I'm starting with the oldest pictures I have and working my way forward in time. Basically my plan to to stick a few photos in a post and write whatever that photo triggers in my memory. This should be interesting since a lot of my pictures have associated memories like "That's a tree." and "We were somewhere. It was pretty. I took this picture."
Up first: Ireland!
A significant portion of my trip through Ireland went like this:
Very pretty. Very green.
Hey, look! A castle!
Cutest hostel ever, right? I ended up there completely on accident too. I was trying to go from Dublin to Kenmare and after I got off the train in Killarney I discovered that I had missed the last bus to Kenmare. So I had to find a place to stay. The hostel closest to the bus station was full, but they pointed me to this one. I loved Killarney and this hostel so much the I ended up staying there for four days and going back three or four times. The town itself is tiny, about five streets total, plus some narrow alleys. Killarney boasts the highest pub count for a town in Ireland. Those five streets contain somewhere between 85 and 100 pubs, depending on your source. I tend to believe it, since most of the shops either contained a pub, were above a pub, or were next to a pub. You can see why I kept coming back.
The hostel was also run by this crazy Polish man who jumped off of the top bunk after changing the sheets and yelled "Batman!" I don't have a picture of the interior, but it was fantastic. You can see a tiny bit of it in the above picture. Stone floors, huge beams in the ceiling that had all manner of crap hanging off of them, walls plastered with photographs, and huge tables. Oh, and this cracked-out chessboard. See how many non-traditional pieces you can find:
It was good times at that hostel. The next hostel was not so good times.
This was the road to the hostel in Cork that I stayed in when I went to visit Blarney Castle. Cork sucks. The only reason to go to Cork is if you hate yourself or you are going to Blarney but you can't pay for a fancy-shmancy hotel in Blarney itself.
Blarney Castle. Waaaaaaaay up at the top of that tower (No, the other tower. The tall one. Yeah, up there.) is the Blarney Stone. I'm not going to tell you the history of the Stone or why you are supposed to kiss it. Go wikipedia it. I will tell you that it ain't easy.
Told you so. There were grandmas doing it! I don't have problems with heights, and I had to close my eyes.
After kissing the Blarney Stone, I went back to Killarney to take a driving tour of the Dingle Peninsula, which juts out of the west coast of Ireland. (Heh, Dingle...Hi, I'm an eight year old boy.) It's also very pretty, in a more severe sort of way. It looks like this:
The story behind this picture is that some Irish folk hero (Cuchulain? Finn MacCool? Wait, aren't those the same guy?) who was a giant is sleeping off the coast, waiting for something or other to wake him up. Hence the name of this island, The Sleeping Giant.
This pony was near my hostel in Doolin. He was nice. I petted him. Doolin is a tiny town (only three pubs!) that is the closest place to the Cliff of Moher, one of the most photographed places on the planet.
Understandably so. They are I don't know how tall and absolutely breathtaking.
One of the many amazing things that happened to me on this trip were the fires in Doolin. Once every summer, each town piles a bunch of stuff up and lights it on fire. My theory is that this is a relic from Beltane fires. I just happened to be in Doolin the night that the fires were lit. In addition to our fire, I could see other fires along the river into the distance.
My trip to Galway consisted of: Hey look, there's Galway! The next morning I awoke at 5:00 AM to embark on the longest and most miserable bit of traveling I've ever done.