I didn’t get to journal my entire day today, and I’m absolutely dead on my feet right now, so I don’t feel like journalling the rest of my day before posting it all. This will be a short post of the first part of my day, and I’ll do the rest tomorrow morning when I wake up.
Mar 27 1000am
I’m currently sitting in the Capuchin franciscan friary, waiting the last ten minutes until ten so I can tour St. Michan’s church and crypt. I ate at the Bull and Castle last night across the street from my hostel and it was fantastic. The bartender wasn’t the jolly ole Irishman I expected but the food was delicious and he could pour a mean Captain and Coke. I actually had half my chicken wrap leftover so I’m going to eat it for lunch today.
I had my towel draped through the safety bars on my bunk bed (I’m assigned to sleep on the top bunk) because the hostel room I’m staying in sleeps like twenty people, but it’s only been three of us situated in various parts of the room all week. Since no one was sleeping beneath me, I just hung my wet towel up to dry. Well, I woke up in the middle of the night and felt the bed shaking as someone rolled over underneath me. Ooops. I pulled my towel up so at least they could get out of bed in the morning without maneuvering around it.
Woke up around seven this morning because my bunkmate was up and shuffling around. I climbed down and grabbed clothes, and he smiled at me when I left to hit the bathroom, so I guessed he wasn’t all that tore up about the towel in his way, lol.
I ate my free breakfast with another girl traveling alone, Rhiannon from Adelaide, Australia. We had a great time chatting for about an hour, and I drank two cups of coffee and ate some toast to hold me over until lunch. I saw my bunk mate while eating and apologized to him for the towel, and he laughed and told me he didn’t mind, it just gave him privacy!
There’s not much I could do this morning because David will be here at one and we’ve planned on seeing everything else on my list together. St Michan’s doesnt open until ten, so I’ve just been wandering the streets for an hour. This is the second friary I’ve visited this morning. For not being christian, I do love seeing cathedrals and churches. There’s a sense of peace and well being that permeates the air. They’re usually quite beautiful (the older ones, anyway). Just looking around at all the stained glass and paintings and statues, you can tell that they were lovingly crafted; every stroke, every piece mended together into things of beauty, symbols of people devoted to their faith. It’s stunning.
Mar 27 1230 pm
Drinking mixed drinks in Ireland is definitely more expensive than in the states. Most pubs don’t keep Coke on tap because the Irish drink their whiskey with water. SO you get 2 oz of liquor which costs between 4 and 5 euros (approx 6 to 10 dollars), and that’s close to what you would pay in the States. To have a Coke with your liquor though, you have to pay an extra 2 or 3 euros for a bottle of Coca-Cola. You end up paying near ten euros for a drink (fifteen american dollars) that would only cost five or six bucks back home. It’s bullshit. You’re better off drinking beer.
I’ve just got around half an hour before I meet David at the Custom House. I’m drinking a Jameson and Coke at a cute little pub called Kate’s Cottage. The bartender’s a sweetheart.
There have been men in kilts all over the city today. It’s pretty f-ing cold outside, so I can’t even imagine how cold their legs must be, not to mention their balls. Luckily, a lady on the St Michan’s tour was asking about my trip, and when she found out how long I’m staying, she told me that on Sunday it’s supposed to begin warming up.
The St Michan’s tour was pretty creepy. The church itself wasn’t much to write home about but the graveyard is neat and the crypts are just downright scary. Only four mummies are on display, preserved by three factors in the crypt: the methane gas released by the ground, the steady year round temperature of the crypt, and the limestone rock forming the walls and ceiling that absorb any humidity. You aren’t allowed to take pictures, but our tour guide (who was hilarious, sarcastic, and quite the good little drama king) left us to go open the second crypt door. All of us whipped out our cameras and snuck pictures, so I’ve got a couple to post on Picasa when I get home.
The second crypt I didn’t see much. The first room off the tunnel was lit and contained the coffins of two Irish revolutionaries executed for their plots against Britain. The rest of the rooms weren’t lit due to legal reasons (the families all still exist, and even though they haven’t buried anyone there in hundreds of years, the crypts are still considered ‘active’ and therefore not legally able to have lights.) As most of you already know, I’m terrified of the dark, so wimpy me, I didn’t walk to the end of the tunnel. I walked past just one of the darkened crypt doorways and got the heebie jeebies so bad I hightailed it back out.
One of the mummies was 800 years old and you’re allowed to touch his hand ‘for luck’. Oh yeah, I touched dead mummy hand. I’ll touch a dead guy but I won’t go anywhere near the dark, I’m completely irrational.
I was waiting for a walk signal at a street corner after my tour, and I heard sirens. Three emergency vehicles fairly flew past us: a garda car (police car), a green tank looking military van, and a lighted SUV containing five men in full camoflauge and SWAT vests, holding semiautomatic weapons. I just inquired of the bartender if she knew of anything happening, but nobody has mentioned a thing.
I apologize, guys, that’s all I got for now. I will post a part two for today when I awake in the morning. I miss you all!