JandalsnAll

I must get something off my chest. I cant keep it bottled up inside any longer. These sorts of traumatic experiences have a tendency to scar one for life if they’re not talked about. So consider me the patient, and you the psychiatrist. How to begin…. Well, it all started one night in Dingle. Easter Saturday was just as beautiful a day as Easter Friday. Blue skies and all – it never rains in Dingle. I spent the day out by the wharf, hanging out with Aussie Dylan, checking out the shops, and not doing much at all really. That night we met up a couple of German lads Ollie and Greg from the hostel. The Rainbow Hostel by the way is great. Its about a 10 min walk from town, and very homely with a great big kitchen, long benches and a NZer on reception which is always a bonus.

Anyway, we all went out for the night, first to a pub that doubles as a shoe repair shop in the daytime (!? theres also a hardware/pub in town aswell) then met up with Lex and Co in a pub creatively named The Dingle Pub. It was an excellent night with live music and a variety of crazy antics. Everyone had a gay old time. I think the Germans may have been a little scared by the amount of gayness – scared or intrigued – hard to tell.

So anyway we head back to the hostel at what ended up being 2.30am because of daylightsavings (of which we were all unaware until the early hours of the morning) and settle down in bed. Two lower bunks they were, Aussie Dylan in one, myself in the other with obviously, two top bunks above, both occupied – also about a metre apart. These details are very important if you are to understand what is to follow. And I will revel in imagining you grimacing in disgust as I elaborate further into the more spinechilling details. At aproximately 6am in the early hours of the morning I am awoken from slumber by the sound of falling water….and find my bed becoming increasingly wetter with an unidentifiable liquid. Is it raining inside? Oh how I wish it was. I jump out of bed as does Dylan with a shout. Under closer examination by the light of a cellphone we find the unidentifiable liquid (its nature will soon become clearer) pooling in a growing puddle on the ground about 30cm from my pack – which I very promptly moved. By scientific calculation we determined it had shot across from one top bunk to hit the other before submitting to gravity and soaking into both of our nice dry clean beds…. well I wasnt sticking around to perform any tests but I think you may have some idea as to what the mystery substance might have been. May I add that the occupant of the top bunk was male.

So we ended up dragging a duvet that hopefully was out of the line of fire, into the hallway and spent the rest of the morning shivering in horror and taking turns in the corner to rock back and forth, trying in vain to get to some happy place, some little cupboard of the mind unsoiled by the traumatic experience. I must say I did feel sorry for the culprit as morning came. I didnt actually see his face, just a lump under the blankets, because he stayed in bed until the room was clear..and I dont blame him.

And just telling you has brought it all flooding back – nay dribbling back. I think I’ll have to go lie down. Preferably on a top bunk.

But before I go, just so you know, Im in Doolin. I love Doolin. I want to marry Doolin. Except that Doolin has only one internet cafe that takes extreme pleasure in that fact by charging exorbertant (spelling?) prices. So I’ll fill you in hopefully in a couple of days – Doolin’s worth the wait.

Ooo Im a slacker. I’ll slap myself on the hand. Leaving you all in suspenders wondering if Im dead or alive. Im sure you’re all worried sick. Dont blame you. But rest assured I am alive – a sluggish sort of alive at times but alive nonetheless.
So while you’ve been going out of your minds with worry Ive been from Kilkenny to Cork to Dingle with Skibereen inbetween. Last Saturday ? all the days blend into one here. I left Kilkenny for Cork, catching a ride with A – thats the English young Jonathan Creek lookalike. We neared Cork around midday and decided to head out to Blarney to see Blarney Castle and to kiss the dreaded Blarney Stone. Dreaded because who knows whats lurking on a stone millions of people have slobbered on. The castle itself is awesome. Not restored this one, and complete with dungeons and murderhole where boiling liquids were poured from a great height on invaders below – now this is what I came to Ireland to see. Dungeons, murderholes and slobbery stones.

We walked up several spiral staircases through the remains of the castle (excellent view from the top) to join the queues of other people keen to slobber on the stone. Now before I came to Ireland I had no intention of ever kissing the Blarney stone but I figured I was there and I’d paid NZ$14 to get in, may as well come away with something (no meningitis thanks). I began to assess the throngs around me, trying to pick out signs of any particularly hazardous bacterium so as to position myself so I am at least 7 seconds away when it comes to kissing the stone. The good old 7 second rule. Nothing evident to the naked eye but these things can go unrecognized. I was hoping there’d be a scanning process by way of cheekswab testing just before you get to the stone but there wasnt. And as this was a spur of the moment sidetrip, I hadnt had time to purchase any mouthwash – or industrial strength disinfectant. The moment of truth came as I approached the kissing stone. Adam went first, stood up, no sweating,tumbling or projectile vomiting – a good sign. My turn next. The process for slobbering on the stone is such: You lie flat on your back and inch yourself backwards, so as to hang upside down over a hole near the wall of the castle View image
. A guide holds you, you pucker up and plant a big wet one on a stone the size of a brick . I thought it would be much bigger – I hoped it would be much bigger – less chance of another bout of French bird flu, or American bird flu as it would most likely have been in this case. A stone so small can hardly remain sterile with so much slobber. Anyway I did it. And so far so good – though as I said these things can go unrecognized you know.I’ll keep you posted.

A and I arrived in Cork that afternoon and stayed in Bru bar and Hostel. A nice place, brand new but rather sterile in terms of hanging out with other travellers. And thats a bad sort of sterile. While there we met up with D, one of the ‘bloody Aussies’ from Kilkenny. Went on a search for traditional Irish music that night and ended up listening to some 90’s heavy metal band. They were awesome…I’ll take 90’s heavy metal over traditional Irish music anyday …. not. But good company. Stayed another night or two in Cork but the weather was miserable and there doesnt seem to be anything much in Cork. Oh actually D and I did catch a bus out to Kinsale, a little fishing town, and walked out to see Charles Fort which was amazing. Its right on the sea and huge. It was used to fight someone from somewhere back in the day – (go look it up if you really want to know), then used again in WW2, then occupied by a bunch of hippies in the 60’s – that I do remember. But you can peer out to sea through the watch towers and the gaps where the cannons were (whatever those gaps are called) and pretend you’re under attack. Very cool and reccomended.

So after Cork, I was intending on heading down and around the coast and up towards Dingle where I planned to spend Easter with Lex, Kane and co (friends over from London for the weekend). The bloody Aussie who has become my current travelling buddy and I chose Skibbereen (which is inbetween) just on a whim, to spend a day in or so before carrying on to Dingle. Well theres not much to see in Skibbereen but the name is cool. We had to hike 2kms from the town out to an adventure park hostel for the night. It was a great place to stay, and the guy looking after it was the only one there so we played cards and guitar most of the night then hiked back into town the next day and caught a bus back to Cork. It turns out buses dont go down and around the coast and to get to Dingle we had to catch a bus from Cork. So Skibbereen inbetween ended up being a bit of an expensive excursion because of the bus trips but if I hadnt have gone I wouldnt be able to keep saying Skibereen inbetween. So I’d say it was well worth it.

So finally to the present day. Its a beautiful day in Dingle. The best yet. Blue skies and a sea breeze. Yesterday I caught up with Lex, Kane, and their friends Jason, Amy and Min. Escapades so far include taking a boat trip out to see Funghi (like mushrooms) the dolphin, the local celebrity – just like real tourists. And a trip up into the hills, stopping for an icecream (you should have seen Lex’s face light up), stopping again at a waterfall, where we soon found out just who and who was not destined to be a world famous rock-climber – Lex utilizing the everpopular ‘bum-sliding’ technique as method of descent, and stopping again at a beach reminiscent of Papamoa. Not bad surf either. I took a photo for you Dad. Today is Easter Saturday and the pubs are open again so should be a fun night to be had by all – hopefully with plenty of local sounds. Stay tuned.

Well well well St Paddy’s day has been and gone. And you missed it. But I didnt. I must state that I am currently suffering from a severe case of StPaddylitis which Im finding rather hard to shake. Symptoms include unnatural cravings for Guinness, seeing green spots and chronic jigging.

As I am writing this two days later through Shamrock shaped, green tinted glasses (not beer goggles I assure you) please bear with me as I attempt to relate (ever so briefly) events of my first St Patrick’s Day in Ireland. May I begin with a well deserved ‘Arrgghh’. And a bit of an ‘ErrghneedmoresleepandlessGuinness’.

Thursday 17th March.
Wake up.
Do nothing.
Go to St Patricks Day parade View image. Favourites included rogue police with fishnet stockings, stubbies and cigars in a Ford fiesta, and little rat dog pulling teeny tiny float. Walk down street. Am stopped by random guy on street. (Unbeknownst to me, Kathmandu backpack also doubles as a huge neon sign ‘KIWI KIWI KIWI’). Find out random guy is from Te Awamutu. Am shocked and suprised. No not really. Aj from Te Awamutu arranges enmasse congregation of Kiwis. The Kiwis invade. Its a small world. Go to pubs. Pubs include:’ hard rugby men’ pub, ‘cool alternative student’ pub, ‘lets wear our bikini and belt out tonight’ pub (not my favourite). Am inevitably introduced to Guinness and a number of other delicious beverages. Am propositioned by bald guy who would like to buy my dreads. Consider selling dreads. Decide against selling dreads. Crazy bald Irish people. Farewell awesome Kiwi persons. Go to hostel. Make it up three flights of stairs. Am relieved. Have happy ‘St Patrick’s Day’ dreams.

Friday morning:
Wake up. Fall asleep. Wake up again. Repeat if desired. Find grass. Sit on grass. Leave precious grass. Move hostel. Decide on early night. Meet American Anna. Am offered night of quiet drinks. Its a trap. The Aussies invade. Bloody Aussies. Proceed to have smashing night of Traditional Irish Music with lashings of Guinness (one lashing) and occasional jigging. Farewell awesome Aussie persons plural plus one American person plus Jonathan Creek lookalike. Go to hostel. Make it up two flights of stairs with relative ease. Have pleasant ‘day after St Patricks Day’ dreams. The End.

So on Monday night, just on a whim, and with a recommendation from one of Carmel’s friends I decided to move on to Kilkenny. Thats the cool thing about travelling by yourself, ‘leaving just on a whim’. Not so cool things would include ‘missing your bus-stop in Kilkenny and ending up in Callan which is a completely different town then having to sheepishly admit this to your bus driver who tells you he did yell out the name of the desired stop but you thought that was someone else asking to go to the desired stop and you have to get off the bus then cross the road and wait for another bus going back the other way’. That would’nt be cool. And you’d have to be a bit of an idiot to do something like that. It didnt happen to me….nope definitely didnt happen to me. But let this hypothetical (totally hypothetical) situation be a lesson to all who travel on buses to sit near the front where you can hear the bus driver when he tells you to get off – and dont wear your headphones..

After saying goodbye to Carmel on Tuesday afternoon I eventually found my way to Kilkenny. I was booked in for the night at Wesley house, a hostel in the grounds of the local Methodist Church. Its a three story place, rather old and really kitch on the inside – though I’m not sure whether ‘kitch’ is actually the intention… There is much religious signage, mismatching flowery decor and a set of those flying ducks on the wall – yep its definitely the coolest place I’ve been so far. I spent the first night in a nine bed dorm all by myself.

Wednesday morning I spent window shopping and just getting the lay of the land. The main feature of the town in Kilkenny Castle which dates from 13th Century. But the town itself (and its not very big – just two or so main streets) is full of existing Medieval buildings and cobbled roads as well as the more recent additions, with the river Nore running through the middle. The River Nore by the way is alot less sludgy and mildewy green than the river Liffey and so generally much more pleasant to look at.

That afternoon I decided it was time for some serious tourist action. After hanging my camera conspicuously round my neck and putting on all my gold jewellery, I set off….picked up some Mc D’s on the way, and with cellphone to ear all the while talking loudly in an American accent to my imaginary friend on the other end about how ‘yeah Kilkenny’s great but the people arent very bright and they really need a Starbucks here’ I found some old building. Might of been a church or whatever but they all look the same….. I climbed St Canices tower (110 steps with an awesome view from the top), an old stone construction built between AD 700 – 1000 (yes I had to look that up, Im not that clever), very much intact except for the very top section which no longer exists. Its kinda freaky climbing up totally surrounded by stone – its only a couple of meters across and very little natural light on the inside.

After the tower I continued on my touristy way, taking the guided tour through Kilenny Castle. You can only go in by way of guided tour if you’re wondering, otherwise I probably would have steered clear of the whole tourists enmasse thing. I much prefer to wander round a historically significant site on my own, trying to look intelligent while saying things like ‘hmm’ and ‘fancy that’ when really Im just wondering where the toilet is. But it was very informative and I learnt alot of things about several people called James. None of which I can remember. And so I will now consult the ever-present LP to aid in your pending history lesson:

Built in 1192 by Strongbows nephew (thats just some English guy). Main inhabitants were the powerful Butler family from 1391 – 1935 (including several named James). Maintainence of the building became a strain and it was gifted to the city who are still in the process of restoring it to’Victorian splendour’. There are some original furnishings but many are just random Victorian antiques. And copies of paintings. There were some amazing tapestries though.
Definitely an awesome building and worth seeing (for someone from little ol NZ (NZ wasnt even invented when the castle was built)), the idea of reconstructing what the interior would have looked like doesnt really appeal to me in some way. Its not very HPC (historically politically correct ) but I think I’d rather see it in ruins.

That night treated myself to a little restaurant dining, blowing the budget. Its potatoes for the rest of the trip.

P.S Americans rule so dont be sending me hate comments now.

update from the last few days in Dublin:

On Thursday afternoon, after the morning of Icky Throats and Nasty Coughs I found grass (the walking on kind)…..Thus Thursday shall be renamed and henceforth shall be known as The Day I Found Grass(The Walking On Kind). It still had a fence around it but there was plenty of it so I dont think this was the endangered stuff.
On the way to find the National Gallery I came across Merridon Square which is across the river on the south side of Dublin city. Its a beautiful haven of nature (suitable for aforementioned cleansing of the soul). You walk in and as if by magic (leprechauns??) the sounds of the traffic on the four surrounding roads dims. There’s lush green grass, nice pretty flowers (I couldn’t name them for you but I can state for a fact that they were definitely of the NicenPretty variety), people quietly talking, walking and eating lunch. It was a welcomed respite (?) from the city and I was quite amazed it existed – I dont think I was still hallucinating… There were some most ugly sculptures scattered around the gardens – religious I think, crosses and people in agony – but they were intriguing in their hideousness so that was okay. I left paradise and visited the National Gallery – the paintings were large and impressive but mostly of pre 20th century so not terribly interesting to me.

After the gallery I attempted to find my way to Temple Bar – supposedly one of Dublins hip hotspots. I dont think I found it – maybe I wasnt hip enough – but I did find Grafton road which was flooded with people across the whole street, lotsa shops and interesting buskers. There was even a piano accordian lady reminiscent of Taurangas old accordion lady (except she wasnt old and she sat on the ground not in a wheelchair). So I dint manage to find Temple Bar on this day but did find the accordian lady, and another cool three piece band of youths playing a weird kind of Irish folk punk rock. On the way back to the hostel I had some cauliflower soup to nourish me back to health. then checked into my new bed up five flights of stairs. Yay. I met an Australian girl there who said just hours before my bed had been occupied by another Kiwi, but nevermind, the Australian was the next best thing – except she of course preferred Vegemite over Marmite. Also 2 koreans, 1 german and a couple of other unidentified humans in the room.

Next morning I awoke with vigour. Well the third time I awoke was with vigour. I packed everything up and had a quick hostel breakfast of croissant, then set off. I had a plan. I would visit the much anticipated wax museum, the Modern gallery and Cobalt Gallery and cafe where according to LP I would have heary soup by a roaring fire. After about a ten minute walk I find the wax museum is shut, the modern gallery is under renovation and the cafe complete with roaring fire and hearty soup nowhere to be found. And I so wanted to visit the wax museum.

After that disapppointment, I decided to try again to track down the elusive Temple Bar district. I think I ended up walking through it because I did see the actual pub called the Temple Bar and I passed a couple of be-studded Goth/Punk ‘cool’ kids, so yeah that must of been it. I think its more ‘happenin’ at nighttime…or maybe you need to know the secret ‘hipnhappenin’ handshake. I passed Bank of Ireland (of which I know absolutely nothing about but it sounds impressive) and Trinity College which looked very inviting with the crowd of arty academics hanging outside. I then made my way back over the Liffey, had some more soup, this time celery and blue cheese which tasted suprisingly like the cauliflower soup. And as I ponder the similarities I am struck by a thought – Dont they use stock for soups? And isnt that stock sometimes chicken? And dont these soups tasted just like chicken? And I keep drinking anyway. Maybe its nutritious life juices will nourish me back to health. That would be kind of ironic though. Firstly me being a vegetarian, secondly chicken juice being a cure for French bird flu.

Anyway, enough about the slaughter of innocent chickens to feed my ailing body. That afternoon (Friday) Carmel picked me up outside the hostel and just in time too, as a hoard of French men arrived for the Saturday match (Ireland vs France) and Angela’s grandma tells me I should look out for French men so what a near miss that was and a grand stroke of luck I should be leaving just in time.

Well, well, well turns out I did catch the dreaded French Bird Flu – or something damn near as horrible. On the first day I arrived in Dublin I thought the dizziness and the way everything around me seemed to be tilting back and forth was just a symtpom of jetlag. Till I woke the next morning with a head full of snot (and I apologize not for that lovely image). So yesterday (that was when I woke up with the snot) after a breakfast of scone (thats what they serve for breakfast at the hostel) I went to the nearest chemist and stocked up on anti-snot drugs (several kinds in the end as the first two didnt work) went back to the hostel and promptly fell asleep. I woke up, doped myself up again as the snot had returned and decided to venture outside. I did plan to go to the national gallery and the very promising sounding wax museum but I figured I’d take it easy and check out the shopping areas.
There’s an area of retail shops and malls on the north side of the river Liffey centred around a 130 metre tall concrete and steel spike which was built only in 2003 and is known as ‘The Spire’ and something else which I cant remember (Monument of Light?) Anyway, it makes for a great photo so I took a photo. ( Ive only taken one photo sofar).
From the spire stems four streets, – to the north, east, south and west kinda thing. Its a pretty cool place – very busy, lots of Glassons type shops but also a fruit and vege market and pretty much any other type of retail shop you can think of. After my dose of retail therapy, or wishful retail therapy as it was I was feeling a little peckish so I consulted LP and found this cool little cafe called ‘The Winding Stair Cafe’. Its on the second floor of a antique book shop and you make your way up a creaky spiral staircase, the walls on either side of you wallpapered with pages from old books, squeeze through a tiny door into a cafe complete with checkered tablecloths, Billie Holiday music and sandwiches named after books. I had an ‘Old Man of the Sea’ – tuna, mayo and lettuce – and much nicer than it sounds. I also had the best hot chocolate in the world – or at least I think it was, my tastebuds were on strike cos of the snot situation, but it looked really nice. And I had an apple juice of the piss variety. Thats the second time Ive ordered apple juice expecting the nice cloudy old fashioned stuff but both times I’ve received the piss variety. Which tastes alright, its just the analogy’s not so pleasant. I had a great view of the river from my spot in the cafe. This is a bit further down from the vantage point I had a day earlier. But I must say the river was looking as inviting as ever, no water this time (maybe they drain it?), just a whole lotta green sludge. Kinda reminded me of my own health situation. And the gulls down this end didnt even have zorro masks on – actually come to think of it I only saw that one the day before so maybe I was just hallucinating on account of the onset of French bird flu.
After that, I headed back to the hostel, buying my second lot of anti-snot drugs on the way as well as some water and tissues. Lots of tissues. I would be prepared for the night ahead.

PART 2
That would be last night. Horror of horrors. I had to redope myself up about 3 times, then woke at 3am and couldnt get back to sleep. But I must have dozed off because I missed the moment when my throat swelled up so much I could hardly swallow let alone talk. Thats the way it was when I woke up this morning. So first thing I did this morning was of course to go on my daily trip to the chemist and stock up on drugs – for icky throats and nasty coughs this time. I decided I better have a decent breakfast so armed with directions from my sick buddy Tania from America(shes been sick for two weeks the showoff) I found a cafe that actually serves cereal for breakfast. I chose the healthiest kind – FruitnFibre – which is basically just Sultana Bran. I miss Mr Hubbard. I stumbled back to the hostel after, somewhat feverish I think, and slept again. Then I had to leave at 10.30 and not return til 3pm while they make the bed in the room I have booked for tonight. So here I am again, writing for you with a hazier brain, not much of a voice and a whole lotta snot.
Thankfully the sun is shining today and the earth isnt tilting quite as much and Im going to stay with cousin/aunt (I can never figure out which) Carmel tomorrow who will hopefully coddle me with treats and kindness.
Right now I think the wax museum is calling. Sounds intriguing. I’ll let you know.

And so it was that the little kiwi who could, did what no kiwi in the history of kiwi evolution has ever done, and flew 25 1/2 hours (plus 6 hours stopover) with no sleep surviving with most of her sanity intact. Details as follows (with headings for your convienience):

SAFETY STATUS: I AM OKAY, I REPEAT I AM OKAY.

Please bear in mind as I regail you with my travels so far that I have barely slept for over 30 hours…..

FLIGHTS.
I left Auckland at 2.10pm after a not-too-tearful goodbye (but thanks Mum for setting me off) on a Maylasian airlineflight to Kualar Lumpur.
Details of flight as follows:
Duration: approx 10 hours
Seat: In the middle, no aisle – could it be any worse?
Neighbours: Was sat next to a nice French Geography Masters student (who coincidentally also had dreads – or was it coincidence? maybe part of new security measures to keep all the dreadheads together, where they can be easily kept under surveilence). Like I said, he was nice except he kept sneezing so Im hoping I havent caught some French bird flu or anything.
Food: Argh spicy! I had a lovely nutritious meal of white rice and gloopy jello thing – everything else had enough chilli to fry my brains.
Toilets: Gross – should have gone sooner. And that flushing noise is the scariest sound in the world.
Entertainment: Yay! Little TVs! Though the novelty did wear off after watching the episode of friends where Phoebe tries to teach Joey french 5 times and the jail scene in Bridget Jones 2 just as many times.
Loss of sanity rating: 21%

Flight 2 – KLM to Amsterdam
Time: 12 1/2 hours
Seat: In the middle, no aisle, just behind the row with all the legroom as if to taunt me and yes it could be worse (see neighbours)
Neighbours: Two men who proceeded to slowly spread themselves further across both their own seats and mine. I could have held my ground I guess but I didnt want to seem to friendly as the Indian man to the left of me (complete with gold chains and tweed jacket) had already offered me his card and invited me to visit Scotland – “no problem, no problem” apparently. So I sit there for 12 1/2hours unable to move sandwiched between two spreadeagled chairhogs and I begin to question what the hell I’m doing there, how will I last the trip without getting DVT and more importantly, how does one make ones way to the toilet when ones access to the aisle is obstructed by a snoring spreadeagled fat man. Well, apparently one holds on as long as possible then politely taps him on the shoulder and asks to get by.
Food:First meal was edible – eggplant lasagne?. Second meal was noodles – with real chilli pieces of course, and a gloopy jello thing.
Entertainment: no personal tv screens but tv upfront showing Neverland – only thing stopping me from going WWF with my dinner tray on sleeping (and snoring) spreadeagled fat man. Tip: if your seat neighbour wont stop talking to you keep your headphones on at all times. – They should put that in the inflight safety video.
Toilets: still gross and scary.
Loss of sanity rating: 97% Aaaarrrgghhhh

Last flight Amsterdam to Dublin
Only an hour 10 minutes thank God. And Dublin airport is very easy to find your way out of and doesnt have toilets that flush while you’re still on them which is always a bonus in my eyes.

THE LAND OF THE IRISH
And so it was that I found myself in the Land of the Irish. And as I stepped outside the airport I stopped for a moment to pay homage to my mother the wise one,with her girlguide instinct, for supplying me with winter woollies to keep me warm despite much rolling of eyes and other mother mocking behaviour from her silly silly daughter. Four degrees.

I proceeded to find a bus to the city and was soon told off by an elderly Irish lady for not putting my pack in the luggage holder, so I apologized, how could I not, she was just so cute with her liitle angry Irish accent. Another little cute Irish accented man showed me where to get off and I found the hostel who told me I couldnt go to my room til 3pm – apparently it takes 5 hours to make the beds. So I wandered the streets for a while,had a hideous breakfast of scrambledeggs, tomato and mushroom – all obviously microwaved to death – its like I never left the plane but everyone around me seemed to be enjoying it – crazy Irish people.

I got a map from the hostel and its got green bits on it which I stupidly assumed were parks or grass where I might sit for a bit and just hang out. But there are no parks in Dublin. There is grass but its got big fences around it. I think its endangered. I decide to walk to the Liffey – the river that runs through Dublin – thinking maybe I’ll find a little haven of nature to cleanse my soul. And isnt it lovely – a lovely shade of mildew green. And there are seats lining it so people can sit and admire just how lovely a shade of mildew green it is.

I kept wandering and ended up here writing for you with a hazy brain.
I like Dublin so far – despite its lack of naturally occuring grass. Its got a nice feeling about it. And eveyones got cute happy Irish accents. Awww.
And there are seagulls with bodies just like the grey gulls in NZ but their faces are black – like they’ve got little zorro masks on. And most of the streets are one way so I can jaywalk like a real Dubliner and no-one will know Im an imposter if I dont keep taking my map out.

And now I think I will go sleep,or at least shower. Tommorow – if I wake up in time for tomorrow, I’ll seek out the art sites, maybe search for some nice green grass to frolick in a little farther afield….

It is time.
Oh yes, the time has come my friends.
To explore and conquer. (*read* to put off getting a real grown-up job/life for another year or five).

And so on the 7th day of the 3rd month I shall leave my life of luxury, my 5-star hotel of the last two years (thanks Mum & Dad), having sold all my material possessions (actually just all the ones I don’t want) and venture out into the world armed with an artist’s eye and a pencil to record my travels. And my jandals of course. And socks to wear with my jandals so I don’t get frostbite…in Ireland…in March…a time of year that may not be entirely pleasant I am told, especially for myself a New Zealander, beach enthusiast and lover of sunshine. But summer will surely be right around the corner (blind optimism) at which time I will travel on to conquer Europe and possibly Asia – just if I feel like it. I might change my mind…