The flight to London was uneventful, except that the flight attendants forgot which plane they were on (hint: not an airbus). I had fun poking at the airplane food and chatting with the amiable Brit beside me. Things got off to a great start when I dropped my passport in the aisle, 2 hours in. I’ll never live that down. Ang and I arrived in London around 5AM local time, and thus began the longest day of our lives…
6 hours to wander through Heathrow with our backpacks, brush our teeth in the airport restrooms, and chase garbage cans around (there are no standing garbage cans in Heathrow). We caught a flight with Aer Lingus to Cork later in the afternoon, and settled in at Emilie & Leo’s place (friends of Ang). That was April 10th-11th, and I don’t think much else happened except for some housekeeping items (euro cel phone setup, groceries, dinner, walking around downtown a bit), and my first taste of a *real* Irish pub. There is nothing as genuine as drinking a pint of Beamish stout (brewed across the road) in a real Irish pub (in Ireland) filled with local residents. We met up with some of Leo & Emilie’s friends and I officially celebrated the first hour of my 27th year at this pub (which had an Irish name which I couldn’t remember or pronounce). Jetlag caught up quick, so I bid everyone goodnight and retired relatively early.. at 1AM.. after being awake for 37 hours straight.
My birthday started out with an Irish breakfast cooked by Leo… the best pork sausages I’ve ever had, with eggs, toast, coffee & OJ. Then I went for a jog/walk along the river in Cork… or, I attempted to, but soon realized it was futile. The cobblestone roads and sidewalks were so narrow and crowded, and the stoplights so numerous, that running was impossible. I just strolled along the streets, taking in the sights and sounds. Couldn’t tell you where I went, it was just “right, left, right, straight, turn around and do the reverse”. Got back to the apartment and headed out with the girls for some shopping/ browsing downtown, then to the University of Cork with Ang to get some photos. The history of the place was of course, astounding. Nothing in Canada is that old… for the duration of the trip I never really could grasp what it would be like to build a shopping centre inside an old jail, or attend a church that was built in the middle ages, or to walk by rows of houses 400 years old. I was also surprised (and dismayed) by the lack of respect that kids and teens had for this kind of history. That is… once it’s gone, destroyed… we can never get it back.
My birthday dinner was at a disappointing place called “Curran’s”, frequented mostly by tourists now I believe… the group of us washed away our food with some good red wine, the European way. And then, Ang had the whole night planned out. I have beer mats to prove it, but it went this way: cool Irish micro-brewery with good beer, everyone buying me drinks, then to another pub/bar with more people and more beer, everyone buying me drinks. What did I learn? Not to mix cider with stout. It bears repeating: Do NOT mix cider with stout. Had a few Baby Guinness’ too...
Ach, we stumble back to Emilie’s apartment and when we get back, there is a mannequin standing there in his birthday suit, except for a garbage bag falling from his waist. Nobody seems to know how he got there. Someone throws a jersey and cap on him and names him Morris. I remember that I was disturbed by his disrobement and kept trying to get him to cover up, since unfortunately he was loosely anatomically correct. To no avail. Everyone laughed and I received no help for my troubles.
I’m not a big drinker by any means – averaging one beer every second weekend – but in Ireland, with great beer, no work, and surrounded by good friends and good people, I let loose. I had a couple of goals for my vacation, and although they’d be amusing to most readers I really can’t mention them… except that I’m working on being less anxious and shy about everything and just having more fun. But I need to be pushed outside of my usual comfort range and sometimes “liquid courage” helps. (Yes, *blink blink*... I did just write that). Oh and on my birthday… the first unprovoked kiss from a stranger. Either due to drunkenness or my innate charm... I’d like to think the latter. What a crazy birthday… maybe the best I’ve ever had… and the worst hangover I’ve ever had…
The flight to 
6 hours to wander through Heathrow with our backpacks, brush our teeth in the airport restrooms, and chase garbage cans around (there are no standing garbage cans in Heathrow). We caught a flight with Aer Lingus to 
My birthday started out with an Irish breakfast cooked by Leo… the best pork sausages I’ve ever had, with eggs, toast, coffee & OJ. Then I went for a jog/walk along the river in 
My birthday dinner was at a disappointing place called “Curran’s”, frequented mostly by tourists now I believe… the group of us washed away our food with some good red wine, the European way. And then, Ang had the whole night planned out. I have beer mats to prove it, but it went this way: cool Irish micro-brewery with good beer, everyone buying me drinks, then to another pub/bar with more people and more beer, everyone buying me drinks. What did I learn? Not to mix cider with stout. It bears repeating: Do NOT mix cider with stout. Had a few Baby Guinness’ too...
Ach, we stumble back to Emilie’s apartment and when we get back, there is a mannequin standing there in his birthday suit, except for a garbage bag falling from his waist. Nobody seems to know how he got there. Someone throws a jersey and cap on him and names him Morris. I remember that I was disturbed by his disrobement and kept trying to get him to cover up, since unfortunately he was loosely anatomically correct. To no avail. Everyone laughed and I received no help for my troubles. 
