Yes, I know that Spring Break was like a month and a half ago. Yours truly, along with the geniuses in the About section, ventured to Ireland, through England, and ended in Spain. Below you’ll find an account of the Irish part of the trip. Spain will follow. Yea it’s long (that’s what she said), but it’s a fun time. Check it out:
March 12th
Nick and I arrive at JFK. My mom acts like I’ll never see her again. While we wait on line, this attendant asks us which flight we’re waiting for. We tell him which one, and he tells us that we’re at the wrong terminal to get in a van to go to the Air France terminal. My ticket says Delta and then says in little letters “operated by Air France.” If it’s operated by Air France, then don’t tell me that it’s Delta. Does this sound illogical? Still, feeling ridiculous, we oblige. Upon getting into this bus, we meet a guy who made the same mistake and feels just as ridiculous as we do. Misery loves company, right? Anyways, we get to the right terminal and check in. Turns out Nick and I have to sit apart from one another. At this point, we have an hour and a half to kill, so we figured we’d start this out right: by drinking. We find a bar close to our gate and begin kicking back some drinks while we wait for our plane. The guy joins us but doesn’t drink. He leaves eventually. Apparently he wasn’t up for a little sauce. This other guy sits down and tells us that Air France gives us free drinks and not to worry. As happy I am to hear this, I have no idea who the fuck this guy is. Soon enough I find out why. When the woman gives us our tab for the 6 beers we have drank, it’s an overwhelming $48. For 6 beers?! Sweetie, you realize that you’re tending bar in fucking JFK Airport and not in Midtown? She scowls at us as if it’s not ridiculous that we’re paying 8 dollars for a fucking drink. Our eyes fight a war of ridiculousness. I think I won. At least the drinks on the flight will be free (thanks, guy)!! At this point, I contemplate asking the man if he knows any other tidbits about the future, like the next World Series champion, but decide against it.
When we get on the plane, I convince the woman next to me to let Nick switch places with her. The girl on the other side of me looks upset by this decision. More so by the fact that she’s flying alone (and she knows that I know it) and Nick & I have each other. O well, she’ll deal. She has an iPod and I have an Italian. I win, but she should be happy. She’ll still get the box of whistle pops (I miss old Nickelodeon). The flight’s long, but we make it. I watch Juno, We Own the Night, and Enchanted to pass the time. As much as I love Juno, the fact that this movie neglects to address any negative aspects of the fact that a 16 year old high school girl is giving birth is beyond me. I still enjoy it very much though. I drink a mix of champagne, wine, orange juice, and water. The chicken’s surprisingly good for an airplane dinner. Air France is steppin it up. No repeat either. I’d say that goes in the win column. We don’t sleep on this flight. I try, but fail miserably. Guess there’s only one other option…drink some more! The flight attendant seems generally concerned for our well being, mainly because we’re not capable of being concerned for ourselves. We arrive in Paris at 5 in the morning, and it sucks. The place looks like a giant bubble and a metal spider tried fucking and it came out 3 months premature. The girl at the security gives me attitude cause I’m American. Could I be wrong? Maybe. But the eyes scream “American scum.” Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Regardless, this doesn’t go over well with me. After all, I’m drunk, tired and I hate France.
March 13th
We take a puddle jumper to Shannon. This trip seemed a lot longer than the transatlantic one, which is probably due to the excitement. In a blatant breach of national security, I decide to switch my seat and sit next to Nick. I hold my breath and hope that the 4 other people on the flight don’t rat me out. In fact, they don’t seem to even notice. We sleep a fair amount after taxiing around the runway. In true Irish spirit, it’s overcast and early in the morning. We soon discover that Air France lost our bags, leaving us with only backpacks and the clothes we have on. So much for stepping it up. Maybe it was that security lady. Here’s a clever equation though: hangover setting in + fatigue – bags thanks to Air France =…..Mike is pissed off!!! Nick assures me that we’ll be fine, but I’m still not a ray of sunshine.
We get on the bus and head into Limerick. We catch a cab, and soon make it to Dave’s, where we are embraced with the fulfillment of an unquenchable love. I hold onto Dave with more love than Kate Winslet in Titanic (“I’ll never let go” my black ass. Nice job, Rose. You live your life thanks to Jack and instead of giving him a proper burial, you let him fall into the abyss of the sea. Bitch) We meet some of his friends and chill out. Alex is pretty much Dave with brown hair. He went to an all-boys school also, so he acts gay like us. We go onto campus to get food with Dave, Alex, and Tim. We avoid this girl who has the biggest fucking nose in my entire life. I almost give us away from laughing so fucking hard. It’s like someone jammed 2 traffic cones square into her nostrils. Anywho, we go inside for some…get this…gougons. Yup, that’s what chicken tenders are called. Granted “tenders” never made sense to me (and still doesn’t), but who the fuck was like “these taste like…what’s the word I’m looking for…gougons. At least we put “chicken” in the fucking name. Tim sits by himself and we ridicule him for this. Alex and I win free Coca-Cola’s and high-fives are exchanged, but we never end up utilizing them. We pick up supplies for a couple of days and head back to base. We return, hang out, and soon head into town to top off my cell phone (“top off”= add minutes, for you non-cultured folk). Finally, I touch base with James, who will be around later for our opening festivities. The thing with James is this: he’s been one of my best friends since we were 6. His family is my family and vice versa. We hung out a lot, but then the kid and his family move to Ireland when we’re 16. This is the year I move up the Island, but c’mon, there’s a difference between up the Island and across the Atlantic. A difference of, o I don’t know, 2970 miles! I know what you’re think, and yes, I am still bitter. I’ve seen the kid like 4 times since, the last of which was 2 ½ years ago. The good thing is we don’t change, so when we hang out 2 ½ years is the same as a week. We return to the house, where we have a bunch of booze waiting. We meet more of Dave’s friends, and we play a new game: ESB. You say a word that directly relates to the word before (table à legs à arms, etc.). But no repeats and no words beginning with E, S, or B. I kinda suck at it, but whatever, losing means more drinking, so losing is in fact winning. Dave informs us about the night:
Dave: So guys, tonight there’s a “pimps and ho’s party” at one of the clubs, Cornmarket.
Nick & Mike: Sweet. We’re all fucking about it.
D: Here’s the thing. The girls wanna dress up as pimps so…
N & M: so…you mean…
D: Yea, the guys are gonna be the ho’s.
Maybe there’s something I need to know about myself, but not only am I not offended, I’m completely ok with this. However, these people have never met me before, and now I’m going to dress in women’s clothing and expect people to take me seriously? Absofuckinglutely!! To answer your question, no, I don’t have women’s clothing. The girls bring over clothes for us to wear. We change into them for the evening. Nick sports a cute number with jeans and a low-cut black blouse with spaghetti straps. Dave flashes a sequence pink shirt. I rock a more conservative top, but I also have on checkered tights. After fully realizing the ridiculousness of the situation, we drink in order to change the feeling of our outfits from uncomfortable to enjoyable.
At this point, it’s confirmed that Trevor will not be joining us. After tireless ridicule, we officially stop speaking to him (non-speaking terms, if you will). Eventually, we try to catch a bus into town, but fail. In fact, the bus blatantly blew right by us. We catch a cab to the hotel where we meet up with James and his mom, both of whom catch a glimpse of my clothing. The expression of a woman who has been a second mother to me and that I haven’t seen in 5 years to my attire is priceless. An awkward “that’s interesting” is muttered. Here’s the crazy thing though: from the tone in her voice, even though she was weirded out and perplexed by my selected attire, she seemed very accepting and almost believed that I could’ve turned out this way. I, on the other hand, have no idea how to feel about this. No matter, we drop our stuff off in the hotel room and head to the Cornmarket for the night.
The place is pretty big and has a silent DJ system. “A silent DJ system,” you say, “what’s that?” Here’s out it works: one puts a 10 Euro deposit down and wears headphones, which plays the DJ music. So instead of screaming at the top of their lungs in order to speak to one another, people can simply remove the headphones. At the end of the night, you give the headphones back and get back the 10 Euro. It works beautifully, and I think this is the greatest concept in modern human history. No more “unce’s.” I feel free. We discover that there’s a 2 Euro drink special going on, so we definitely cash in on the savings. If people shopped the way we drank, the dollar would make the Euro its bitch. As an obvious result, we get a whole lot drunker and we look absolutely ridiculous. But fuck it, you only live once right? It’s not like it bothered us anyway. Maybe it was the alcohol. Nick decided it would be a good idea to keep his wallet in the front of his pants due to the tight nature of girl’s jeans. This ends tragically. I guess she didn’t like the free show. You get the idea.
Afterwards, we go to McDonald’s, where we wait in an unnatural line to get food. After this little bitch gets pissy and claims she’s next, Dave makes fun of her by calling her “shamu.” She quietly gets pissed off, but her eyes tell me the truth: she’s gonna cry uncontrollably when she gets home. I, knowing what the probable future holds and sparing no feelings whatsoever, laugh right in her face. Eventually we get our food and enjoy it thoroughly. Somehow, Dave, James, Nick, & I make it back to the hotel, have a close call getting James in, and pass out almost immediately. At this point, Nick and I have just gone 37 hours without legitimate sleep.
March 14th
We wake up and learn that our bags will be back at Dave’s place soon. We all get onto a bus and head back to Plassy (the place where Dave is staying). We get back and touch base with the rest of Dave’s group, who were as drunk/hungover as we were. Signs of a good night. Dave gets our bags so as not to arise suspicion (apparently we’re not supposed to be there). We hang out, swap stories, and Dave makes us a phenomenal breakfast. I offer fellatio as payback, but we agree on a “Mike Lynch special” upon his return home (it’s a meal. Get your mind out of the gutter). Despite ideas of naps, we decide to nix them and instead go to play softball. James sits out, and we play while continuing to drink. We play softball, kickball, and soccer. Kickball turned rather violent. In fact, it was kickball mixed with “kick the ball directly at whoever you want to hurt.” It was still very enjoyable. During this time, Trevor finally arrives, and the apex of our homosexuality is reached. That’s a lie, but nevertheless we’re mad gay with our reunion. James leaves and will return later. We continue soccer for a little while longer and then head over to Sports Club. The lack of a creative name baffles me, even for the Irish. Brian tries stealing our food, but my hunger proves futile for his hiding abilities. We hitch a ride back to Plassy and shower and change for the night. Molly picks up booze for us, and rejects our sexual repayment. A giant “psh” is uttered and sounds like an opus. We meet up with James and his friend Sean and head over to Brian’s for a power hour festivity. I get angry at some of the girls during this. While we’re cheers to “good friends,” “good times,” and “getting drunk,” they would cheers to “freedom and democracy.” Now I love both of those very much. But we’re power hour-ing, not deciding on a new president here. We outlast most them anyway and still have some left over for continuous drinking. I hang out with James for a little while. He’s high as a kite. We used to collect baseball cards and want to be sports stars. Now, we get drunk and stoned like the kids in those ridiculous PSA’s (except I’m not killing people. I’m not doing anything). Everyone leaves and heads over to a local bar named the Hurler’s. At this point, James and Sean leave and we agree to meet in the city for lunch the next day. Hurler’s is a pretty good time. Most of the people get very drunk. Nick is hit on by an older woman, which is funny to me and Dave. It is later revealed that this woman is positive for herpes, another fact that I find rather comical. He also strikes up conversation with a “small person.” I have nothing against them, but my intoxication can’t prevent me from laughing to myself. Thankfully no one hears me. We head over to get some food with a couple of girls at SuperDine. I don’t really eat because the night is not over to me. We head over to this place the Lodge. I have no money on me, so the prospect of drinking more is put on hiatus. So we dance until the place closes and then head back with Brian and a few others to his place to pick up our stuff. We take a cab with our remaining beers and once again pass out at the hotel.
March 15th
We woke up and checked out of the hotel. Trevor had taken the liberty of waking up at 9 to get breakfast and thus supplied us with some food. Afterwards, we went back to Plassy and helped clean up. We got our shit together and headed back to Limerick city centre to catch the train. We rush to the train station and make it to the train. We made a brief stop in Limerick Junction, in which we strike up a conversation with an African man. I feel awkward and leave numerous times and pretend it’s because I’m checking on the train. It’s not because of his race (although I’d be lying if I said that it never happened). I just didn’t feel comfortable. He reminded me of one of my English professors (Note: I strongly disliked that professor). Plus, I don’t like when people I don’t know randomly start talking to me unless they: look hot, look interesting, look like my guardian angel, or I’m drunk. Fortunately, he doesn’t take the same train as we do, and we’re soon in Mallow. Mallow’s this pretty small town in Cork county. It’s still big enough to have a few cool places though. Still, more than a week in here would be way too much. Like my dad’s wife, who’s from Mallow, said: “you guys will probably be the most exotic thing there.” Ballyclough is even smaller than Mallow. It has maybe 5 roads, and none of these roads have names. U2 rings through my head while we’re here and it bothers me. Everyone knows everyone and the place has more bars (2) then anything in the town. Dad’s friend, Sean Hayes, picks us up from the train station and takes us on a quick tour of Mallow and Bally Clough. He takes us to his house and we meet his family. I’m shown off as “Sara Kate’s brother” as if I’m this rare artifact. They comment on my striking resemblance to Sara Kate, which angers me to no end. But I don’t hold it against them. It’s not their fault and they don’t know. Sean shows us his lime kiln, which is pretty cool. His wife, Eileen, serves us coffee, drinks, and then dinner (Pasta Bolognese…delicious). We watch the Wales-France rugby game, which Wales wins. I recount my only direct experience with France and find myself happier that Wales won than I thought I would be.
He then takes us up to Dad’s house, which is unnecessarily huge. In fact, it’s the biggest house in Bally Clough. Really, Dad? It’s like a dick measuring contest against a kindergarten class. We hang out for a little bit and then are joined by Trevor’s friends Megan and Michelle. Liam Fitzgerald, this boy who stayed with my dad one summer, stops by and says hello. He hangs out for a while as we settle into the house. Soon, we are picked up by Sean, who takes us down to Deady’s pub for a few drinks. We sit by ourselves, but we draw some curious stares by the locals. I meet the owner, but he doesn’t really “take care of me” as Dad promised. I mean he was nice, but nothing to write home about. Still, we play some ESB and slip further into inebriation. I meet Deirdre, the woman who lives down the road from the house. I pretend like I remember everything about her even though I only remembered that her name started with a D. I’m not amazing with memory, but the last time I saw her was 7 years ago. Cut me some slack. We return home, drink some more, and pass out.
March 16th
We wake up and slowly assemble in the kitchen. Trevor makes breakfast for us, and we contemplate possible activities for the day. However, the lack of a vehicle proves to be difficult. Nevertheless, Sean mans up and brings us to Killarney. Citing it as one of his favorite places, we pile into his lovable caravan and he first brings us to Castle Ross. We take some pictures, walk around, and watch a kid fall flat on his face. I felt really bad for the kid, I really did. I mean I’ve been there before. But now I know why people were laughing at me at the time: cause that shit is hysterical. Michelle is excited to see swans for the first time, which proved to be another funny site. This girl also hadn’t seen tree trunks. It simply boggles my mind. I mean, I don’t see myself as one who has “seen it all.” I mean there was that time at Six Flags when I saw bears having sex, but even if I had seen everything, do you think a swan would be high on the list? I almost feel sorry for the girl. This is before I remember that she has more money than the value of my body parts on the black market. We head over to Killarney National Park, which is home to a pretty sweet waterfall. Also, there’s moss growing on everything. It’s kinda weird though. I mean you turn around and the forest is green. I mean EVERYTHING. The branches, the rocks, even the protective metal bars are green. It’s as if someone didn’t feel that the park was Irish enough. We continue our drive along the countryside and stop along the road at this place the Ladies View. It looks over the Lakes of Killarney. Regardless of Sean’s claim that it’s better in the summer where everything’s green, the view is fuckin’ ballin’. So we snap a few pictures and head into town. We stop at a bar and have a drink. These kids spill their drinks on Sean’s coat. Michelle spends a good part of the time on the phone with her mom. Nick discovers that Hot Whiskey is the Irish cure for the common cold and that it’s magical. Airborne beware. This is pretty much the case during the trip. We stop off to pick up some more food and drinks for the house. The lady at the place looks as if she’s bothered by our presence. When we ask her for “table tennis balls,” she looks at me like I’m the fucking idiot, but then points me in a direction. However, there are no balls to be found. We later discover that they don’t sell them. Way to go, ace. I know your job sucks, but deceiving college kids about ping pong balls does not constitute “fun,” no matter what level of boredom. We head back to the house after raping that place of drunk food and more beer. Like the geniuses we are, we leave the beer in the car, putting a finite end to our evening. Still, this does not stop the four boys from getting into a bathtub together. Just when you thought we couldn’t get gayer, raise the bar. Trevor gets up to pee, and Michelle may or may not have caught a glimpse of Trevor’s ding dong. By the tears that followed, I’m assuming she did. Her and Megan still hang out with us, and we sit in the tub and read Tucker Max stories. Soon after, we assemble downstairs and quickly run out of booze. Our futile attempt at Never Have I Ever turns into a discussion about sex, which soon fizzles. People retreat to bed. Rest up kiddies, tomorrow is St. Paddy’s.
March 17th
St. Patrick’s Day. It’s always been a dream of most Irish-Americans (and some Americans in general) to spend at least one St. Patrick’s Day in the homeland. And we are no different. Trevor wakes me up for the big dance and we get ready. Sean’s not around to drive us, so we call a cab. This proves to be a problem though. Well, the place in which we’re staying has no formal address. The streets have no names (U2 again. Dammit Bono, shut the hell up.). So I can’t imagine how I sound in explaining where we are to the taxi:
Mike: No. Just go to the main road, then straight through town, then a right. No, I don’t know the name of the road. It doesn’t have one. Yes I’m serious. No I’m not drunk.
I must’ve sounded like a friggin’ genius. We agree to meet him in town, but he finds us on our way there. We take the train to Cork and pick up some beers in the drinking cart. We aimlessly walk out and decide to “follow the Irishmen.” Irishmen aren’t necessarily good at directions, but don’t put anything in between them and alcohol. We make it into city centre and immediately search for a pub. We stop by one place which has another group of Americans in it. We sit in the back and play ESB. Yes this game has become quite popular among us. It’s easy and requires us to drink. Need I say more? Michelle drops a Euro coin, and in her search for it finds herself in the fellatio position between Dave’s legs. Both groups of Americans laugh and cheer, and Michelle becomes red with embarrassment. We decide to leave in order to watch some of the parade. The boys and I buy matching hats and find a spot along the parade route. Nick climbs on top of the nearby telephone booth in order to get a better view (he’s small). After a short while, we become bored with the parade and look for food. At this point, I contact Ronan, my dad’s wife’s brother, and he agrees to meet us for food. We almost don’t meet up, but our accents give us away (imagine that). We go to this place Zak’s and get some food and drinks. The burger is interesting but not bad. Afterwards, Ronan leads us to random bar locations. We stop off and have a few drinks. Ronan offers the idea of going to a hurling match, but we enjoy alcohol too much. And we wanted to get something for Sean. So instead we head over to a bar and drink some more. While in the bathroom, a man makes the point that only Americans wear green on St. Paddy’s. He does this while looking directly at me. I shrug my shoulders in a “I’m not gonna do shit about it now” way. He’s drunk, I’m drunk, EVERYBODY’S DRUNK! Ronan leaves and tells us the names of a few other places to get drinks. As we walk around, we stop and take pictures in front of a whole pile of kegs. Some of us turn the corner, and shortly after we hear a series of “pings” and loud “clanks,” as if the kegs had been hit over. Soon, Nick and Trevor turn the corner and point as in to tell us to move quickly. Idiot Idiot Idiot. We walk around for a bit, but then decide to pick up a gift for Sean and a few road beers and head home. We stop off at an off-license and pretend to convince the cashier that we’re anything but American. During this trip, when I drink, I put on this shitty accent. So I decide to use this shitty accent as my selling point. I fail miserably. Trevor and Dave fail too. We buy two bottles of wine, 2 six packs, and we’re on our way. I insist on stopping off and getting an Irish rugby shirt. We find a place, and I purchase a rugby shirt successfully. Nick tries to buy an Irish soccer shirt, but the lady won’t let him buy it because they won’t accept his credit card. I laugh at Nick and tell him that the Irish don’t want his representation. Besides, he has an Italian one at home. We also stop off at a Quizno’s Sub, but Dave and I are upset to find that they do not serve Chicken Carbonaras. We take a train back to Mallow and a cab picks us up (thanks Sean) and takes us to the house. Soon thereafter, Sean shows up and we thank him and give him his booze. He puts on this smile like “I’m gonna go kill this immediately.” He leaves, and we hang out for a little while before heading up to bed. I pack before I get into bed. Tomorrow…España
Stay tuned for the Spanish part of our journey…
May 19, 2008 at 3:47 am |
Crazy story, dude. Sounded cool.