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3/17/2009
On Tuesday, March 17th…St. Patrick's Day…in a little hostel northeast of Cork, at the very top room of the building, three young travelers woke up...
...madly hungover.
My head was empty of thoughts and full of pain, Tom could only wince as he registered our surroundings, and Paul waged objections against our leaving the room at all. Nevertheless, we took turns at showers, with the other two chattering constantly about how amazing and crazy the night before was. This included Tom and I promptly joking about the fight incident so it wouldn't become A Thing. About an hour later, having put ourselves back together for the most part, we headed out the door, planning to do some limited sight-seeing in Cork before we headed to the actual parade at midday.
After taking in a well-needed Irish breakfast and a televised Parliament hearing on executive pensions, we set off north looking for St. Anne's Church, at one point a sight to see because its four clock faces didn't match except for on the hour, which earned them the name The Four Liars. At this point, though, someone had fixed the clocks, so it's just pretty much a church now...topped off with The Four Boring Honest Guys. We decided to skip it, as well as the Cork Butter Museum next door.
From there, we made our way down more crazy hills to the river to take some pictures. Our travels took us back to Oliver Plunkett Street, where we strolled around, briefly finding the English Market, another sight-to-see that was "Closed for Patty's Day, lads!" After another recuperative stop, this time at a Burger King, we situated ourselves just off the parade route in a park to await festivities. The guys were still tired, but I felt my energy coming back, so I went around snapping pictures and enjoying the scenery. Finally, the parade time was approaching and we got our positions for it.
Interestingly, in Cork, the St. Patrick’s Day parade is always proceeded by footraces in order to determine the Fastest Man and Woman in Cork. When the announcement started, I thought this would be some silly local's fun run, but the participants were serious runners and The Fastest Woman in Cork was definitely worth catching.
The parade itself was fine. Apparently it was the first time in ten years or so that it didn't get rained out (our weather luck continued!). There were lots of military groups, sports groups, ethnic groups and others. The parade was apparently themed around space exploration, which meant a smattering of men dressed as famous astronomers mixed with aliens, including a army of little green men. The aliens were funny, but a little discordant following up the Ethnic Indians of Cork group just ahead of them...
After Tom had taken enough color-accent pictures (to isolate the greens) and I felt I had burned in the sun enough, we decided we were done with the parade and sought out a place to sit, preferably a pub.
We stopped in The Long Valley, another Frommer's-recommended pub, where I had a Guinness along with a delicious ham sandwich. Still on the mend, Tom and Paul stuck with just tea and bread.
Guinness Count: 22
After we ate, we decided to be lame and head back to the hostel for a nap. I diverted to take pictures up St. Patrick's Hill and hit an internet café, but soon joined the others. There we were, St. Patrick's Day...in Ireland...with revelers in the streets...napping away the afternoon.
(It bears mentioning...barely...that we got in another, smaller fight that afternoon about the rules of Zitchdog, since Tom and Paul both got points while I was off taking pictures. I argued that I couldn't have possibly earned those points and thus it wasn't fair. There was much discussion and the ultimate determination was that a person on their own can take pictures of dogs they see for points. We thought it was an elegant solution...that no one made use of from that point forward.)
Once we'd awoken from our wee slumber, we walked back down into the city again, stopping at the same cafe we'd gone to for breakfast to some fried awesomeness in us. We still intended on making a St. Patrick's Day of it.
We passed An Bodhran, but it looked packed to the windows, as were most of the places we passed. We went to another nearby place, which I believe was called An Broag, but with the intensely loud music and the drinking age at 18, it felt like being at a prom without formalwear.
Guinness Count: 24
We left, disappointed, and thought about calling it a night even that early just as we walked by the door for The Hi-B. I suggested we check it out, adding that it struck me as a place that the young crowd wouldn't like, because it was filled with old folks. This was, of course, why WE loved it.
Paul and Tom shrugged why not and we walked in, up the stairs, and into a pleasantly half-full Hi-B. Sadly, though, just on the back wall was John Mullins.
I say “sadly” because we actually learned something about John Mullins the night before: no one at the Hi-B actually likes him. He's just kind of a sad dude who hangs out there and sings songs no one likes. If you think about how we met, no one actually told him about Dick's party. As a result, by the end of the previous night, we'd left John's side and made all the new friends we could.
Seeing him as we went in, our shoulders sank, while his arms went up in recognition. Tom sent me to the bar to get a round for all four of us and when I turned to do so, I saw another familiar face: Ann Marie!
After throwing her arms up (less sadly than John), she gave me a hug and introduced me to Stef, her friend and JB's wife. We talked while I waited for our drinks, and then, in the "You Only Get One" move of the trip, I asked Tom to come help with the pints, sent him back to John's table...and sat myself down with Stef and Ann Marie instead.
The three of us talked for a while. I turned out Ann Marie's sister was studying to be an actuary, so she didn't blink at my profession as happens. Anne Marie was a Romance languages and Art nut herself, but had a bad experience working at a museum in Philly and thus ventured to Cork. She'd also done theater, so we had plenty to talk about.
Every time I looked at the other table, though, Tom shot me a pretty sore look, so I asked Stef and Ann Marie what they were up to later, in an effort to try and circle back to my table. They said they'd be heading to other places, so I slipped over and told Tom that we could leave with them. I also said I was sorry, to which Tom simply replied "No you're not!"
Eventually, John Mullins made the move to leave before the girls, asking us to join him. Tom told him we'd follow him there and we sent him out the door. It sucks, but we only had one more night in Cork and the girls seemed MUCH more fun. I feel much worse about it all these years later.
Once there was no more cause to leave, we had a few more drinks and chatted some more. Stef turned out to be exactly how the guidebook said people from Cork would be. She ripped on Dublin constantly, occasionally throwing in pretty much the rest of Ireland, everywhere except for Cork. She recommended that we put aside our plans for supposed must-sees like the Blarney Stone and instead go to Doolin, where there was a really good pub.
Sometime during the conversation, Ann Marie took a picture for the three of us, and when I asked to take a picture of her, she said she doesn't like just smiling for pictures, so I would have to make her laugh. Here's where I tip my hat to Kate for passing on Lauren's "Le-a" story, because one angry parental phone call later, I had a picture of Ann Marie laughing her ass off.
The girls finally decided to move out, but Tom and Paul decided they were done for the night. As a result, I took a 50 Euro note out of my wallet, gave the wallet to Tom and told them I'd see them later. So now I was out on the town with Stef and Ann Marie...
Guinness Count: 28
Instead of another pub, we stopped first for Thai food, adding wine with the meal, which was not the best idea. Next, we found a pub across the street, but instead of going in, we sat outside talking to the bouncer and another guy who had burst out of the place dressed as a leprechaun. Stef decided we needed a picture with us and leprechaun-man, so I handed my camera to a guy nearby, who handed me his cigarette while he took the picture. Thus, the picture goes Stef...leprechaun...Ann Marie...me holding a cigarette.
Next we went back to An Broag, the loud, young place. It was now PACKED, especially on the big dance floor, which is exactly where the girls pushed toward. I went for a drink, paid, and turned around to find myself alone.
Guinness Count: 29
Girls Count: 0
I looked around for a while, but couldn't find them. I began to wonder if I should just go. The girls were kind of the only reason I was still out, particularly Ann Marie, and I definitely didn't want to be hanging with the wee kids by myself.
Luckily, Stef and Ann Marie found me again and we stepped out of the bigger crowd into a more open area. We danced for a while and eventually decided to move on.
From there, we head to another place called The Old Oak, where they've got this great life band with two singers, a guy and a girl. I don't remember what they sang except for "I Want You Back" by the Jackson Five, but between songs, the girl went from dancing around and falling out of her tank top to standing still and playing a flute, so I learned that Irish house bands are versatile.
Ultimately, the girls decided to head home. Sending them off, I walked back across the bridge, stopping to enjoy the bright lights on the water, then continued up the hill and to the hostel, happy to say that I was in no mood at all to start a fight.
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