Sept 18th

Today we visited the Cliffs of Mohr. It was a long day of driving and breaking for food, drink, and toilet. Woke up around 8 and was out the door by 9. At the cliffs I took the advice Kelli gave me about not getting too close to the drop off and threw it off the cliff. Along with that I threw my common sense off and lived of the edge, literally, for once in my life. The oceanic breeze, with the sun blazing down, and the moss covered cliffs made for an almost magical time.

This is me scared crapless and venturing passed the legal barrier. The 95-year-old woman ahead of me in a walker gave me the courage to push through and fight my fears…

This is me smiling, becuase the beautiful landscape around me doesn't allow for any other reaction than pure happiness.

After teetering on the edge of life at the cliffs, we stopped at Dungbare Castle for a quick look. More likely the bus driver stopped for a quick cig, but whatever. Soon after settled into our hostel in Tralee, County Kerry. Finnegan’s Hostel felt more like a Summit house as you walked with its grand staircase, finished wood trim, and hardwood floors. As I walked up the stairs into your 12 man room I remembered it was a hostel. It was dubbed the barracks by Nick, because the place was jam packed with bunks from floor the ceiling and wall to wall.

After filling the barracks to the brim with our junk we found the closest pub to raid for cheap food. I led the gang of us loud, ratty, unshaven Americans to Pikeman’s pub. The hostess asked for, “how many?” as I looked into the zoo of people filling the pub… I could only see the 5 of us guys packed it the doorway, but more of us were lined out the door. They all saw how packed the place was and moved on to the next place without my knowledge. I crumbled under pressure and was at a loss to how many of us there were, so I looked at her and said, “a lot?”… I told her we’d find another place, but she assured me the over flow room would work for us. She pointed to the door and directed us to the additional seating.

I opened the door and was met by an angry women yelping at me it was “€30 plus dining,” but her strong accent hindered my ability to comprehend her. Behind the angry woman were old rich men with sports jackets and trophy wives, and a group of old grannies with enough diamond encrusted rings around their fingers to fund the feeding of the 3rd World. Each table alone had enough glassware on it to fill mom’s china hutches twice over. The angry woman kept snapping at me about “€30 plus,” but my attention was fixed on the ritzy world around me. We all started to retreat when the men and their Cindy McCainesque trophy wives gave us a glare letting us know we were in the wrong place. Our scruffy beards, faded jeans, and ragged tennis shoes probably made them wonder if we were evening entertainment.

As we walked back to the pub the angry woman and the nice lady who directed us to the “over flow” started to argue in Irish tongue (or maybe just English that was too fast to comprehend) about where we could sit. The lady scolded the angry woman. Trying to hide her disgust, the angry woman looked at us with a forced fake smile, and said, “Right this way please.” There we sat among the elites.

Before the water spiked with a hint of lemon poured by our server hit my glass I clarified that we wanted to order off the bar menu—with bar prices.

I ordered greasy potato wedges, a turkey club, and a mound of ketchup for less than 10 Euro. I wiped my face smeared with ketchup and grease with my cloth napkin and sat back to enjoy the "30 Euro plus" service. We all enjoyed a deep conversation--well we actually had guy talk, another way of saying we talked like immature little boys. We stopped midway through the convo when we remembered we were in a classy establishment.

As we waited for the bill to arrive I thought about how trust fund babies and the sons of CEOs live like this daily. I thought about how spoiled they are, but suddenly I felt a pinched nerve in my neck. It was God reminding me that I'm the son of a CEO and that I do live a spoiled/lucky/privilaged life. I sit here and blog about my times in a foreign country while my parents work their arses off to listen to me whine about cold showers. So, thanks for giving me the opportunity to freeze my arse off in Ireland while you're working yours off at the office at home. I truly appreciate it. Thanks.

Tonight we went out for Schafer and Joey’s birthdays… The pub/club was packed with crazies. And lucky 20 year olds who could complain about the crazies --us.