Done at last!

January 9th or something like that.


It is weird to think of Bilbao as home, also, this blog is about, what? Two months late? Awesome.


So I got to Dublin. Somehow… I think it was by train.

The trains are super easy to figure out in Ireland.

And then I was walking around in Ireland and saw a Yeats Museum Display on this Library.

I went to check it out. It was pretty legit.

I had know that the guy wrote some play-stuff things, but I didn’t realize that the guy basically did *exactly* the sort of thing I want to do with starting a politically (well social-philosophically for me) oriented theatre that does new works.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with this, but…

That’s Yeats.

Strike a resemblance of a certain pishkite you might know?

I’m just sayin’.

Anyhow the Yeats Museum was alright, and there was this “track your family” thing in another part of the library, but that’s only for Irish families with Irish names and a good idea of the religion of the family. But I grabbed some paperwork anyhow.


Or, as we say in proper English (like I speak proper English. Have we decided on a sarcasm punctuation yet?) “Jail.”

So there’s this Jail thing in Dublin, and it’s a big deal, and it’s got all these facts that I’m sure I would have remembered if I wasn’t currently writing this blog on the 26th of February. Tell you what, here’s a link to the Wikipedia page, because I’m just gunna swipe my info. From there anyhow.

So… here’s some pictures of this place.

Jeremy Bentham and his belief in Pleasure vs Pain.

John Howard, and his system of Sin vs. Penitence.

A thing!

There was a door there methinks.




More Things to look at with your eyes!


SUN!!!!!!! Don't worry, I didn't melt!





Okay, so this guy. This guy had a pretty rough going out. Not only was he drawn and quartered, but he was also made to commit marriage not a few hours, possibly minutes before his death sentence was carried out.



Cell table!



Beware the risen people
that have harried and held, ye that have bullied and bribed.

Window again!

You're not leaving any time soon.

Cool door-hole shot. I like it at least.



Stairs! The horror!



Uhm... no. I totally didn't eat this in a place of solitude and travesty, where the memory of valiant men died brutally at the hands of heir oppressors. They definately don't give you the creme for free either, and I totally didn't take advantage of that scrumptious fact. Nope. Nothing but respect from this Kishpike.

Then, not a block or two away there was a Museum of Modern Art, and in my very sleep deprived mind I thought “Modern Art? Well I should go see that.”

5 minutes in my mind was saying “Why do I keep subjecting myself to this shit?”

Some of the exhibits were interesting, I guess, but none of them were really “art.”

But this isn’t a “What a Kishpike Thinks Art is” blog, it’s a travel blog.

Photos prohibited inside, and I wouldn’t want to waste the space on my computer anyhow.

After the museum my feet were so sore and body so crapped out I wandered towards the airport, and promptly slept in a chair until I was allowed to board my flight home.

In closing.

Yay Ireland Trip!

~Postcards will be late. Very late. They may even arrive after me, this semester is way more busy than I suspected.

~ Ireland is fucking cold. Bring a real coat, and a backup scarf.

~ Hitchhiking is best done during daylight hours and with a sign.

~ There are far less cute Irish boys than you are (I was) hoping.

~ I never did ask what they call Coffee and Whiskey out there.


2 Scarfs ("cowboy" style)

1 reflective vest

1 bit of metal on a belt (via find weapon ability)

1 Complete road atlas of Ireland

1 Watch sans battery

1 The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes

1 Bent nail (Blessing)
1 Moonstone (Blessing)

1 Amethyst (Blessing)

1 neat little ring thing.

These legs are almost as worn as the jeans that clad them.

And a picture of the entrance to the park that holds the Modern "art" museum.

That's right. "Art" in quotations. We all know my opinion here.


Cork and getting there.

January 7th and 8th

It’s been a while since I actually was actually there, so this blog’s gunna get more and more spotty as I go on.
-Insert standard rant about lack of internet in house here-

Stupid Bus.
The Bus station in Killenaul isn’t so much of a bus station as it is a parking lot.
A parking lot to a small strip of buildings, none of which have any information on bus schedules.
“Screw it” thought I, “I’ll hitch-hike.”
I mean, why bother waiting on the bus if my legs and a cardboard sign can get me to Cork by morning?

But not before some curry chips!

A joke.
Cork is ridiculously far from Killenaul.
I knew this, and figured that I’d be hopping rides to ‘as close as possible.’
Just leaving the small town of Killenaul a car stopped.
A young man and a young woman were inside, and I could tell it was a two person only car by the number of doors, and the back being a storage thing.
The young woman was holding an injured dog, and looked upset.
I had imagined she was uncomfortable with hitch-hikers.
The young man asked if I was going to Cork, and told me that’s where he was going.
I was surprised and asked something along the lines of “no kidding?” because I was certain it was quite a bit out yet.
He told me to hop in the back.
I looked again, still noting the no door, and figured he meant in the storage area thing, the back being the hatch.
Sure I thought, I have no problem with this.
He then promptly drove off.
I then realized that the girl in the passenger side was probably upset because she didn’t think this was funny.
I didn’t find it very humorous, but I also wasn’t very mad. I mean, I’m asking for a free lift, I shouldn’t take it personally if someone decides not to offer it.
I do, however, wonder if the young man happened to get laid that night.

It was a long, long, long cold walk, like many I’ve taken in Ireland at this point, before anyone else stopped. Thin roads, slight fog, and all I can think about is that stupid “First Death by Automobile” sign in Killenaule.
But I took some photos


"We have moved," I'm glad that sign's there, I would have guessed that this was just some "Empty Lot" style redecoration.

Or Goodbye, either way!


Knock? I don't see any door...

A wall, and lights.
The sidewalk has weird lichen growing on it!

In case you didn't know, this is a house.

Church-thing+Fog+Flash=No Bueno.
Church-thing+Lights= Bueno.

Pizzas, Roses, and Guns. What more can a 'Merican want?

I love the pretty dresses!

It's a thing!

Kinda makes me think of something anime or Final Fantasy like.

Another house, because I get bored sometimes.

Makes you strong.
There were a few taverns along the way, and a pint or two of Guinness keeps the cold out.
I still think that Strong Bow was the best beverage I had in Ireland. (Which turns out to be Welsh, like some Awesome weasels I know.) Beamers was the best Dark Ale, but there was another that was a power house of Bitter. I don’t remember its name though.
There was also a stop for frosted muffins and coffee at a gas station.

I pee on your stupid business.
So a couple of nice young women pulled over to tell me that I was 2 hours by car from Cork and that no one was going to be driving at these hours. After my long walk I was inclined to agree with them. They told me of a place with a B&B not far and that I should ask there if I can get a room, I thanked them and they drove off in the opposite direction of which I was going.
So after some internal struggle over the prices of B&Bs and such I made my way towards said cheap-sleeping area.
It was a fancy one.
It was going to cost more than I would like.
I still rang the stupid door bell, and noted two cars in the parking lot.
In a small nowhere’svillle town.
This building was bigger than most houses in Ireland.
The owner opened the door, looked at me, and then smiled that bastardly smug smile that I had grown so used to.

“Yes?” he asked.
(The fuck you mean “Yes? I’m obviously a traveler, obviously at a B&B, obviously at night. The Fuck you think?)
“I’d like a room” I said.
“There aren’t any.”
“They’re all full. We don’t have any” (Still with his fat-faced smug smile).
“You’re fucking me, there’s no more rooms?”
“I gatta have a place to stay, I’m dead tired from walking.”
“There’s a B&B back in [Some town 2 miles away] try there
“2 miles?”
“That way”

I then walked away.
Only not all the way.
He closed the door to return to his computer (I could see him working on it through the window).
And I walked around to the other side of this large building with a 7 car parking lot with only 2 cars in, and I peed on that building.
Because, seriously, fuck that guy.
I was mad, because I wasn’t asking for a hand-out, I was asking for a service from a business.
I was asked by a kinder gentlemen much earlier in my travels if I was a “Knacker” or a Tinkerer.
Another, very drunk individual, who I helped when he managed to fall and lose his shoe and credit card, gave me five euro and told me that he ‘knew how much you people need the money.’ (I tried giving it back, but drunk people are hard to get their focus. I didn’t try too hard, money is money, after all.)
I suspect that this Jerk in the B&B thought that I was one of these folks (I have no idea what these folks look like, and only have heard things about them. It could very well be that this Fat Faced Smug Fuck thought I was some kid without any money. Did I mention I don’t like him?)

A shiny gift.
Not too long after peeing on the B&B a semi-truck stopped.
Those of you who don’t know, I have a weird fear thingy of Semi-trucks.
So I was cautious when approaching it.
The man driving it was SUPER nice, but sadly going to Dublin.
Luckily he was going to a cross roads that went both to Dublin, and in the other Direction to Cork. He took me that far, which was quite faster than walking, and warmer too.
Before he left, he gave me a gift, a safety reflective vest from his emergency supply box.
He told me he had a spare and that it’d make me easier to spot in the dead of night.
If nothing else it would keep me safe as I walked.
This guy was super nice.
I thanked him for the vest and he let me off at the Highway.

And now I'm even less likely to die!
Walking along the highway I came across an old Arch not too far off the highway, but with some brush between me and it. I was in no hurry to walk the rest of the way to Cork so I scurried off to get a better look at it.
The Brush was pretty thick, so I weaseled down, and scampered through in erbinude form.
When I got to the Arch thing, I started taking some pictures of it.
They turned out pretty awesome.

Guarda (Guardee)
So walking along the highway with my little cardboard sign, I noticed a car parked on the other side of the road. I kept walking, and this car pulled that ever so clear U turn, that I knew I should stuff the sign ASAP.
Which I did, luckily my messenger bag-luggage sack has an easy open flap, and the sign slid right in.
It was indeed the Police of Ireland the Gaurda.
The pulled over and asked me a few questions, and I fibbed, ever so slightly, (as that I know how good police training gets one at stress detecting, and how bad I am at lying.) They asked me what I was doing and I told them that I was walking to Cork. I think between my obvious American accent, my rather worn apparel and my long distance from anything similar to a civilization, they believed I had fully intended on walking the whole distance.
They told me it was far too far to walk, and that they would give me a ride to the B&B in their town. Which was the same town to stupid jerk B&B had suggested.
Not wanting to seem unappreciative, I hopped in the car.
They wanted to have a look at my papers (of course) and I let them, everything was fine.
A kindly female officer suggested that I stay at the Station rather than at a B&B, in the waiting room. It would be free, and I could leave in the morning to catch the first train to Cork.
So in the Waiting room, a small entrance room with a wooden bench and a cold air rush anytime someone came into the station I waited for morning to arrive.
The officer brought me tea and toast, which I happily ate and drank as I finished of the Case Files of Mr. Doyle.
Using the bathroom was kind of awkward, because I had to buzz in that I needed to, and hope that they weren’t dealing with some drug-crazed lunatic (there were two that I could hear that night) at the time.

A Train to Cork.
This was easy, easy, easy.
Before I knew it I was in cork, and not for too much clink either.
Once in Cork, I had no idea what to do with myself.
Well I had one idea.

I've had better.
The Stone.
The stupid rock.

Why not?
I’m in Ireland, I’m in Cork, I might as well go out to Blarney and kiss the tourist attraction.
Give capitalism a great big wet one.
And heck, if I get the gift of gab for it, it can only help my career right?
And if people really do pee on that rock (they’d have to be pretty creative to do it) it’s not like I haven’t brushed my teeth and washed my face since.
The castle had some other cool things to see, but in the end was pretty much a castle.

There is a world of difference between Baloney and Blarney.
Baloney is flattery laid on with a trowel. Blarney is flattery laid on with the lips, that is why you have to kiss a stone to get it.
(You have to kiss a stone so the Tourism Industry keeps turning actually.)

The Difference between Blarney and Baloney is this.

Baloney is when you tell a 50 year old woman that she looks 18.
Blarney is when you ask a woman how old she is because you want to know at what age women are.

Bored in Cork.
Cork was… boring . All in all.
I couldn’t find anything interesting to do on my onsie, and was going to head to Dublin the morning after, so sleeping was not on my list of priorities. Also with my previous luck with B&Bs I had decided to foreswear their service anyway.
I wandered around the various bars, grabbed some fish and chips, had a few pints, walked around a lot. Got lost a bit.
Tried to start a few conversations with some youth, but none of that really went anywhere.
Macdonough was pretty spot on with his capturing of some of the personalities in Ireland.

I spent a good portion of the wee hours inside the train station waiting for a train to Dublin, though they kicked me out after a bit, so I sat outside waiting for them to re-open in a few hours.
When they did I boarded a train to Dublin, making the ‘return home’ portion of my journey.
Captions. Ugh, I don't want to add any more captions.
So I won't.
Be creative write some for youself!