Peninsulas and Rugby Players

Yes, you read correctly, rugby players. We met some of those specific athletes in a pub one night and danced the night away with them which was of course not entirely unpleasant! I was in Cork with Christine and her college friend Sarah who is studying in Grenada and we had a few drinks and decided to attack the adorable town of Cork! We had great fun there for three days and got a feel for the city center and University that was nearly too magical for words. Before Cork we attempted Dublin, which for anyone who wants to go just don´t. Yes, there is Trinity College and the Guiness Factory and all that jazz but seven Euro for a pint? Pain in me arse! We did manage to meet a group of guys out on a stag weekend (Bachelor party) and had some good memories there, one which ended in a very affectionate English lad for me ;-)
After Dublin and Cork we said goodbye to Sarah and Christine and I headed down to the Dingle Peninsula which is located on the Ring of Kerry. There we found ourselves in the outdoors and residing in a very cozy hostel that was nearly empty. Each evening the owner would light a fire and we read our books by the flames. We went on amazing hike that led us to a lake and over far too many barbed wire fences for sheep which, at moments, made me feel as though we were caged in so as to be hunted like The Most Dangerous Game. I am pleased to report that I suffered no injuries from the potruding wire but must admit my pride did suffer slightly when I ate in on a slipper rock while crossing a creek. As the Northern Irish would say, ¨SKUNDERED!¨ I realized that while I enjoy a fun night out and the overall ambiance of a noisy, smoky pub I really find greater joy from being in the vast outdoors and walking on grass and mud rather than cobblestone. So our souls were rejuvinated just in time to head back to Belfast and spend more time there.
As luck would have it Christine and I were taken in by an amazing older couple who own a RANCH outside the city and who insisted on taking us riding.....on the beach.....at sunset. Notice the dramatic pauses, they are intentional. I got to attempt riding English style and let me say, I much prefer the security of the Western saddle and the lovely, secure horn for the OH SHIT moments that often occur when riding such a fickle but loveable animal. I got to shovel horse poop too which to some may seem a punishment, but to those horse lovers out there you know how pleasant it is to even be around the distinctive aroma of them. I must say I would move to Ireland in an instant if I could be on such a secluded, magical ranch as the one we were delighted with. And we even were entertained with tales about the husband´s job, which was touring with Van Morrisson (he does all their sound). I always say that one does not really know a country until they see its more rural areas and frankly, that is where you find the Irish gems. The people are so stereotypical its painful as they stop to ask you how your day is while walking a shaggy canine. Old couples wander around waiting to give you a toothy grin and I for one have been completely enchanted with the whole green island, and have loved learning that there is a very big difference between the North and South, and yet really none at all. But hey, isn´t that always the way???