Jerpoint Abbey was interesting. The thing was basically a 830 year old structure (that's older than I am!) that has fallen apart over the years. While the tour guide was walking the group around talking about history and other boring things, I was exploring, admiring the architecture and the horror movie perfect atmosphere, complete with gray skies, gusts of wind, and squawking ravens.

As with any time I have gone to a foreign country, my favorite thing to do was not sightsee or take tours, but rather just walk around the town and observe every day life for the people that live there, and take what I can from it. Walking around Kilkenny was our first opportunity to do this thoroughly. It is exactly what you would expect a good sized Irish town to be. Cobblestone alleys. Traffic jams in narrow roads. Lots of small shops crammed together in centuries old buildings. What I did not expect was graffiti and litter. Many times humorous graffiti, but graffiti nonetheless.

We ate lunch at some tavern, where we were seated underground. Since the dollar -vs- euro was at its least beneficial rate in history at the time we went, we pretty much settled for ~$12 soup and bread for every lunch where we fended for ourselves (as opposed to $18 sandwich and soup, or $20+ real meals). And that's what we had there. Always an adventure, because every place seemed to bake their own bread, and it was different every time. Soup was different from what we are used to as well... It's completely liquid. No chunks of vegetables floating around or anything... it's all puréed (I guess that makes it tastier when you dip your bread into it). That's not to say it wasn't good, in fact every kind of soup we got throughout the trip was delicious. But, it was a tad weird to not have anything to chew - but then again, as I mentioned, that's what the bread is for.

Once done in Kilkenny we departed for the farm house, basically a bed and breakfast, where we would be staying for two nights. The group got split up three ways, to three different houses, and my wife and I were put with the younger group of people ("young" - late 50's - early 60's), mostly from Pennsylvania (they all moved into the same neighborhood at about the same time, and were all NY Giants fans, and that's how they got to know each other and travel together).

The bus stopped at two houses previous ours, and 45 minutes later we arrived at Springview Bed and Breakfast. The hosts greeted us, a lady named Eileen, very prim and proper, and her husband, a tall, white haired guy who looked like he hadn't slept in years and didn't need to. We gathered our bags and loaded them into the house, where the farm owners kids put them away into various rooms. I don't know if they were expecting a tip, and I don't remember if they got one. Behind the house, there was a separate guest 'house', that was just a bed and a bathroom, that I assume wasn't normally used for miscreant tourist guests like us. However, upon finding out that this was our honeymoon, our hosts insisted my wife and I stayed in that separate guest house.

Our first night there was a blast. The group sat around the living room, talking and getting to know each other (and us). Eileen served tea and (I think) some mixed drinks. At one point, she left the room for about 20 minutes, and during that time our conversation degraded all the way down to fart pranks (this is where I first learned about the Dutch Oven), and went silent when she finally walked in with some freshly made snacks. Once she sat down with us, and talked with us, the subject of conversation immediately went to politics and culture. One particular memory: "So, what do you think of Hillary?", Eileen asked, with an excited grin. The room erupted in moans (we were very glad to be with this group). I don't remember how the night went after that (well, I do remember a time when one in the group found or brought an acoustic guitar, and strummed/sung Johnny Cash. I generally don't enjoy sitting and listening to music, but I enjoyed that entirely.), but I remember feeling like the experience was exactly what you'd hope for, given the setting.

The next morning, before our "authentic" farm breakfast, we got to talking. Apparently everyone had problems sleeping due to heat issues in their rooms. Lucky for me and my wife, that we had our own heater in the guest house, because we slept great. The breakfast was incredible (and proved to be a recurring theme everywhere we went). Bacon (resembled ham), eggs, sausage, fruit, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, oatmeal, and scones with locally made (in the farmhouse's case, home made) jam. Once food was on the table there was very little conversation, but instead the clanging of silverware on ceramic, and the occasional "Can you pass..?".

The trade-off of being the last farmhouse on the list, causing shorter evenings, was longer mornings. We all got on the bus, refreshed and ready to head out to the town of Waterford where the magic of crystal making happens.

Our first stop was the Waterford plant, where they make crystal objects/vases/etc. The tour of the plant was run by the plant itself, but had a depressing tone from the very beginning. It started with a tour video/Waterford commercial, played on a projection screen, in a dusty, carpet-walled room. The video had obviously been produced in the late 80's/early 90's, when times were much better for the company. And I think the blue bulb was dead on the projector, and one of the speakers was blown. Once the video stopped, the lights came on and we were lead through the facility where we saw section after section of the beginning-to-end of crystal making. It was awesome seeing the process - the people who worked there were very experienced at what they did. Where the depressing part came in, is that there were only a handful of workers in a given area. Tables set up end to end, uniform, with equipment, in a 5,000 sq. ft. room, with only four or five people sitting at them, spread far out, each working alone. We walked through a hallway, where intricate trophies for worldwide events were on display... the workmanship absolutely incredible (and these were the flawed ones that didn't make it, chalked up to practice makes perfect). At the end, we had the pleasure of perusing the very expensive Waterford gift shop, where it was hard to justify purchasing any of the items, despite the obvious cry for help the company extended to us by walking us through their facility.

After the strange Waterford Crystal tour experience, we were dropped off on a street curb in downtown Waterford and told to meet back there in (?) hours.

Walking around was kind of a mixture of looking for something to see, and looking for something to do. There were plenty of shops, but we weren't interested in shopping. There were plenty of restaurants, but once I saw SuperMac's, I had to try it. As I mentioned in my caption, it wasn't as good as McDonald's, but it was probably a lot healthier. Their selling point is that all the beef in their burgers comes from Irish cows; I doubt McDonald's could make such a claim. At some point we walked into a church, that was open to the public. It was very quiet, beautiful inside... I tried getting some good pictures but without using flash, and without a tripod, it was impossible.

When we met back on the street corner we were greeted by a paid local (he may have been a friend of our bus driver), who gave us his version of the history/historic sites that I've now forgotten. I do remember, at one point I got to be a prop in a play that he put on, where I "played" the role of Strongbow, and my wife the unfaithful queen who I died for. I don't remember much about it, except that it became my nickname for the day.

Our time at Waterford concluded shortly thereafter, and we hopped on the bus (Gus), and went to some historic rural area, Brod Tullaroan, where the sport of hurling was invented (or, where the best hurling player was born... I can't remember).

After the hurling instruction/demonstration, we went inside the historic home of a big-name hurling player, looked around, and then sat on some benches in the basement for entertainment. While watching two men (no pictures, please) playing guitars and telling stories, we were served dinner there, along with Irish coffee. After that, it was an hour or so drive back to the farmhouse where we all immediately went to bed.

The next day would start early, and we'd be off to the town of Cobh (pronounced Cove), with some stops along the way.

That morning, as we left the farmhouse for the last time, I was talking to one of our tourmates, as I was holding my camera. I told him that I was trying to get a picture of the farmhouse, but was frustrated because people kept walking out the door as I was trying to take a picture of it. He then said to me something that I've carried with me to this day... "Taking pictures of things is good... but what is important, is taking pictures of the people who are with you, because it's them that make your experience unique." (or something like that.) Unfortunately, it didn't sink in immediately. Looking through all the pictures I took, I regret not taking pictures of those people. I do have some incidental pictures of them, but all of them are when they aren't looking. Not that I'd post their faces for the world to see, but I think it would be great to see them today as I saw them then.

On to Cobh we went. As soon as we got off the bus, we were met by a tour guide who was telling us about the Titanic. Apparently this was the last place the famous boat docked, before it sunk, and an entrepreneur built a restaurant there in its honor. It was about then that I stopped listening to the guide, and looked around in awe at the beauty of the town. I simply could not stay with the group, as I walked around, camera in-hand, looking for good angles to capture what I saw. Everything looked so new. Bright. Happy. I would have liked to spend more time in Cobh, taking pictures, but I think I was the only one in the group doing this.

After Cobh, we went to Blarney. This part of the trip, I don't have a single dadgum picture of... I don't remember why not. My wife and I did not walk to kiss the Blarney stone, thanks to warnings of our driver, saying that the locals pee on it. Instead we had lunch and went into the shops, actually stimulating the tourist industry of Ireland.

We left Blarney to arrive late in the evening, in Killarney. The hotel, Killarney Avenue, was very nice - the best one we stayed at throughout the trip. Beautiful dining area, nice rooms (with coffee!), and the staff was also incredibly friendly. This memory/impression I have could be through rose colored glasses though, due to the surprise you'll read about later. I can't remember what we did that night - I think dinner was on our own, but I don't remember what we ate or where, or who we ate with. The next morning we were to go to a mansion, Muckross House, and then off to the Ring of Kerry to ride around in the bus, often in the rain, stopping occasionally for pictures and lunch.

The next morning, as mentioned before, we headed out to the mansion. There was an opportunity to take a horse drawn carriage there, so we did, and our driver had a remarkable resemblance to Popeye. Four others in our group, he flirted with all the women, asking each one what their name was, and then saying that was his favorite name. He gave some tour-ish facts along the way, but I couldn't understand 20% of the words, due to a very charming accent. We got to the mansion, tipped him as we hopped off, and started the tour.

As seems to be par for the course, I don't remember much about the mansion. It had some really beautiful rooms, and lots of history, but no one lives in it now, and it sits as a well maintained and preserved historic attraction run by the Irish government.

We all made it back, to wait to board the bus to head out to the Ring of Kerry. This was to be the biggest picture-taking part of the trip, so naturally I was excited. On the way there, we happened to slow down in front of Killorglin, where I got the picture of the King Puck statue (seen below) from inside the bus. There was a big story behind it, but what it results in today is a festival where they capture a wild goat in the mountains and hold a festival in its honor every year. Once into the Ring of Kerry, beautiful landscape passed us by, as we rode along the treacherous (for a tour bus) path. And I fell asleep. The whole bus fell asleep. We'd stop to take pictures, get back on the bus, and fall asleep. It was a long drive, man. Jim talked about some of the historic points of the Ring, but that additionally served as my Unisom. I do have a lot of pictures to show for the ride, all good, but none stunning.

Once we got back from the Ring of Kerry, there was some free time until dinner at the hotel, (Enter hotel name and town here). So we walked the streets of (town), and ultimately ended up in a pub for the first time (for definition's sake, by "pub" I mean "local bar" - that doesn't serve food). I opened the door (it pushed inwards - would fail an OSHA inspection) and as I turned to the side to let my wife in, I accidentally bumped into someone. I looked inside and the closet-like place was packed with silent faces, all pointed at us. I apologized to the guy I bumped into, suddenly worried if we didn't walk into the last door we ever would. Heartily (and Irishly), the guy said "Don't worry about it!", and people toward the back of the pub made room for us to sit down. It was very welcoming, and the patrons were eager to make our acquaintance, and even more so when they found out we were there for our honeymoon. One guy, who I could barely understand because of how drunk he was (it was already 4:00PM, after all), showed us pictures of his wedding that he had in Rome, less than two weeks ago. Another guy showed us a trick where you can cut open a tea bag, empty it, stand it up as a tube, and when lit on fire will launch itself like a rocket. There was a story that went along with the trick, but I don't remember it. I had two or three pints of Guinness, and it was here that it tasted exactly as described by those that have been to Ireland before me. Incredibly robust flavorful perfection. Our visit to this hole-in-the-wall pub was the highlight of the entire trip.

After a solid three hours of drinking and laughing, it was time to get back to the hotel for dinner. When we got to our room, we were greeted with a surprise bottle of champagne and note: "Congratulations on the behalf of the hotel on your wedding.", likely with the encouragement of our bus driver (they couldn't have known otherwise). To my knowledge, we were the only ones that got this (though, there were couples celebrating their 50th and 60th anniversaries, and it would not surprise me if they got the same treatment or better). I don't remember much about the dinner that took place at the hotel, which means it must have been good (or maybe that's the Guinness talking).

The next day: Cliffs of Moher, and Galway.

Here's where the trip becomes really fuzzy. Bear with me and my disjointed paragraphs. The visitor's center was pretty nice. Lunch was expensive, but worth paying to not starve. There were far less tourists than there were on my first trip to these, which added up to much cleaner pictures. The sky was incredible... There was lots of wind, as this picture of my wife can attest. We met a couple, from D.C., but I think I said something weird to them because they were obviously avoiding us in later encounters. They took our picture though, which was nice.

One thing I remember most, were the birds. Tons of seagulls(ish) all packed into the crevices of the cliffs, flying in flocks - white dots going from cliff to cliff. The silence of it all, combined with the constant noise of the water and wind; it was breathtaking. A scene that truly knows no time - that could have looked and sounded exactly the same a thousand years ago. We left there to go to Galway, with a couple of stops.

Galway was undoubtedly the busiest place we went, outside of Dublin. Thanks to the lighting, I was able to capture some great pictures. There was a lot to see in the town, but we walked until we were away from the crowd, and followed the river, admiring the scenery, and I wondered what it would be like to grow up here and live here. It was strange, it felt like a poor area, but it was also incredibly beautiful.

We worked our way back to the hotel, in time for dinner. Unfortunately, I remember nothing about this hotel, or the dinner... and this time it wasn't due to Guinness. Looking at their website, it appears to be a very nice place to stay. I just remember nothing good or bad about it... Sadly, I suspect that this is about the point where I reached overstimulation, and stopped looking at things as experiences to remember, but instead looked at them as the final motions to go through, before going home. Regardless, Ireland is still there, and still affordable, so there's nothing stopping me but me, to get back whatever I think I've lost.

Because my wife is a culture freak, the Aran Islands were a necessity, and a huge reason why we picked the Irish Legends tour over the other, similar ones offered by CIE. There is where they make their own clothes, and remain self sustaining. The gift shops sold a lot of Chinese made goods, but they also featured small sections of expensive, locally made treasures.

The weather was very unpredictable. It would go from cold and windy (and dark), to warm and calm (and bright) in the space of a couple of minutes, and back again. With that backdrop, after lunch, we went on a small tour of the island, looking at cows, cemeteries, and the pinnacle of the tour: The 2000 year old (plus) Dun Aengus (Dún Aonghasa) fort.

This fort was good exercise in getting to. Lots of stairs to climb, lots of rocky paths to conquer. When we finally got to the top, it was incredible. The fort was built as a half-circle, against a cliff. That cliff? Very high. At the bottom of the cliff? Lots of large rocks and water. I don't think a camera is capable of capturing the depth of what it was we stood on, how high we were off the water. But I tried. I even attempted a video, and have kicked myself every time I think about how stupid I was in the way I went about recording it. More on (moron) that later.

While it was a lot to take in, there really wasn't much to look at. One angle from another looked the same... there was no way to get a better picture. This area wasn't nearly as photogenic as the Cliffs of Moher, but being there felt much more incredible. While the Cliffs of Moher felt like it was timeless, Dun Aengus felt like a place that time forgot - unwelcoming in a sense (my wife vehemently disagrees with me here) (likely because she didn't nearly fall off a cliff), due the very rough and colorless terrain, and the general lack of life around it.

There were lots of things to explore... We found a house that burned down a very long time ago, and walked around seeing what was left of its still standing stone walls. I wondered if anyone was watching us (it was obviously private property), and how many other tourists in the past were as brave as we were to enter it. We walked along a shore that I'm certain is not duplicated anywhere in the world. There were incredible formations of clay, rock, and life. The clay parts were strange, because it was like walking on rubber. Jumping and stomping on the ground with both feet would cause a strange shockwave ripple three or four feet in radius, but the wavy formation of the (clay dunes?) remained intact, except a minimal difference where your shoes impacted the surface.

One of the more unique memories I have, is of a cat that had (to my speculation) been hit by a car, but was still functional, and happy to be alive. It had a huge scab on the side of its head, and a number of medium sized ones on the same side of its body. It sat on a waste-high stone wall as I moved toward it, and it looked like it wanted to be skittish, but decided to let me approach. At the lightest touch, the cat enthusiastically pushed against my hand, turning, purring. Of course, I nimbly avoided touching the plates of dried blood. A group of middle-school aged students were in the area, and they were all scared of the cat. Except for a single girl... I think she (and the rest of her class) were French. She wasn't as brazen as I was, but she was willing to touch the animal. My wife warned me of bacteria, etc., but I felt so bad for the cat because it was obviously in great pain... besides I wasn't touching the gushy parts. I did wash my hands afterwards as a precaution, and luckily, nearly three years later, I still haven't dropped dead from it, nor have my fingers fallen off.

We got back on the ferry to return to Galway for dinner and our final night in Ireland, outside of Dublin.

For our last day touring Ireland, we went to Clonmacnoise to tour a 6th century monastery. This thing was pretty cool, because there was an archway there, where you could whisper into one side, while someone listens to the other side. The sound traveled losslessly from one end to the other, along an inch wide stone-crafted half-pipe. The story behind it, is that it was used to make confessions. There was a museum along with lots of history about vikings pillaging the area over and over again, but I don't remember most of it.

We left there to go to Mullingar for lunch and chillin out. It was there that we bought a bottle of whiskey from a local market, with the brand of Dunphy's. And I took a picture of a flower.

We brought the whiskey home and made Irish coffees with it until it was gone, only to find that Dunphy's isn't sold here. Other Irish whiskeys haven't quite compared, but there's no way to know how the taste of Dunphy's is colored through long term memory.

Once we left the town, it was on to Dublin to check into the last hotel, and then to a tavern in Howth, on the northeast part of Dublin for our final dinner and song.