Day 13 – Blarney Castle and Dublin

We are off to Dublin, although there a few stop overs to make before we get there. Blarney Castle is first and I’m eager to kiss the Blarney Stone and finally get the ‘gift of the gab!’ The castle itself is perched on a rock, overlooking perfectly manicured lawns and ancient trees. There is a bubbling little stream and a quaint little bridge, and the stream sparkles in the sun from the hundreds of pennies that line its base.

Although I am scared of heights, I shakily ascend the narrow stone stairs inside. On top, there is a magnificent view of the surrounding area and a small line for the actual kissing. It’s a bit of a shock to see the actual process of lowering, as the stone is a lot further down than I had imagined. Although it looks terrifying, I steel myself as I have already climbed up those stairs and made the effort to follow through. It really is gross though, as there is probably a lot of saliva left over. It’s also uncomfortable, as some old Irish guy is clawing at your sides as he lowers you down. 

The castle itself is very interesting as it is remarkably well intact for how old it is. It dates back to the 12th century AD and has been progressively improved and built upon over the centuries. It played a part in the Irish Confederant Wars of the 16th century and in that time was besieged. A nice remnant of that time is the aptly named ‘murder room,’ which lies over the entrance gate, as soldiers would pour boiling liquids and shoot arrows down a small gap at invading troops. The stone itself is rather mythical, as a simple kiss is meant to grant the powers of eloquence on a person. Many speculate that the stone is the famed Lia Fáil, which was the old coronation stone of Scotland. But really, there is no way of knowing if there is truth to this. 

Afterwards, I check out the Poison Garden, which is filled to the brim with deadly plants. Below the castle is a Badger Cave so a few of us climb inside and walk around its slushy depths. Leading out from it is a beautiful river walk and while the others go and get food, I head off into the forest. As it is my first time seeing Irish countryside, I am spellbound by the magical clearing I walk into. The sound of the birds and bubbling stream relaxes me instantly, although I only have time for a ten minute walk.

We soon have to leave as we are needing to arrive at Dublin.

The hotel that we are staying at is fine but everyone in our tour gets lost, as it is divided into two wings with not very helpful signage. We bump into another one of the tour guys, who is completely lost and huffing and puffing up a stairwell. After some not very helpful suggestions, we go on our way and hope that he isn’t found starved and dead a few weeks later in that very spot.

That night, we have a Celtic night to look forward to. It starts off pretty boring, especially as the acoustics are all wrong with one of the band members. Soon enough though, as the cider, wine and ale start to flow, we get a bit more rowdy and the energy levels lift. With perfect timing, Irish dancers head onto the stage, led by a fabulously handsome man with rolled up sleeves. One of the tour boys gets pulled onto the stage and starts a dance-off with Mark, who has had a little bit too much to drink. Poor Mark ends up being destroyed by the other dancer but he has a good laugh at himself and the fun.

We head out the door and onwards to the pub scene. There is a chain pub called the Temple Bar that we head into and it’s hot and uncomfortable inside. It’s not really my scene, especially as I am still trying to avoid Rick, who is still being annoying. I think Sophie wants to get away from the group because the men are watching us like hawks and well, we want to have a bit of fun. Unfortunately, she rolls her ankle while dancing and really injures it. She’s too drunk to care but I’m only a bit tipsy so I am worried about the long term effects of the pain. I lend her my shoulder and lead her through the rowdy streets and back in the direction of the hotel. At this point, all of the other tour people have gone back but being a good wing-woman, I’ve stuck it out with Sophie and Alex.

On the way home, we swing by Supermac’s and get some cheesy fries. Some Welsh man tries to convince Sophie to ‘keep her eyes’ and she solemnly vows to do so. It is an odd end to the night…

Day 12 – The Cliffs of Moher and Killarney

Do you remember that scene? You know, the one from Princess Bride? Well, it’s not one of those movies that you’ll ever forget (whether that’s good or bad) so if you’ve seen it, you’ll remember it. It’s that moment when they scale those dreadful Cliffs of Insanity. I bet none of you actually thought those cliffs were real, after all, they were so impossibly high! But that’s where you’re wrong, because those are the beautiful and majestic Cliffs of Moher.

We drop in on them before heading to Killarney. The day is gloomy, overcast but utterly beautiful. It’s the kind of day that lends the imagination towards rolling fog across the green pastures of a distant farm. And the cliffs really do deliver with that feeling, as there are ravens all over the edge and a distant ruin up a hill. It’s all very dramatic and while the stop over is pretty quick, it’s fun to walk along.

The far off ruins are actually quite accessible and are those of the Moher fort, sitting on top of the hilariously named Hag’s Head. There seems to be very little information on the fort, other than it being an outpost for stranded sailors or shipwrecked merchants. More notable about the cliffs are the sheer amount of people who have fallen to their deaths, mostly with the clear intention of doing so. All of its history, of shipwrecks and victims, makes it a solemn place.

Onto the bus again and it’s now onto Killarney, which is a beautiful town lined with forests and groves. It’s a relatively popular town, due to the smash hit christmas carol of, “Christmas in Killarney.” Having grown up on Dean Martin and Bing Crosby at every Christmas dinner, it’s lyrics chime in my head pleasantly as we drive in.

The holly green, the ivy green
The prettiest picture you’ve ever seen
Is Christmas in Killarney
With all of the folks at home

I have the choice to do a horse and carriage ride but since I’m a bit concerned about my finances, I decide to skip it and just walk around the town. I have a nice time exploring the area and heading out to the national parks nearby.

As I head back, I bump into the gang and we decide to head into the town for a bit. We head along a main road and stop off for a delicious dinner at a pretty alleyside restaurant. It’s so relaxing to be with everyone and enjoying a glass (or a pint) of cider. We are sitting outside and surrounded by flowers, so it’s a lovely sight. After some ice cream, we head back to the bus as our accommodation is out of the town.

While we wait for the rooms to be readied, I stop off at the hotel bar and relax with the guys. I down a few more ciders and just listen to the blokes talk without adding too much of interest.

When I head back to the room at midnight, I am horrified to discover that there is a massive spiders nest in our window alcove. I freak out until Alex fetches Mark to spray them. I literally bow at his feet for actually doing that for me, as I was nearly in hysterics. Spiders are my greatest fear.

They may be dead but I’m still a bit anxious and I sleep poorly that night.

Day 8 – Glasgow, The Necropolis and Live Comedy

I’m sad to be leaving Edinburgh as I have simply fallen in love with the city.

My head hurts, my stomach is rolling but I can’t deny that I’ve had a marvellous time. My only regret is that I was unable to see the Military Tattoo in the castle. Unfortunately, I didn’t leave enough time for booking it, but it doesn’t pain me too much as it is a nice excuse to return.

Today, we are off to Glasgow. Unlike the previous drives, it is short journey and we arrive quickly. The bus drops us in the centre of the city, but it’s pretty rough looking and not many of us are excited to be there. Half of the group will be going to a rum tour, but I need to stagger my money so I opt out of it and I decide to just look around for the afternoon. Besides, with the amount I drank last night, I wasn’t going to be able to handle any more alcohol.

After checking out an atrocious modern art gallery (I hate MA so I’m particularly biased to it being super sucky), we all head to lunch at an amazing restaurant. Most people get the pizza’s, which are absolutely huge and delicious looking and some form of delightful desert.

Soon, we all break off and go our separate ways, which is something I’m happy for. As a rather introverted person, I’ve struggled with the constant group situations and people to interact with. My first stop is the town Cathedral, which looks eerie due to its stained copper roof and the large graveyard that rising with the hill behind it. Inside, there is a bible open at the alter to an ominous passage and the whole atmosphere of the interior gives me the chills. The feeling reminds me of my trip through Italy, where every cathedral had a different feel. I love knowing that a place has history, especially when it screams of tragedy.

Underneath the cathedral is the tomb of a saint and behind the building is a huge mausoleum/necropolis.  It is interesting to find out that the sturdy and relatively modern looking structure of the cathedral dates back to 1197. The stained glass windows are certainly the highlight, as they are quite colourful and their close range allows them to be observed in minute detail. Due to their craftsman-ship, I start to doubt whether they are as old as the rest of the structure and this I later find out to a correct inclination, as they are post-war constructed.

Some more information I found out post-visit, is that the Saint entombed below is that of Saint Mungo, who was notable for four of his miracles that he performed in Glasgow. There is even a little verse that is often recited for him, which speaks of each miracle that he performed:

“Here is the bird that never flew

Here is the tree that never grew

Here is the bell that never rang

Here is the fish that never swam”

To explain the miracles, the bird verse refers to a robin that was restored after it was killed, the tree refers to a restarted fire he accidentally extinguished when overseeing a monastery, the bell talks of (funnily enough) a bell brought back from Rome to Glasgow and the fish refers to the discovery of a fish with a ring inside of it, which ended up solving a political conspiracy of the time. On a side note, St Mungo is also the name of the hospital in Harry Potter, although I’m not sure why anyone would need to know that little piece of information (sue me for lovin’ HP amiright).

Outside, I walk around the Necropolis for a while, entranced by the statues of angels and the sheer vastness of the dead under my feet. It’s odd but I keep on assuming that I’ll spot a famous name, so I peer at the largest tombs and gravestones in wonder. There are plenty of incredible opportunities for photos and while I am not overall captivated by the city of Glasgow, I am able to see a morbid beauty to the place.

After, I head back to the Hotel and I start to feel a bit nervous at how rough the neighbourhood is. As I’m a bit early and Andy (our tour guide) is still at the rum tour, I head to a nearby café and enjoy a real coffee and some chips. They have an ‘exotic’ section which features Bundaberg products, and I find myself laughing at the thought of it being unique. It is peaceful though, to write in my journal, sip on a real coffee and be alone.

Soon enough, I’ve located the hotel and met up with the other tour member. We all head through a dodgy park to a nearby pub, where I indulge in a delicious cider and some fish and chips. There is a complimentary local comedy show nearby so a few of us risk the cringes and head down. The first act is brutal and the comedian hardly even takes a breath of air for talking so fast. The second is a girl, who uses deadpan humor and timing to be hilarious. The third is one of the loudest men I’ve ever heard and kind of funny, but the real comedian is the last act. With his orange hair and typical Irish humor, he’s a perfect preparation for Ireland and really funny.

Our walk back through the park is a tad scary but we make it out alive. We end up hopping a few fences, but no ones dies.

When relaxing in our room (I’m sharing with Alex), Sophie makes an appearance. Just as I had guessed, her and Rick had made out the other the night and now she freaking out about the ramifications. It makes my stomach turn to imagine dating him but I make sure to not be judgemental as she unloads. He has asked to ‘chat’ to her about it on the ferry tomorrow to Ireland, so she is nearly pulling her hair out because of the drama. Sometimes I get this feeling that, due to his emotional nature, he can turn from obsessively sad to ridiculously angry within a moment. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the idea of such a stressful conversation happening when they’re alone, but I know she’s a smart girl and that she’s thought this through.

Tomorrow will be eventful, at least.

Day 5 – Hadrian’s Wall, Scottish Border and Edinburgh

Since it’s a long drive to Edinburgh, we head out of York early. We are all eager to mingle though, so the drive is at least entertaining. I can’t shake the feeling of disappointment though, to have missed out on so much in England. I was eager to see Manchester, Leeds and some of the Lake District, and yet we have swept through it all in a day.

I meet a nice girl called Alex, who is from just outside my own city. She’s a recent high school graduate who is going to live overseas for a few years and work. I also get to know our Team Leader, Andy, a bit more and I find out that he is a paramedic. He shares with us stories of his last tour, who were an awful group and I can see that he is anxious to have a bit more fun with us. We all seem to silently accept the challenge and I can already feel my liver complain about it.

Mark comes up to talk to me and very quickly I can sense something between him and Alex. I’m not sure that she is too thrilled at the attention but he already seems to have eyes only for her. They are pretty much the same age and both quite good looking, so it would be a cute couple.

We head over the border to Scotland and have a group photo in front of the border crossing sign. As we do so, a fabulous man in a tartan kilt arrives and starts to play the bag pipes. It’s so typically Scottish, with the cold wind blowing in our faces and the vibrantly green grass contrasting with the grey sky. The musician enjoys our attention, but seems to particularly notice Alex, as she has a pale complexion and ginger hair. I predict that she will be quite popular in Scotland and Ireland.

After heading over the border, we stop in at a small town for lunch. It is overlooked by an imposing fortress and cathedral that looms above its tiny shops and cobblestone streets. The locals watch us curiously as we flock into their cafes and while they are kind, I have my first introduction to how mediocre Scottish food is. There is more white bread, processed meats and sweets than I have ever seen. And it starts to annoy me that I’m paying for a standard coffee and yet getting machine made concoctions. But I can’t fault the hospitality, as everyone is kind and welcoming. Sophie and Johanna, who are both Celiac, are visibly struggling with the gluten-free choices. It becomes clear that we can’t necessarily trust the good word of our hosts as to what has gluten and what does not.

Hadrian’s wall is the next sight and I am eager to jump out of the bus and do some walking. All day I have watched the beautiful countryside pass by and I have itched to feel the breeze on my face and to walk through the fields. The wall is an ancient Roman ruin and the furthest outpost of the Roman Army. The hill to walk up to it is fine, by my standards, but a lot of the others struggle to make it even half-way. It is only a short stop, as our final destination for the day calls us.

Edinburgh looms in front of us and we all gasp in awe at the sight. Arthur’s Seat stands solitary and tall beside the castle, joined only occasionally by a cathedral spire. The swirling dark clouds and the gothic architecture of the city creates a profound effect on our group. We all stare in wonder at the small streets, the bleak building facades and the strong faces of the city. Instantly, we have collectively fallen in love with the city. Without having heard any of its history, I can feel that events have happened here and that its history is as gloriously bloody as it is long.

Our hotel, aptly named ‘The Central Hotel,’ is just off the Royal Mile and access to it can only be achieved through a beer garden. I feel like a fly that has just been caught in a web and we all have a strange look in our eyes at the thought of the nights to still come. Our hotel is surrounded by hostels, so we are sure that the area is a partying eden.

I’m sharing a room with Alex, which is fine as she is a bubbly and fun girl. The only problem is the architecture of the room, as the bathroom is completely exposed and therefore offers no privacy. The glass door doesn’t click shut and there is a large gap between it and the door frame. And of course, this gap shows anyone who is sitting on the toilet or in the shower. The intention is obviously to be ‘hip’ and modern, but I find it so unacceptable that I complain to front desk. The attendants seem a bit shocked that anyone would even care, but I made sure to explain the reason why I do.

There’s no time to dwell on my anger though, as it is straight onto the walking tour. It’s more extensive than the others and it leads us up the Royal Mile, which is filled with various pamphlet holders and buskers. Unbeknown to myself, we have arrived at an exceptional time for the city as both the Military Tattoo and the Fringe Festival is on.

Our tour finishes at a local pub, where we are given a traditional Scottish dinner. I actually really enjoy my Haggis, as it is really just a bunch of meat, but not everyone is game to try it. As we have to pay up front, I speed to the ATM, only to realise that I have forgotten my pin and can’t withdraw anything. I end up walking all the way back to the hotel to change it, then back to the ATM to withdraw the money and then finally to the pub to hand the money over. Most have finished their mains at this point so I wolf down my food in record time to catch up.

Everyone goes their separate ways, mostly to check out the Fringe Festival shows, so Beckie, Scott, Andy, Rick, Sophie, Alex and I all head to another pub for drinks. Sophie and Alex really want to party, so they smash back the tequila shots, end up dancing on the tables and stealing the lead singers microphone from the live band.

After stumbling back home, we fall into bed and into an alcohol induced coma. Tomorrow morning is not going to be fun.

Day 3 – Shops, Bieber and Chelsea

I’m up early and trying to sneak around the room so that I don’t wake anyone. I met a few of my dorm mates last night but their inability to be quiet throughout the night really grated on my nerves and good spirits. An American girl called Melissa doesn’t move a muscle while I rummage through my bag near her. My theory is that she could sleep through an apocalypse, so I test my theory by making as much noise as possible. My pièce de résistance is when I brush my teeth next to her head and she still remains comatose. I am a bit of a jerk.

I take advantage of a free continental breakfast and then I’m out the door by nine. My good friend Maddy, is meeting me in half a month so I don’t want to experience too much of London and spoil the experience of being with her. So I decide to do a really general look at the different areas.

I head straight away to Chelsea, drawn like a moth to the flame by the wealth and riches of the suburb. As soon as I enter the area, the number of Porsches and Lamborghini’s rises dramatically. Their sleek shapes as they glide over the cobblestone streets is an image not easily forgotten.

I walk to the Duke of York’s square, and distract some book-keepers with an inane question about T.E. Lawrence books (despite having no intention at all to buy anything). The shop is old and pokey and beautiful.

After a quick snoop at the local wares, I get onto my first double decker bus and head to Piccadilly Circus. The flashing lights of the Ritz leads me to get off the bus early to gawk at it. My mind harks back to Good Omens and NottingHill (honestly, I hate Hugh Grant so I don’t know why I keep on mentioning him in these posts). Distraction is eminent, however, and soon my gaze drifts to the gorgeously decorated windows of Fortnum and Masons. The green paint of the outside does little to prepare me for the magnificence of its insides. For the opulence and beauty of products that i will never be able to afford.  A lovely clerk gives me a Strawberry Coated Raspberry Chocolate Truffle for free. 

If you can’t see, it says 3750 pounds!

After ogling at the ageing rum’s and peeking in at each tea room (reconnaissance for a later date with Maddy), I move on from the store and make my way to Leicester Square. Instantly, I am drawn to the flashing bulbs and huge crowd that has amassed itself in front of The Book of Mormon. I have heard about this play before, mostly through my parents who saw it in New York. A charismatic group of guys notice me peering up at the sign and rope me into a competition to win tickets. Since the prize will be drawn in only an hour, I decide to enter and try my luck. I don’t win but I don’t regret entering.

Lunch is at Pret A Manger, a store that Australia desperately needs to launch. It is a fast food chain that only features healthy options. My feet are sore and raw, so I relax for a bit and watch the world pass. But I’m distracted… there is some kind of screaming outside. Surely… surely this can’t be the zombie apocalypse? No, it can’t be. I’m not prepared, world. I’M NOT PREPARED!

Oh, wait. It’s just a bunch of Bieber fans, screaming at a hotel. And you’d think that if they were screaming at this hotel, he’d… you know… be staying there.

Nup. He wasn’t. And they realised that eventually, as the screams die down and they manoeuvred awkwardly into a Bieber loving parade out of the square. The whole thing is ridiculous to watch and many laughs nip at the tweens heels as they move out of view.

The sun is starting to set so I decide to head back to the hostel. It’s irrational, I know, but I head along the street I walked down yesterday, hoping that my American guy will be there again. He isn’t, obviously, and I feel rather silly for expecting him to pop up.

As if rubbing some salt in my festering and gangrenous wounds, I find it difficult to locate a restaurant that caters to a single eater. I get fed up with searching and decide to skip dinner and eat ice cream instead. It’s a freezing night (by my standards), so I’m torn between regretting my choice and loving it’s deliciousness.

By the time I find an internet café and shoot off a few emails, it’s 8:30 and I’m feeling tired. When I stumble back to my dorm room, I strike up some conversations with two Austrian girls and we talk until late at night. We get along well and they make it clear that if ever I am in Austria, they would be happy to host me.

It’s a lovely gesture and I return the sentiment.

 

The Prelude

A few months ago, I quit my job.

Most of you are probably thinking, “what a terrible idea.” And I get it, I do. Most of you have some pretty big commitments and not everyone gets the chance to quit just because they hate what they are doing. So let me tell you, that was the best decision I have made… in the last year. I am not going to over exaggerate it all and ramble on about how such a decision was life changing, soul enriching and eye-opening. I’ve never read Eat, Pray, Love and I don’t ever intend to.

But it was pretty damn great.

So, this job. It was just awful. I mean, really awful. It had everything that makes up a terrible role: long hours, terrible management structure, unethical practices and way too much responsibility too quickly. I was in this rut because I don’t make decisions lightly (which is my way of setting you all up for realising how out of character this trip was). I did a year of work before deciding that I either had two options: the first was to have a mental breakdown from the pressure, and the second was to get out of that job. So I took the second, thankfully. I sat down with my bosses at 8 in the morning and by 8:30am, I was walking out the door and into freedom.

Over the course of the years, I had saved and sacrificed a lot for a moment just like this. A silly, spontaneous moment when the world was at my feet and I could just go. With no relationship, no looming plans and no next move planned, I did exactly what I wanted.

I went traveling.

I am back now from my adventure, feeling a lot less wiser but a lot more confident. To quote F. Scott FitzGerald, I am, “…simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” My travels took me to the United Kingdom, France, Canada and America and each leg of the journey had a different appeal and atmosphere to it. I’ll be updated chronologically, with each title listing the day and the sub-title for the day.

So really, that’s all you need to know. That’s the context to this blog. It’s not about some hot-shot journalist who is paid to survey the best restaurants in town. I’m not rich, or famous or anything other than a seriously average joe. This is just my account of what happens when you drop everything and just go.

Oh and also, I’m Australian, female and a bit of an idiot.