Chapter 14, In which we experience an electric shower, visit a castle, and head to Dublin.

Electric shower. Two words I honestly thought I would never hear used together. But, you pull a switch from the ceiling to turn it "ON", you turn the power on 1, 2, or 3 (though I didn't notice any difference between the three power settings), and then you adjust the water temperature with one little knob that was probably even more unreliable than those in hotels and B&B's past. I suppose the point of this is to eliminate the need for numerous hot water heaters for the B&B establishments. However, I'm still thinking it was yet another Irish invention to confuse American tourist.

Clean, and not shocked to death, we left the wonderfully kind Mary Trant and her Brookfield House to continue our journey. We stopped at the Kilkenny Castle before leaving the city. Walking up a number of stone stairs on this cool, sunny day, we found ourselves in front of an immense field of lush grass headed by a giant castle. A small number of people were here, many with dogs happy to see an area so big to run in. We had obviously found a quiet place where many people enjoyed spending their Sunday mornings.

We walked from one end of the giant field to the other, from castle to an ominous large metal sculpture that had been littered with graffiti. The moist, freshly cut grass stuck to our shoes, helping to clean off the last remnants of the Cliffs of Moher. We left Kilkenny, refreshed, for Dublin, with a hotel room already reserved in the heart of the city.

From this point on we would no longer drive on the tiny roads that had gotten us this far on the trip. The roads to Dublin were by no means large, but they were quite roomy enough for two cars to pass each other without fear of being crashed into the side of the road. The hills rolled beautifully at this point, perhaps making us a bit too relaxed for what we were about to experience in Dublin.

Chapter 15, In which we arrive in Dublin, and learn a few more things about driving in Ireland.

Lost. No other word for it. We drove into Dublin. We got lost. Very Lost.

I've been driving for nearly 13 years now, and I've driven a lot of places. And, not to be snooty about it, I think I have a pretty good sense of direction. There isn't a city I visit where I don't take a wrong road now and again, but I always have a general sense of where I am at, and can usually recover within a couple of minutes.

I bought a map specifically of Dublin. It looked very detailed, and minus a few mistakes one might expect most maps to have here and there, I figured we would be in pretty good shape. But, consider this: what good is a map if you don't know what road you are on? What good is a map that, even if you determine what road you are on, that road ceases to exist in two blocks, once again leaving you to wonder what road you are on? What good is a map without street signs or road numbers marked on the skinny paths through the city?

Yep. Welcome to Dublin. Here, street signs are unheard of. At best, and apparently in very extreme circumstances, there would be a marker on a side of a corner building indicating what street you were on, and maybe even what street you were passing. The thing is, at most only one building on a corner of four would have a sign (and often, no buildings would be so friendly), and if you happened to be driving the opposite direction of that building and couldn't actually see the sign until you passed it, well, sucks to be you, driver.

But wait, there is more! If, by some miracle you determine the street name of the road you are on, that street name is going to change within 3 blocks. Guaranteed. Remember this next time you feel like complaining about how confusing the DC layout is... Hell, I've driven in NYC with less bother than Dublin. A LOT less bother.

It took us almost one hour to scamper our way through Dublin to our hotel, the Mount Herbert Hotel, conveniently located only one block from the Dublin Rugby Stadium. Why convenient? Because the Rugby World Cup was being hosted today, on the very day we were trying to get to the Mount Herbert Hotel. Fortunately, the Garda (Irish Police) were very friendly and allowed us to drive through the blocked streets to get to our destination. As we collapsed on our hotel beds, we could hear the cheering and roaring of the rugby audience as Ireland played Australia.

Perhaps in a bit of spite from the horrendous driving ordeal we had just been through, Nicole and I both cheered when Ireland lost miserably to Australia.

Chapter 16, In which we rest, have dinner, and end the day on a high note.

Considering the car a metaphor for a root canal, we took off on foot around 8pm from the hotel to find dinner. We order a bland pizza and a small bottle of wine from Laguna, a cute but loud Italian restaurant. Afterwards, the area is still rumbling from the rugby game and we have to force ourselves to enter Barrister's Pub, succumbing to the fact that we would be ready to sit through just about anything to get a drink to take the edge off the day.

What happened next was pretty remarkable. It is safe to say that whenever things on the trip were beginning to get frustrating or overwhelming, something would happen to completely change the complexion of the day. The very loud rugby-fan crowd began singing Irish songs. For a few seconds I had very bad thoughts of Washington Redskins fans running around with pig-noses on screaming "hail to the Redskins," but the entire pub turned into a very amusing and intoxicating round of old Irish numbers. Many of these Nicole recognized immediately from her youthful days accompanying her father to The Dubliner, an Irish pub in the heart of DC. Her face lightened up immediately, and I began to enjoy myself as well.

The "show" went on for nearly an hour, and although getting too and from the bar from our table through the mass of singing Irishmen was quite a challenge, it was well worth it to witness the experience. People were coming in off the street and immediately joining in on the songs, and even the Aussies who wandered in carrying a giant, inflatable kangaroo were met with a...not necessarily friendly, but certainly jocular welcome (they survived, but the kangaroo took it on the head a couple times). It was truly the best pub experience of the trip, and we staggered back to the hotel in just about the best mood possible.

Click on the photo to see some pictures of our day.