Irish Road Trip

     The day starts with a bit of confusion on Brandi's part. Which side does the car operate from? And the transmission may take a small beating, but we got full coverage so let's F this mother up. While it provided me with a bit of a laugh Uncle Rob took the first shift behind the wheel, although I did catch him on the wrong side
of the road a couple times. Right, and I should mention that we did almost get trampled by a horse and a pony on our way to get the car. Apparently it's quite common for a big city like Dublin, kewl. With our car packed and our 90's version of a GPS... a map, we set out to dizzy ourselves in as many roundabouts as possible with only my exquisite navigation skills to lead the way. And go, "So how the fuck do we get out of Dublin?" The map only shows motorways. Park. I get out and find a cabbie for directions. After using the Irish/English translator app on my iPhone the directions are as follows... "Turn left, go over the bridge and keep going in that direction (he points). Don't worry about street signs or any of that shit, you'll never get out of Dublin" Not feeling very confident we take to the road with a guarantee of getting lost. 30 minutes later... "No F'ing way, his directions worked perfectly." We're on the motorway toward Wicklow Mountains National Park and Trim Castle where Braveheart was shot.

     Lesson of the day: Don't take advice from the 19 year-old at the hostel desk... he doesn't know shit. Believe it or not Trim Castle is in the town of Trim (wish I had of seen that on the map... map 1 - Scott 0), which, is conveniently situated an hour from Dublin in the exact opposite direction. On the plus side we witnessed some gorgeous landscape on the east coast and did meet one very helpful person whom Uncle Rob dubbed as, "A DICK! A big fucking DICK!" This DICK also enforced the fact that we were only 5 minutes away from Trim Castle. Back in the car, backtrack time.

     Trim Castle: yet another photography gold mine. For me castles are like Christmas morning to an 8 year-old. This one being used for Braveheart, well, I almost had to change my pants. We were also so lucky to catch a Santa Claus parade while there. As for the castle I believe the photos can describe it better than my words. As for Justine, she was more interested in the sheep. It's a shame they didn't like her. It's a bigger shame didn't dislike her enough to head butt her... purely for my amusement of course. Next.

     After a couple hundred miles, some superb navigation and tiny winding roads that make anyone feel like a rally racer, we arrive in Tralee; a small town in the Dingle Peninsula of Kerry County. Park. "Now if only I'd found the directions to the hostel this would be a lot easier. Wait, there it is right behind us." My navigation is working on a sub-conscious level.

     We unload the car and settle in to our hostel where a few surprises await us. In the bathrooms there are snails the size of golf balls above our heads. In the rooms there's abandoned shoes and condoms that have been used under the bed. Then we're welcomed by a sexually deranged cat wrangler who happens to run the place, "Few ground rules, no sexual activity or group orgies... unless I can videotape of course. Okay, enjoy your stay." On that messed up note it's time to get the hell out and find some food and drinks. We find a nice low key pub where we meet a fun local who buys us some baby guinnesses and tells us all about Ireland, including Slaehead which is now our new destination. Returning back to the hostel the girls are graced with more rules from the Sexually Deranged Cat Wrangler, "You have to be quiet and go to bed, it's passed curfew and my cats need their sleep because they have to get up early." ... creepy.