Irish pub serving classic Irish food and drink, we hurriedly went in and found a table, determined to make up for our one glaring mistake. Our table was on a lower level a few feet away from a massive carving station and buffet. Karma rewarded us. I ordered the lamb shepherd's pie and two pints of Guinness, and Brooke and I sat savoring the food and beer and discussing how much fun our adventure had been. We tried to keep our emotions in check as we realized our trip was essentially over with such an early flight the next day. On our way out of the bar Brooke suggested I try to finagle one of the Guinness glasses from a bartender. I pulled the kind lad aside, explained my plight, and pleaded with him to let me take one of their several hundred Guinness-branded pint glasses back to Massachusetts in the morning. He assented, grabbed a clean one out of the dishwasher, and wished me safe travels. One of my favorite things about traveling is the people that you meet. Sure, it's only a pint glass, but this guy really helped "make" the trip by his generosity. We eventually found our car on the right floor of the right parking garage and drove the five minutes to our hotel where we packed everything up and got it ready for our early departure.
Day 6: Dublin to Boston
Our flight out of Dublin back to Philadelphia and then on to Boston was quite early in the morning, so Brooke and I made sure to set the alarms on both phones to make sure we averted any catastrophes. After a quick shower we grabbed our carry-ons, hopped in the Hyundai, and navigated our way to the airport. Dublin is one a select few airports to offer pre-screening for U.S. Customs, meaning that once we were screened initially at Dublin we wouldn't have to go through Customs again in the U.S. After successfully convincing the Irish customs agent we were of no threat to national security we headed to departures gate and got some grub before our eight hour flight home. With it being my last morning in Ireland for possibly ever, I had to do it. I got a traditional Irish breakfast. At an airport. Hey, airplanes have toilets, what did I have to be worried about? Brooke and I picked up a few more knickknacks at the airport gift shop for various family members and then proceeded to our departure gate. About nine hours later we were back in Boston and eagerly awaiting Brooke's parents to pick us up. Our son Hunter was with them, and with this being our longest time away from him we absolutely could not wait to see him. His expression upon seeing us made it all worth it, and we climbed in the back seat of Phil's SUV and proceeded to kiss and hug our son like we were being reunited after having been held captive in the South Pacific. Our last expenditure of vacation came in Newton, MA as we stopped at one of our favorite restaurants, Cabot's. Sure, we weren't gone long, but Brooke and I devoured our all-American meal of hamburgers, milkshakes, and french fries in near-record time. We were home after one of the best adventures of our life, and we couldn't think of a better way to end it than by sitting at a table eating classic American food and watching as our 20-month-old son enjoyed the majesty of root beer floats and strawberry shakes. Now that child-rearing is on the front burner, we probably won't get another true Brooke & Anthony adventure for another five years, for our ten year anniversary, but we'll make certain to go on many family adventures in the coming years.
After five years of wedded bliss (no, seriously), Brooke and I decided that it was an absolute necessity that we go on a new adventure. With the exception of a few long weekends in Punta Gorda at my in-law's condo, Brooke and I hadn't gone on a vacation just the two of us since the trip that started this website - our week in Yellowstone, so we scoured the internet for months looking for great vacation deals on the other side of the Atlantic. We decided on a European destination immediately, thinking that we might as well swing for the fences since we had already decided to leave the little one at home. Finally, a few weeks into January, Brooke pieced together a trip to Ireland, touring the southern half of the country, well within our budget and giving us plenty of money to spend on food and drink. Ireland had always been a "bucket list" destination of mine, and now that our trip was booked we only had one thing to do: drink as much beer as possible so our tolerance was as high as it was when we were in college. No easy feat, I must say.
Day 1: Boston to Dublin to Kilkenny
Our level of concern for this trip peaked 48 hours prior to leaving when I took consecutive sick-days from work and could barely walk due to some insane, still-undiagnosed foot pain. Fast forward to three hours before takeoff, and a classic New England snow squall left the departure and arrival boards at Logan International Airport littered with every traveler's most feared words - "canceled" and "delayed." We had been nursing a few cold brews at an airport lounge when Brooke recommended I venture over to the US Airways counter and inquire about our flight status. Thanks to the angelic US Airways rep, and customer service that seemed too good to be true, we were put on an earlier flight that assured that we would make our connecting flight out of Philly en route to Dublin. Both flights were mildly uneventful, save for some unnerving turbulence after takeoff in Boston, and the movie Drive downloaded on my phone kept me occupied for two out of the seven hours we spent on the plane.
We landed in Dublin around eight o'clock in the morning and after clearing customs headed directly over to the rental car area to pick up our micro machine for the week. We thought my general state of malaise was our only hiccup for the trip, but we were wrong. According to some fine print in the boilerplate of our rental car agreement our car was going to cost more than $200 higher than we had anticipated. Suddenly, all of that extra money for food and booze had a big chunk taken out of it. After some rather unsuccessful haggling with the miserable Eurocar employee we cried Uncle, grabbed the keys, and headed off to grab our car, which was the smallest thing on four wheels I've ever seen. Once we circled the car three times to figure out who sits where, we jammed our carry-ons in the "trunk," whipped out the map, and proceeded to get lost in the rental car parking lot. We finally merged onto the M9 highway and headed south towards Kilkenny. It took me a good while to adjust to driving on the left side of the road and sitting on the right side of the car, and each exit ramp and lane merge proved tricky. An hour or so later we found ourselves navigating the side streets of Kilkenny, looking for our hotel for the night, the Kilkenny Pembroke Hotel.
Not to get too far ahead of myself, but the Pembroke ended up being the best accommodations we had for the entire week in Ireland. It was a small, modern, Manhattan-esque boutique hotel right in downtown Kilkenny and best of all, it was clean as a whistle! We checked in, ditched our bags, and headed off to navigate the small Medieval city on foot. After the long flight and surviving on the remnants of our airline meal, lunch was priority #1. We took a right out of our hotel and within 50 feet were greeted with the stone facade of the Kilkenny Hibernian Hotel. Brooke and I kicked off the Great Guinness Consumption Fest at the Hibernian, and paired our drinks each with a Shepherd's Pie (Brooke) and Fish Pie (Me). After what was one of the best lunches we would have all week (sensing a trend here?) we trudged off towards the Kilkenny Castle, two blocks from the Hibernian. Brooke and I spent about an hour touring the many floors of the castle, admiring its art and furnishings and enjoying the vast lawns that serve as bookends to the castle's massive stone footprint. It was unfortunate that pictures were not allowed, as it really is a beautiful spot and was definitely worthy of taking up a few hundred megabytes of space on our camera's memory. At this point, Brooke and I had been awake for a little more than 24 hours and were in dire need of a catnap. We headed back to the Pembroke, showered up, and crashed on the king size bed for two hours or so. We woke up thoroughly confused about what time it was (time change + nap), and let our stomachs dictate what was next on the schedule: dinner. The lovely lady at the front counter of the hotel advised us of three great restaurants in the city and we opted for her favorite, Cafe Sol. This little street-front cafe was four blocks from our hotel and the walk made for a nice, refreshing wake-up as the unseasonably warm winter, much like New England's, held evening temperatures in the high 40's. Our bottle of pinot grigio accompanied Brooke's cod and my braised pork belly perfectly, and a dinner this delicious was worthy of being followed up by only one thing - Guinness.
Worthy of it's own story here on Hunter's Hikes, Tynan's Bridge House is Kilkenny's oldest pub dating back to 1703. That's right, 73 years older than the United States. We sauntered in, grabbed two stools at the bar, and immersed ourselves in the #1 thing we wanted to do in Ireland - drink some pints with the locals. Everything about this bar was exactly as I hoped. It had old, mustachioed bartenders, live Irish music, and hordes of locals downing pint after pint of Guinness. Brooke and I enjoyed a few pints before striking up conversation with a nice gentleman to my right. Eamonn, from a small city north of Dublin, was in town with a bunch of buddies on a guys-only golf trip. Eamonn, Brooke and I spent the remainder of the night chatting about everything from children to golf to various sites in Ireland we should (and shouldn't) see. Many hours and many pints later, with our vision thoroughly blurred and our balance equally compromised, Brooke and I hugged our new best friend Eamonn goodnight and made our way back to the Pembroke. It wasn't the most gracious commute in the world but we eventually found the right street and the right hotel. Our night ended with both of us face down on the king size fearing what the morning would bring. Staying consistent, Kilkenny offered not only the greatest night in Ireland, but one of the greatest nights of my life. It was right up there with our first night in Holland when we got equally wrecked at a neighborhood bar in Delft.
Day 2: Kilkenny to Killarney
Ouch. Not only did our prospective 8am departure to Killarney get delayed by almost three hours, but our heads pounded and we were both overcome by vicious waves of nausea. Despite our brutal hangovers, we managed to slowly crawl from beneath the covers, shower, and make our way down to the rental car. The two cafe americanos from the shop a few doors down from the hotel helped, and we were soon on our way headed southwest towards Waterford before heading directly west to our eventual destination, Killarney.
After just an hour on the road we were ready for lunch (probably because it was lunch time, after only being on the road for an hour...stupid hangovers.) We navigated downtown Waterford and found what seemed like a nice little spot for lunch, Dooley's. Dooley's is probably a terrific restaurant in an even more terrific hotel, but unfortunately our stomachs were still in too much turmoil to enjoy food. As soon as my egg sandwich and Brooke's tomato panini were placed in front of us our faces turned green. I think our waitress was on to us when we each took only a bite or two, but managed to each drink three to four Diet Cokes before heading out. We drove around Waterford for a few minutes before remembering we still had a couple hours of driving until we hit Killarney, and that wasn't counting all of the stops we wanted to make.
Over an hour later, after getting really turned around in Cork City, we found our way to the Blarney Castle. We parked, made the long walk through the grounds up to the castle's main entrance, and climbed the hundreds of steps to the top. Despite everything we had heard - "don't kiss the stone, it's A) dirty, B) too touristy, or C) peed on regularly" - we still got in line and kissed the famous Blarney Stone. How could we not? I wasn't coming all this way to not kiss it because it's "not cool." After making our way back down to the ground floor we headed over to the cafe to grab another coffee and try to bring ourselves back to 100%. Coffees in hand, we spent the remainder of our time in Blarney walking the many trails that weave their way through the grounds of the castle, stopping every few feet or so to take some pictures. After the obligatory gift shop stop, we finished driving the last hour or so to Killarney. This last hour of driving really started to show us the beautiful, rolling terrain we had come to expect in Ireland. We had been told, both in print and by locals, that the southwest corner of the country, where Killarney lies, is one of the most beautiful areas with its rolling green hills and pastures climbing to rugged, rocky mountains. Both sources of information were right.
Just like in Kilkenny, we happened upon our hotel in Killarney after only a few right and left turns through the busy city center. Our accommodations for the night were at Murphy's, right in the heart of downtown Killarney. After checking in and dropping our bags in our (very small and plain) room, we hit the streets and tried to acquaint ourselves with all that Killarney in March can offer. And, it turns out, Killarney offers quite a bit. The streets are lined with various shops, restaurants, and of course, pubs, but because this was March, and kind of late, most of them were closed. We settled on eating dinner at the Killarney Plaza Hotel and had what was one of the best dinners of the entire vacation. Brooke enjoyed native fried cod, and I had a rack of lamb that could have been on the cover of Gourmet magazine and could have easily passed as a rack of rib from a much larger grazing mammal. This thing was huge, and cooked perfectly medium rare. Surprisingly, Brooke and I decided to wash everything down with a few adult beverages. We were back to our old selves after 12 hours of recuperating, so a couple cold Smithwick's were in order. Once we forked over enough Euros to cover the check we made our way back to Murphy's and saddled up to the bar. We downed a few Guinnesses while talking with both bartenders about, of all things, the NFL. It seems one of our bartenders was (sadly) a huge fan of the Philadelphia Eagles, and with my beloved New England Patriots having just recently shit in the punch bowl of Super Bowl XLVI, we had plenty to discuss. With our last pint of stout muscled down our gullets, we headed upstairs to catch some shut-eye. In a weird turn of events, despite it being our second night there, Brooke and I both suffered from a severe case of insomnia. We laid in bed wide awake until almost 4am local time before finally catching a few hours of sleep. This time, though, we didn't sleep three hours beyond our hopeful departure time, so that was nice.
Day 3: Killarney to Dingle
Our second morning served as the first morning in which we (read: I) enjoyed the traditional Irish breakfast. Consisting of Irish sausage, Irish bacon, white pudding, black pudding, eggs, beans, tomatoes, and potatoes, the Irish breakfast is a work of art. A thing of beauty. A gift from the gods. It is scientifically proven that the traditional Irish breakfast can sure any hangover. OK, so maybe I made that up, but it puts a serious dent in any hangover and provided me with plenty of fuel for the morning's planned activity: driving the famous Ring of Kerry.
Yet another nice thing about touring Ireland in the off-season was the lack of tourists. For example, the 155km Ring of Kerry is, according to most major guide books, supposed to take your somewhere in the vicinity of eight to ten hours to drive due to traffic jams caused by innumerable tour buses and rental cars. In March, though, you have the road all to yourself. Seriously, I don't think Brooke and I saw more than six cars on the entire drive, and it didn't take us more than three hours to complete. The drive started off just south of Killarney and headed south through Killarney National Park, passing such landmarks as the Ross Castle and the Muckross House. Brooke and I parked the Hyundai at each spot and walked around, taking dozens of photos of each beautiful location. Our drive continued for over 120 miles of some of the most scenic landscapes we've ever seen, and as you can see from this website we've been to some pretty seriously scenic spots. The Ring of Kerry is definitely the most amazing stretch of road I've ever driven, and according to Brooke supersedes the Pacific Coast Highway as her favorite stretch of road. I don't want to come off as lazy, but the pictures do a far better job serving to illustrate this portion of the trip. It was 120 miles of some of the most amazing scenery I've ever laid eyes on - that's not the easiest thing in the world to put into words.
We were pretty much finished with the Ring of Kerry by the time lunch rolled around. We found ourselves on the northern edge of the Iveragh Peninsula and saw a sign that tempted us enough to take a turn off the road in search of Jack's Coastguard Restaurant. We found it, 4km later, and took a table in the quiet restaurant that fronts Castlemain Harbor. We started with a bowl of seafood chowder, an order of mussels in a light cream sauce, and fried cod, and we devoured it. You know those meals that are so delicious that you inadvertently make noise while you eat it, like moans and groans? Well, this was one of those meals. After lunch we finished the last 70 or so kilometers out to Dingle where we would spend the night. The last 10km into Dingle were some of the best kilometers we drove in the entire country. Just when we thought the Ring of Kerry was the best scenery of the entire trip, it wasn't even the best scenery of the day. The rolling green pastures, that were once featured in the film Far & Away, were iconic Ireland and guided us down to Dingle bay, where the greatest town in the Western Hemisphere lies.
Dingle, Ireland is a coastal fishing town not unlike many of the coastal towns that dot the New England coastline. Our accommodation for the night was the Greenmount House Bed & Breakfast, up on a hillside looking down over the town and Dingle Bay. Our room was two levels and provided us with a gorgeous view of the Bay while we enjoyed an ice cold Smithwick's on our little loveseat. After our beer we decided to burn the last few hours of daylight walking around downtown Dingle. We parked down in the public lot right across from the docks and started walking up and down the patchwork of side streets that make up downtown. After poking in and out of a few art stores and jewelry shops, we needed a Guinness. A colleague of mine from Worcester recommended having a pint at O'Sullivan's Courthouse Pub, and that we did! Sitting by the wood stove while enjoying a pint of Guinness was a nice respite from the cold rain outside, and the small talk we engaged in with a few locals made it even more enjoyable. We finished up our pints and decided to continue navigating this seaside gem of a town. A friend of ours had suggested (demanded) that we go to the Reel Dingle Fish Co. for fish & chips. She is as in love with food as we are, so Brooke and I knew going in that if Alecia told us we absolutely had to eat here, then it must be as good as advertised. When we walked in we were the only two customers in the shop that had just opened a few minutes prior, so we started chatting with the owner. A true artist who takes his craft seriously, he gave us the step-by-step process he takes with every meal to ensure it is as fresh and delicious as possible. He buys fresh fish off of the boats every morning, and lists it on the chalkboard menu before opening. When he runs out of that day's fish, then it's time to close. It's that simple. The freshest food possible on your plate without seeing the likes of a freezer or microwave. He let me sample a big piece of deep friend ray wing, and it was good. It wasn't until Brooke and I got our monstrous serving of fried Hake (suggested over Cod) and chips wrapped in brown paper that I think I saw the face of God himself. I'm not kidding. If you ever find yourself within a few hundred miles of Dingle, Ireland, make the trip to Reel Fish and thank me later. Brooke and I decided to thumb our nose at dinner and just fattened up on fish and chips for the next 30 minutes.
After overeating to the point of nausea, Brooke and I decided to walk around a bit more. Not by choice, you see, but because we would have fallen asleep standing up had we stopped moving. After a little while longer of popping in and out of stores, we needed more beer. Our last stop for the night before hitting the sack was John Benny's Pub. It was the perfect place to end our day, with live Irish music, cold Tom Crean's Irish Lager on tap, and a large selection of oysters on the menu. We ordered a cold Tom Crean's, an order of baked oysters, and an order of oysters on the half shell to enjoy while listening to a few lads play some Irish music. The beer was delicious and the baked oysters equally delicious, but it was the raw oysters that deserve note. It wasn't so much that they didn't come with cocktail sauce or a fresh lemon, it was the fact that they were each the size of a catcher's mitt. I'm not kidding. They filled your mouth completely and even diehard seafood fans like Brooke and I had to gag these monsters down. It took a little enjoyment out of the oysters, but provided us with some good laughs and a reason to order two or three more beers - as if we ever needed a reason. We spent the remainder of the night enjoying the locally-brewed lager and picking bits of oyster from our teeth before making the short drive back to the B&B. All of the lights were out (I think we were the only sub-50 year old guests), so we tip-toed to our room and quickly fell asleep. We were headed to the Cliffs of Moher and on to Galway the next day, so we needed a good night's sleep, especially after not getting much shut-eye the night before in Killarney.
Day 4: Dingle to Galway
We woke up far less hungover than our first morning and far less tired than our second morning. Our bodies finally cried Uncle and succumbed to a solid eight hours of sleep for the first time since arriving. We were treated to literally one of the best traditional Irish breakfasts at the Greenmount. What, you don't believe me? This is straight from the internet, so it must be true:"Breakfast, which is served in a conservatory taking advantage of the fabulous view, is a feast which Currans are famous for (1989 and 1991 Galtee breakfast awards regional winner & The Jameson Guide Breakfast Award Winner 2001)." Brooke and I did enjoy the fabulous view of Dingle Bay from the breakfast conservatory and made sure to not linger too long as we knew we had a three hour drive to Galway, and that included a half-hour ferry ride.
Our first stop upon leaving Dingle was the infamous Connor Pass, a narrow roadway that carves up and over the highest pass in Ireland in the middle of the Brandon Mountains. The vista at the top looks back over Dingle and Dingle Bay, while offering equally impeccable views of the coast to the north. It's a white-knuckle drive, and gave Brooke and I some of the best views of the entire trip. We meandered our way down to the northern coast of the peninsula and keep chipping away at the several hundred kilometers to Galway. There were two routes we could choose from to get to Galway: one that was almost 300 kilometers and would take several hours, or one with a ferry with that would take substantially less. We opted for the quickest possible route and before we knew it we were boarding the Shannon Ferry that runs from Tarbert to Killimer. It was an enjoyable way to spend 30 minutes, slowly crossing the bay and taking a break from the stressful wrong-side driving that we were still not accustomed to. Once back on terra firma only an hour lay between us and the stunning Cliffs of Moher, one of our most highly anticipated attractions of the trip.
Holy s#@t! The Cliffs of Moher are insane. We've stood halfway up the Grand Tetons and looked onto the valley floor below us, we've stood atop Observation Point after a six mile hike and looked 3,500 feet below us into the Zion River Valley, and we've stared longingly into the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. Needless to say, Brooke and I have cast our eyes upon some pretty majestic vistas; the Cliffs of Moher rank right up there with the best of them. We took what seemed like hundreds of pictures of the cliffs if only because every time we looked at them, it was like seeing them for the first time. For over an hour, Brooke and I walked along the ocean's edge always just a few feet from instant peril. There's even a plaque memorializing all of those who have perished at the cliffs, and it's not a short list. There are sections where there is no fence protecting you and nothing stopping anyone from getting just a bit too close to the edge in hopes of capturing that perfect picture. With almost 80 kilometers still remaining on our trip to Galway, we headed back to the car and hurriedly made our way north.
Well, we didn't get very far once we left the cliffs. Our growling stomachs made the decision for us and we made a short detour to Doolin for some grub. McDermott's Pub was the place, and the food was incredible. I scarfed down a steak sandwich while Brooke made a killer decision by ordering the bacon and cabbage lunch special. Bacon in Ireland is not like bacon in the states, it's more like ham, and it was paired with boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and a white sage sauce. It was freakin' awesome. I gladly helped her clean her plate, and once our pints of Guinness washed down the last mouthfuls we left some euros on the table and hit the road. Again. It was late afternoon when we finally made it to Galway, so we checked into The Ardilaun in the Salt Hill neighborhood of town, dropped our bags, and headed into town. We found a sweet parking spot and spent the next few hours walking up and down the various side streets that make up the commercial/touristy part of town. I bought my sister a beautiful necklace and my niece some even nicer earrings at two jewelry stores, and then found my Mecca: O'Maille's. This was a very important find for me because O'Maille is what my family's name was prior to having it changed on Ellis Island to what it is today. Though we still sport an ancient Gaelic last name, if you're of Irish descent, having a last name as utterly Irish as O'Maille is hard to top. We were still full from lunch in Doolin, so our devised plan was to head back to the hotel, hit the pool and hot tub for a quick dip, shower up, and head back in to town for a late dinner - and that's exactly what we did. Once we returned to downtown Galway, we made a few laps around the neighborhood before finally settling upon dinner at The Park House Hotel. Our dinner was once again terrific, as every dinner had been. Brooke enjoyed her salmon as I devoured my duck not unlike how the Vikings use to. We just weren't quite ready to retire to bed just yet, so we headed right across the street to one of the best bars of the entire trip - An Pucan. We sat and enjoyed some more Guinness, listened to live Irish music, watched as Rory McIlroy won the Honda Classic, and chatted it up with a family vacationing from the greater Philadelphia area. If we were there for two hours, it wasn't long enough. The next day, Monday, was our last full day in Ireland, and we didn't want to taint it with yet another epic hangover, so we made sure to responsibly call it a night a little before midnight and headed back to The Ardilaun for a great night's sleep.
Day 5: Galway to Dublin
After getting another good night's sleep, we stuck with what had worked so far and fattened ourselves up with our last traditional irish breakfast of the trip in the restaurant of The Ardilaun. We had a light day planned, and with a two hour drive to Dublin we decided our best bet was to just hop in the car and head east as fast as our glorified lawn mower would drive.
Our drive to Dublin, a little over 200 kilometers, was two hours of utter depression. Not only was it our last time cruising around Ireland thus signaling the end of our trip, it was also two hours of boring, bland highway. We had been spoiled the entire trip with rural, winding, country roads over hills and through valleys, giving us a taste of off-the-beaten-path Ireland, and now, on our last full day, we were treated to a three lane highway as generic as it gets. After a quick fill-up in Athlone, we finished the remaining uneventful hour and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Dublin. It was late-morning, so we headed into the Grafton Street shopping district to walk around. My mother had given Brooke and I some spending money with the explicit rule that it be spent on an anniversary gift, so we popped into Weir & Sons, a rather large and expensive jewelry store to find a nice little "something" for the house. I have to give Brooke all the credit here, as she did the lion's share of shopping, because I was too busy drooling over their enormous watch collection. I'm a watch guy, and wear an Omega, and this store had every model of every big brand imaginable. Finally content that my mother's gift money should not go towards a watch or anything of the ilk, I met up with Brooke in the gift section and helped pick out a beautiful silver picture frame handmade in Ireland. Once our shopping was complete, we went out of our way to walk every side street in the neighborhood, making sure not to miss anything Grafton Street had to offer.
Trinity College was only a couple blocks away from the shopping district, so we made our way through the gate and walked across campus until we saw signs for the main attraction, the Book of Kells. I'm not going to pretend to be a historian, nor am I going to bore you more than you already are, by trying to tell you what exactly the Book of Kells is. All I know, from the pamphlet I spent 45 seconds reading, is that the Book of Kells is from the 9th century and one of the oldest existing books in the world. Sure, it was interesting to learn about the book through the various exhibits, and looking up close at a book written more than a thousand years was mildly exhilarating, but the best part of the whole tour was walking through Trinity's Old Library. One massive corridor with two stories of books on either side of you, it looked and felt like something that would appear in an Indiana Jones movie. Like I said, I'm no history buff.
What trip to Dublin, Ireland would be complete without touring the Guinness Factory? It was around 4pm when we finally made it across the city and found the unassuming brick complex that produces the single greatest beverage in existence. There was no line, so we sauntered right up to the counter, paid our thirty euros for admission, and proceeded to spend the next hour and a half making our way through the seven floors of exhibits and tutorials. Was it interesting? Yes. Was I more interested in the free pint of Giunness at their rooftop bar? Yes. Once we made our way to what's called the Gravity Bar, Brooke and I turned in our tickets, got our pints, and proceeded to get a seat on a bench right against the glass looking out at the underwhelming Dublin skyline. We liked Dublin, we really did, but it paled in comparison to the smaller cities and rural towns in Ireland. If I could give one bit of advice to people it would be to spend the majority of your time in the small towns. That's where the magic of this country reveals itself.
After spending a few minutes contemplating how to sneak our two Guinness pint glasses by security, we gave up and hit the gift shop. I promised myself I wouldn't come back home with a beer glass purchased in a gift shop. I have an awesome Heineken glass that Brooke swiped from a bar in Amsterdam in 2004, I have the two aforementioned Trappist glasses from the bar in Delft, Holland in 2007, and I have the two cowboy boot beer glasses from our hiking trip in Utah. And here I was, leaving in less than 18 hours, and I didn't have a pint glass from Ireland. Unacceptable. We sullenly made our way back to the car and headed back across the city to find our hotel for the night, the Roxford Lodge, so we could check in and drop our bags off before returning to downtown for dinner.
Once we ditched our worldly belongings and returned to the Grafton Street section of the city, our only thought was dinner. We walked several blocks without finding anything that piqued our interest until we stumbled across a nice little spot called Kitchen. The menu was promising, the atmosphere was perfect, and the food sucked. We each ordered sea bass off the specials menu and were presented with pieces of fish that would have passed as bait. Granted, the prices were reasonable, but the servings were an absolute joke and the flavor was, well, nonexistent. We couldn't possibly end our trip with such a horrible meal, could we? Nope. As fast as we could physically pay the bill we raced out of there in search of some good food to end our trip the right way. As fate would have it, just a few blocks away from the debacle that was dinner was a place we should have chosen originally, O'Neill's. A classic Irish pub serving classic Irish food and drink, we hurriedly went in and found a table, determined to make up for our one glaring mistake. Our table was on a lower level a few feet away from a massive carving station and buffet. Karma rewarded us. I ordered the lamb shepherd's pie and two pints of Guinness, and Brooke and I sat savoring the food and beer and discussing how much fun our adventure had been. We tried to keep our emotions in check as we realized our trip was essentially over with such an early flight the next day. On our way out of the bar Brooke suggested I try to finagle one of the Guinness glasses from a bartender. I pulled the kind lad aside, explained my plight, and pleaded with him to let me take one of their several hundred Guinness-branded pint glasses back to Massachusetts in the morning. He assented, grabbed a clean one out of the dishwasher, and wished me safe travels. One of my favorite things about traveling is the people that you meet. Sure, it's only a pint glass, but this guy really helped "make" the trip by his generosity. We eventually found our car on the right floor of the right parking garage and drove the five minutes to our hotel where we packed everything up and got it ready for our early departure.
Day 6: Dublin to Boston
Our flight out of Dublin back to Philadelphia and then on to Boston was quite early in the morning, so Brooke and I made sure to set the alarms on both phones to make sure we averted any catastrophes. After a quick shower we grabbed our carry-ons, hopped in the Hyundai, and navigated our way to the airport. Dublin is one a select few airports to offer pre-screening for U.S. Customs, meaning that once we were screened initially at Dublin we wouldn't have to go through Customs again in the U.S. After successfully convincing the Irish customs agent we were of no threat to national security we headed to departures gate and got some grub before our eight hour flight home. With it being my last morning in Ireland for possibly ever, I had to do it. I got a traditional Irish breakfast. At an airport. Hey, airplanes have toilets, what did I have to be worried about? Brooke and I picked up a few more knickknacks at the airport gift shop for various family members and then proceeded to our departure gate. About nine hours later we were back in Boston and eagerly awaiting Brooke's parents to pick us up. Our son Hunter was with them, and with this being our longest time away from him we absolutely could not wait to see him. His expression upon seeing us made it all worth it, and we climbed in the back seat of Phil's SUV and proceeded to kiss and hug our son like we were being reunited after having been held captive in the South Pacific. Our last expenditure of vacation came in Newton, MA as we stopped at one of our favorite restaurants, Cabot's. Sure, we weren't gone long, but Brooke and I devoured our all-American meal of hamburgers, milkshakes, and french fries in near-record time. We were home after one of the best adventures of our life, and we couldn't think of a better way to end it than by sitting at a table eating classic American food and watching as our 20-month-old son enjoyed the majesty of root beer floats and strawberry shakes. Now that child-rearing is on the front burner, we probably won't get another true Brooke & Anthony adventure for another five years, for our ten year anniversary, but we'll make certain to go on many family adventures in the coming years.