Belated Irish Trip overview - Saturday 31st May, Sunday 1st June 2008
Second attempt at writing up the Irish trip, as my first one got gobbled by Microspazz for no discernible reason.
To give some context: LeeGee and PLB have been friends since school, and I’ve known him since ’96, but we’ve not seen much of each other - LeeGee travels around even more than we do. At any rate, the last time we caught up was for a few hours in Edinburgh Waverley Train station in July, 2006.
He has spent most of the last two years in Saarland, but is now heading back to Addled, in order to experience being an uncle. He’s already chuffed. You can tell he’s going to be all gooey, rather than ‘what’s this parasite, and why am I supposed to care, again?’
So as part of his last Euro-hurrah, also for his 32nd birthday, the three of us headed over to Ireland for an extended weekend, and to catch up with some of his Saarlander friends, plus an Oz guy, Joel, who he met in Bristol and is working as a car detailer just outside of Cork.
Saturday
LeeGee navigated the London Underground system and arrived at our place at a goodly time for us to head out down to Islington High Street for some lunch - some ‘food to prepare for drinking’ lunch to be precise. We ended up at Le Mercury, and I had my almost usual dish of pork belly with celeriac mash and rosemary infused Bramley apple compote.
However, evil stomach was evil, and the oddish feeling I had before lunch was worse post lunch. I broke out in a sweat in Stanstead Airport and clearly looked peaky, for LeeGee asked me if I was okay with that nervous tone that has the clear subtext of ‘please don’t die on me, because seeing a dead body would suck.’
It was bad enough that I did not go through my usual airplane bat-shit-crazy heart-fisting through my chest shenanigans (hee! Irish word!).
We picked up the rental car without any drama, and LeeGee got us to our self-serviced apartment in Cork despite my crap navigating. I had no idea where the airport was in relation to the city centre, and so I took us around the block twice before we got sorted.
Apartment was in a prime location, and perfect for what we wanted. My entire London flat would fit into the living/kitchen area. And cheaper for three of us than most hotels, so definitely recommended. If you look here you can see both the location, and part of the Apartment we were in (to the right of the Orange wall, the first window up, and around the corner with the balcony).
So then I curled up on the bed and contemplated whether or not I was going to be able to trek into the city centre and meet up with the Saarlanders, or if I was going to stay put and save us some possible grief later on if I had to be a party pooper.
I decided to give it a go, and we headed the two blocks into one of the pumping sections of Cork nightlife. For a small city, it really did have a hell of a lot of stuff going on, but I guess that’s fairly typical for a University town on a bank holiday weekend. The citizens of Cork tended to dress themselves up more than Londoners do to go out of an eve - make of that what you will.
It was easy to find both the Saarlanders and Joel, and we managed to get a table at the Corn Exchange Restaurant, which had live lobsters in the tank downstairs, but was just a rather nice steak house. I later found out that having live lobsters is a pretty common occurrence in a lot of Irish restaurants. Whether or not that is to just cater for the tourists who have money and want to treat themselves, I’m not sure, but it wasn’t the marker of price that I usually equate lobster with.
I had to beg off and sit outside for a bit - was feeling really ill, but hey presto, Matt came out with a vodka and soda and that took enough of the edge off that I was able to go back in and struggle through a side salad in lieu of real food. PLB had an Irish steak done rare, and LeeGee had Thai Green curry. Then we invited the gang back to the apartment where we proceeded to get steadily drunk. LeeGee, Joel and myself were too drunk (yay! Cider! Irish Beer!) to talk sensibly by the time we hit 3am, and we spent far too much time discussing the value (or lack of) in holding referenda, specifically talking about the doomed Australian Republican referendum, and how the next model is likely to utterly suck.
Sunday
Some yahoo buzzed our door at 9am and I couldn’t get back to sleep after that. Neither could PLB or Joel, but LeeGee didn’t hear it at all and slept right up to 11.30…
The Saarlanders popped back, and then Joel directed our convey of two cars east to Middleton. I drove - woo! First time since mid-October, and that had just been for a day. I haven’t driven properly since being back in Australia in April 2007. Cars are almost a necessity there. I’m glad to say that here they’re more trouble than they’re worth. The drive was fine, except I kept putting on the windscreen wipers instead of the indicator.
Our sole reason for going to Middleton was so we could wander around the Old Middleton Distillery. Saw the world’s largest pot still (the tax was per still - ergo, the biggest still possible) and the waterwheel, which still works. Got taken through the process of making Jameson’s Whiskey, and had one mixed however we liked (I had it with cranberry juice, which is apparently the Irish way to do it. I usually have it the “London” way - with Ginger Ale. I think the Sydney way was on the rocks nyuk nyuk).
The tour guide mentioned part way through the tour that she wanted volunteers to do a taste test. It’s the type of thing I’d normally stick my hand up for, but as designated driver, I wasn’t going to have any more than my single shot (and we stopped out for lunch before I got back in the car too - “Irish” pizza from a local chain - which is pizza… with Irish sausage on it).
I prodded PLB into doing it, which post hoc he was pleased about. He got to taste Jamesons against Johnny Walker Black Label and Jack Daniels to look at what the differences were between the styles. We’d always known that Irish tasted sweeter because it wasn’t dried over peat fire (no smoky flavour), and that American bourbon was rougher because it wasn’t aged as long, but this was the first time either of us had the chance to do a vertical tasting of whiskey/whisky. We had done vertical wine tasting before…and there’s a local press picture on the web to prove it - but my name’s on that, so if I was to share I’d have to lock this post to the f-list, and I’m loathe to lock posts in general.
PLB preferred the Scotch. Even given it was Johnny Walker, which we never drink. Shhhhhh!
He got a certificate with his name on it and apparently he’s now a certified whiskey taster. It actually looks reasonably un-tacky. In my imaginary house with its own dedicated bar, I could see it hung just above the cocktail “mixology” (oh yes, mixing drinks is apparently a science boys n girls) implements.
From Middleton we drove to Blarney Castle. And I was dangled over the edge of the building, and I did kiss the stone. PLB did not take a photo. Moo.
The castle itself is impressive. The gardens were also very special. LeeGee disappeared into the Dolmen for a while, then the steps (which grant wishes if you walk them backwards in a single breath) etc. etc. I stuck PLB in the “Druid’s Cave” and tormented him with photos. It reminds me of a story I read once about people melding with trees, that the tree sprits were actually people who had been absorbed, and were just “sleeping”… at least that’s what I remember, but as I can remember nothing else of the story, it might have grown slightly larger in imperfect memory.
But if anyone has any suggestions as to what tale it is that I’m mis-remembering, I would gladly receive them. It makes me wish I’d maintained a decent reading journal. If nothing else, it would stop me picking up books and realising twenty pages in I’d read it when I was fifteen…
The bells tolled to let us know the gardens were closing, so we all tootled out to the car park, where the Saarlanders headed off to Kerry, and we headed back to Cork.
Joel took us over the North Channel to Shandon, where we wandered around, giggled at the weather vane that looked like a Salmon on top of St. Ann’s Shandon Clock tower, wondered why two of the buildings façades were red sandstone, and the other two lime stone, before wandering around the closed butter exchange.
Because we had a local with us, we got to visit The Franciscan Well Brewery. Not in any of our guide books, and not a place we would have found by ourselves. You have to go through this very tired looking alleyway to get to the pub, and past some burly bouncers. The insalubrious beginnings belie the pub, the clientele and the beer. Nom nom nom. Let’s not go into the strawberry and lime cider I drank, or the fact that there was an outdoor bar, as well as the normal one inside. We sat out in the beer garden until after the sun went down, so we only got back to the apartment for dinner at about 11.30pm, after saying goodbye to Joel.
We’d gone into the mini-mart, rather than eat out again and LeeGee and I cooked pasta. I even ate my fair share, although it did feel like a chore.
And that was the first two days of the trip. Now to write up pt. 2...
Pic spam will follow. Eventually. Ringo closed their services, so I’m back using Flickr, and they don’t have an easy resizing function, and I think it’s rude to upload full-sized pics to the web…
To give some context: LeeGee and PLB have been friends since school, and I’ve known him since ’96, but we’ve not seen much of each other - LeeGee travels around even more than we do. At any rate, the last time we caught up was for a few hours in Edinburgh Waverley Train station in July, 2006.
He has spent most of the last two years in Saarland, but is now heading back to Addled, in order to experience being an uncle. He’s already chuffed. You can tell he’s going to be all gooey, rather than ‘what’s this parasite, and why am I supposed to care, again?’
So as part of his last Euro-hurrah, also for his 32nd birthday, the three of us headed over to Ireland for an extended weekend, and to catch up with some of his Saarlander friends, plus an Oz guy, Joel, who he met in Bristol and is working as a car detailer just outside of Cork.
Saturday
LeeGee navigated the London Underground system and arrived at our place at a goodly time for us to head out down to Islington High Street for some lunch - some ‘food to prepare for drinking’ lunch to be precise. We ended up at Le Mercury, and I had my almost usual dish of pork belly with celeriac mash and rosemary infused Bramley apple compote.
However, evil stomach was evil, and the oddish feeling I had before lunch was worse post lunch. I broke out in a sweat in Stanstead Airport and clearly looked peaky, for LeeGee asked me if I was okay with that nervous tone that has the clear subtext of ‘please don’t die on me, because seeing a dead body would suck.’
It was bad enough that I did not go through my usual airplane bat-shit-crazy heart-fisting through my chest shenanigans (hee! Irish word!).
We picked up the rental car without any drama, and LeeGee got us to our self-serviced apartment in Cork despite my crap navigating. I had no idea where the airport was in relation to the city centre, and so I took us around the block twice before we got sorted.
Apartment was in a prime location, and perfect for what we wanted. My entire London flat would fit into the living/kitchen area. And cheaper for three of us than most hotels, so definitely recommended. If you look here you can see both the location, and part of the Apartment we were in (to the right of the Orange wall, the first window up, and around the corner with the balcony).
So then I curled up on the bed and contemplated whether or not I was going to be able to trek into the city centre and meet up with the Saarlanders, or if I was going to stay put and save us some possible grief later on if I had to be a party pooper.
I decided to give it a go, and we headed the two blocks into one of the pumping sections of Cork nightlife. For a small city, it really did have a hell of a lot of stuff going on, but I guess that’s fairly typical for a University town on a bank holiday weekend. The citizens of Cork tended to dress themselves up more than Londoners do to go out of an eve - make of that what you will.
It was easy to find both the Saarlanders and Joel, and we managed to get a table at the Corn Exchange Restaurant, which had live lobsters in the tank downstairs, but was just a rather nice steak house. I later found out that having live lobsters is a pretty common occurrence in a lot of Irish restaurants. Whether or not that is to just cater for the tourists who have money and want to treat themselves, I’m not sure, but it wasn’t the marker of price that I usually equate lobster with.
I had to beg off and sit outside for a bit - was feeling really ill, but hey presto, Matt came out with a vodka and soda and that took enough of the edge off that I was able to go back in and struggle through a side salad in lieu of real food. PLB had an Irish steak done rare, and LeeGee had Thai Green curry. Then we invited the gang back to the apartment where we proceeded to get steadily drunk. LeeGee, Joel and myself were too drunk (yay! Cider! Irish Beer!) to talk sensibly by the time we hit 3am, and we spent far too much time discussing the value (or lack of) in holding referenda, specifically talking about the doomed Australian Republican referendum, and how the next model is likely to utterly suck.
Sunday
Some yahoo buzzed our door at 9am and I couldn’t get back to sleep after that. Neither could PLB or Joel, but LeeGee didn’t hear it at all and slept right up to 11.30…
The Saarlanders popped back, and then Joel directed our convey of two cars east to Middleton. I drove - woo! First time since mid-October, and that had just been for a day. I haven’t driven properly since being back in Australia in April 2007. Cars are almost a necessity there. I’m glad to say that here they’re more trouble than they’re worth. The drive was fine, except I kept putting on the windscreen wipers instead of the indicator.
Our sole reason for going to Middleton was so we could wander around the Old Middleton Distillery. Saw the world’s largest pot still (the tax was per still - ergo, the biggest still possible) and the waterwheel, which still works. Got taken through the process of making Jameson’s Whiskey, and had one mixed however we liked (I had it with cranberry juice, which is apparently the Irish way to do it. I usually have it the “London” way - with Ginger Ale. I think the Sydney way was on the rocks nyuk nyuk).
The tour guide mentioned part way through the tour that she wanted volunteers to do a taste test. It’s the type of thing I’d normally stick my hand up for, but as designated driver, I wasn’t going to have any more than my single shot (and we stopped out for lunch before I got back in the car too - “Irish” pizza from a local chain - which is pizza… with Irish sausage on it).
I prodded PLB into doing it, which post hoc he was pleased about. He got to taste Jamesons against Johnny Walker Black Label and Jack Daniels to look at what the differences were between the styles. We’d always known that Irish tasted sweeter because it wasn’t dried over peat fire (no smoky flavour), and that American bourbon was rougher because it wasn’t aged as long, but this was the first time either of us had the chance to do a vertical tasting of whiskey/whisky. We had done vertical wine tasting before…and there’s a local press picture on the web to prove it - but my name’s on that, so if I was to share I’d have to lock this post to the f-list, and I’m loathe to lock posts in general.
PLB preferred the Scotch. Even given it was Johnny Walker, which we never drink. Shhhhhh!
He got a certificate with his name on it and apparently he’s now a certified whiskey taster. It actually looks reasonably un-tacky. In my imaginary house with its own dedicated bar, I could see it hung just above the cocktail “mixology” (oh yes, mixing drinks is apparently a science boys n girls) implements.
From Middleton we drove to Blarney Castle. And I was dangled over the edge of the building, and I did kiss the stone. PLB did not take a photo. Moo.
The castle itself is impressive. The gardens were also very special. LeeGee disappeared into the Dolmen for a while, then the steps (which grant wishes if you walk them backwards in a single breath) etc. etc. I stuck PLB in the “Druid’s Cave” and tormented him with photos. It reminds me of a story I read once about people melding with trees, that the tree sprits were actually people who had been absorbed, and were just “sleeping”… at least that’s what I remember, but as I can remember nothing else of the story, it might have grown slightly larger in imperfect memory.
But if anyone has any suggestions as to what tale it is that I’m mis-remembering, I would gladly receive them. It makes me wish I’d maintained a decent reading journal. If nothing else, it would stop me picking up books and realising twenty pages in I’d read it when I was fifteen…
The bells tolled to let us know the gardens were closing, so we all tootled out to the car park, where the Saarlanders headed off to Kerry, and we headed back to Cork.
Joel took us over the North Channel to Shandon, where we wandered around, giggled at the weather vane that looked like a Salmon on top of St. Ann’s Shandon Clock tower, wondered why two of the buildings façades were red sandstone, and the other two lime stone, before wandering around the closed butter exchange.
Because we had a local with us, we got to visit The Franciscan Well Brewery. Not in any of our guide books, and not a place we would have found by ourselves. You have to go through this very tired looking alleyway to get to the pub, and past some burly bouncers. The insalubrious beginnings belie the pub, the clientele and the beer. Nom nom nom. Let’s not go into the strawberry and lime cider I drank, or the fact that there was an outdoor bar, as well as the normal one inside. We sat out in the beer garden until after the sun went down, so we only got back to the apartment for dinner at about 11.30pm, after saying goodbye to Joel.
We’d gone into the mini-mart, rather than eat out again and LeeGee and I cooked pasta. I even ate my fair share, although it did feel like a chore.
And that was the first two days of the trip. Now to write up pt. 2...
Pic spam will follow. Eventually. Ringo closed their services, so I’m back using Flickr, and they don’t have an easy resizing function, and I think it’s rude to upload full-sized pics to the web…