The Birthplace of Harry Potter

It seems an age since I have last written, but that will not stop me from entering the dusty attic of my memory and pulling out some tidbits to tell you dear readers of mine, if any of you remain. Leaving Ireland for me is like leaving your dearest love behind; I know that you all have heard me ramble about the undying love I posess now and always for that dear, sweet country. We awoke at 3:30 AM for our flight to Edinburgh and so all was quiet. Normally, I would be irked beyond words to be awake at that time and thus ignore my surroundings as my rage would consume my entire being. However, the air was so crisp and there was a haunting breeze whipping around me and I felt like I was experiencing a moment between just Ireland and me.
Wow, that was the cheesiest story I have ever written. My apologies to you all. That was a story about my undying love for Ireland, now, here comes a long rant about my sheer, undying hatred for Ryanair. Some people in the world do not seem to understand and are even baffled by my desire for that airline to go under. However, should you have had as many horrendous experiences with them as I, you would feel the exact same sentiments. This experience was one of them. We had to check a bag, and in the cases of most airlines, the weight limit is 20 kg. However, Ryanair being the money sucking leeches that they are have a limit of 15 kg. After the lady took our bags and put them down the conveyor belt, she informed us in a snarky tone that we each had to pay for our overweight bags and that we owed 20 euros per kilo over. Now had the not snatched our bags away, we might have been able to repack them. However, she being the slimy creature that she was, she took them away before we had the chance, thus making it so I had to pay 40 euros and Dianna 60 euros. Add that to the amount we had to pay initially to check the bag of 30 euros and it equals a VERY angry Marisa that should have flown on a decent airline as it likely would have been a hell of a lot cheaper. I hate Ryanair, did I mention that yet? They screwed us over as well on our flight to Paris so do not fret, you will all get to hear more of my thoughts on this airline in time.
Edinburgh is a lovely place, especially when you are not dying of some awful illness such as I was the last time I ventured to this fabulous, gothic city. The last time I was there, I had a constant and seemingly incurable sore throat, unsubsiding pressure in both ears, and swollen lymph nodes all over the place. Spanish doctors being as they are, they prescribed me "fizzy tabs" before I departed, and that, as you can imagine, did nothing.
Anyways, that is the past, and irrelevant except to say that this time was much more pleasant. The hostel was fabulous in that it was esentially right beside the castle and the Royal Mile which are the main attractions of Edinburgh. Other than that, it was not a fantastic place to stay, but after weeks of hostels, my expectations had become extremely low. I do not think there was a single room in which we stayed where no one snored. At least this particular snoring person was not the worst. The worst makes an appearance later in my story, so there is that to look forward to.
Many that we have encountered have said that two days is "more than long enough to see Edinburgh". These people must move at light speed or close to it, as we had plenty to do and see for our five day stay. The first day, we met up with my dear friend Craig who attends university in the city. He met us at the Elephant House cafe, which is famous for allegedly being the "birthplace of Harry Potter" as it refers to itself, since J.K. Rowling used to frequent it and apparently got the idea for the series whilst looking out the window at Edinburgh castle. Whether Harry was born there or not I cannot say with certainty, but they can assuredly credit themselves with having some of the best coffee we had in a good long while. Needless to say, we ended up there at least once a day during the remainder of our trip.
Later we decided to hit the cinema as the desire to see a film had not been met in a good long while since departing the states in my case. We decided to see One Day, a melancholy film about fate and love or whatever. It was only okay. One of the highlights of the next day was going to get fish and chips with Craig for dinner. Of course, fish and chips is always a highlight. The thing that made this meal stand out was the rather comedic element of the waitress. Typically, Dianna and I find ourselves needing to request extra tartare sauce, and this was no exception. Our request, however, seemed to completely baffle the waitress beyond reason. Upon asking the young, apparently Eastern European girl, she grew pale and her eyes extremely wide, and uttered "oh...um..." and other single syllable words of confusion before telling us with a tone of panic that she simply did not think it was possible.
Now, I know a lot of requests that may instill panic in an individual, such as "can you please conceal this dead body for me?" or something else of the like, but never did I think that a simple request for tartare sauce could cause such a reaction. Needless to say, we all had a nice little chuckle about it and I sincerely pitied the girl for her apparently very shaky nerves.
After the chippy Craig took us to a vodka bar which had around 30 different flavours of the liquor. Vodka is likely my favorite hard alcohol, so I was most definitely pleased at this endeavor. I believe that I tried the strawberries & creme, chocolate-toffee, white chocolate and birthday cake. They were all quite good but rather lacking in alcohol content, and sorely over-priced.
We decided despite the costliness of the tour, that it would be worth it to see the Scottish highlands and Loch Ness. As I child I was quite fascinated by the legend of the Loch Ness Monster (and still am), so I figured it would be nice to appease my desire to see the Loch up close and get the chance at my own Nessy sighting. However, though the boat was equipped with sonar and I had my camera at the ready, she decided to remain dormant that day. Maybe next time I shall have more luck. Upon returning from our bus tour, we went out on the town with Craig and his mates, and it was um...interesting...and not much more needs to be said about that evening.
The next day I went to see the museum with Craig and his girlfriend Sileas. It was quite nice and newly rennovated so it was different than the first time I went to see it. Fun fact I learned: temperature of alligator/crocodile eggs is what affects their gender. Afterwards I went to the Elephant Cafe and ended up sitting besides an Asian girl who had just had a Ryanair flight and we got to have a nice long chat about our sheer hatred of the airline. After she left a group of Spaniards sat at my table and we spoke in Spanish for a little while- it was nice to practice.
That night we took the most ridiculous ghost tour that I think exists. We took this particular tour as opposed to others as it was a free tour. However, it consisted of following a creepy little man dressed as William Burke (a serial killer from the 18th century who would strangle people and sell their bodies to science) who would rant about tales that were clearly untrue in an accent which was near impossible to understand. Afterwards, we went to Frankenstein's which is a really famous bar in Edinburgh.

Those Last Wonderful Irish Days

I am starting to feel as if no one reads this anymore, but if there are a few lone stragglers out there still following my life, I appreciate the loyalty.

We spent about three days in Dublin which is not nearly sufficient to see everything it has to offer. Dublin does not tug at my heartstrings in the way that Galway does, of course, nor does it piss me off to the degree that Cork does, but it is a nice place nonetheless. We did make the mistake of going to the Temple Bar, desipite warnings of it being a complete tourist trap, and it truly was atrocious.

Basically, the bar was filled with middle-aged American women jumping around to the "Irish" band who basically just played Sweet Home Alabama and Hey Jude over and over, sometimes combining the two. My point I am trying to make is that if you ever get to Dublin, do not even go there to see it because it is famous, it really is a horrendous place and does not represent anything truly Irish in the slightest.

I was rather astounded by the drunkenness in public, and at really odd times in the day, which we experienced to a terrible degree in Dublin. We took the Rick Steve's recommended day trip to see the Megolithic tombs of Knowth and Newgrange which are fantastic and pre-date both the pyramids of Giza and Stonehenge. It was really lovely except for this one horrible woman who was standing beside us in the line while we waited for the little bus to come take us from the tomb back to the visitor's centre.

Thankfully, she was not American, as we have been embarrassed by them on this entire trip, but rather British, in about her mid-40s to early 50s. She was really a piece of work, and said that the ruins were "40% boring and 10% fun". First of all, what happened to the other 50%? Second, what kind of person really has no ability to appreciate something as grand as that? She continued talking to who I assume was her husband the entire time we were in line about mundane things like getting a specific photo to place above the mantle in their living room.

When the bus arrived, the rain did as well, and the lady began to actually yell at the bus driver when he would not let us on because they had to turn around first. I have never felt so bad for anyone as I did right then for that bus driver. I really wanted to punch her in the face on his account. She kept saying things like "oh, are you going to pay for our flus then??" and he just shrugged her off but I wanted to not-so-kindly inform her that if she would just shut up, he could turn the bus around and we could all be warm and dry inside.

Now on to the story that is just... fantastic...the drunken Irish ladies. We somehow encountered two black-out hammered middle aged women in the span of about a half hour. The first was when we were about to get on our bus back to Dublin. A woman wtih scraggly hair stumbled off the bus as she was aided by a couple different people, and the most charming bit was that her pants were falling down as she walked, and were about down to her knees when she passed me. The second was worse still, however. When we were waiting for the bus there was a woman posted up against a wall pouring a bottle of vodka into her coffee cup filled with coke. I was worried as I saw she was boarding our bus, and hoped she would not end up like pants-around-knees lady. However, as we were about halfway to Dublin she completely fell out of her seat into the aisle onto her head. The bus pulled over and for a good 30 minutes we were stopped deciding what to do with her. Eventually, the man she was with escorted her off the bus much to the relief of everyone on the bus. All I can say is that I feel bad for that bus driver...

The World is Full of Idiots

Maybe I just realized it in Europe and it is a worldwide thing, or maybe it is just in Europe. There are a lot of really stupid people around. My "favorites" that I have encountered are the following:

1) People that are walking in front of you and randomly stop: where is the logic behind this action? Especially on a crowded street. It just does not make sense that people are thinking "hm, this is the perfect place to stop so that a crowd of people slam into me!"

2) People that walk at an unbearably slow pace. I completely get the whole walking at a relaxing pace, but what i do not understand is when people walk so slowly that it would take about an hour to get somewhere that would normally take about 15 minutes. I personally do not want to die of old age just trying to go 1/4 of a mile down the road.

3) People in a group that decide to completely block a sidewalk making it impossible for people to get through.

Those Crazy Irish...

More reasons I love Galway...
1) The people. Everyone there is just excellent for various reasons. Our first day we got lost and asked a lady who appeared to be in a hurry if she knew where our hostel was and she stopped for us and walked us most of the way. When you walk down the street, random people say hello or wave or give you a high five. It is just an excellent vibe throughout the city.
2) It is a city, but has the feel of a town. How do I explain this? Galway is not enormous, you can certainly walk to all of the sites, which I find very plesant. Public transport gives me a headache you cannot imagine, and not having to use it boosts a city up to a very high spot on my list.
3) Preserved tradition of the region: the Connemara area and the Aran Islands, both directly outside of Galway city, are still home to traditional farmers and gorgeous, sweeping landscapes. The inhabitants of these areas still even speak Gaelic. These areas are so peaceful and serene and truly genuine.
After leaving my dear, sweet Galway and the Aran Islands, Dianna and I headed to Killarney with a guy we had met in Galway from California who was also traveling Ireland. While in NY with my cousin this past summer, the extemely Irish bartender told us that he was from Killarney and that it was worth a visit, so we decided to check it out. The city was just alright, nothing phenomenal, but the National Park was breathtaking. We rented bikes and saw the Ross castle before continuing around the lakes and pausing briefly to look at an old monastary. We also had a little bread and cheese break on the rocky shores of one of the lakes to relax and dip our feet in the cool, clear water. One thing I learned in Killarney is that fast food fish and chips is NOT a good idea. It may seem like it when it is late and you are starving, but that was one of the grossest things I have ever eaten.
Now on to reasons that I despise Cork, where Dianna and I went for just one day after Killarney, and why I hope never to return:
1) The city smells like raisins, but not in a good way: I love raisins, but I don't love walking around a sketchy town full of sketchy people while the smell of raisins wafts about me. Gross.
2) A bad attitude: ok, so Dublin is not my favorite city in the world, that award has already been given to Galway. However, Dublin is incomprably superior to Cork in every way. Yet, Cork has to boast this stupid cocky attitude all of the time by claiming to be the "true capital of Ireland". Cork is like the rebel American
3) Commercialization and globalization: the city seems exactly like any big city in the United States in that the only stores that line the main walking area could be seen in my hometown. McDonald's littered the old streets that I would have loved if they were lined with traditional pubs instead.
As you can all imagine, I was rather devastated upon leaving Cork to go to Waterford. Except that I wasn't because Cork was a dreadful place. Waterford was a place I had always wanted to see ever since my father brought me back a pristine crystal horse from the famous factory years ago. The factory really was quite a sight to see, and I was happy for once that I look so insanely young because the lady at the counter assumed I was under 18 and gave me the child admission which was only 4 euro when I should have had to pay about 10.
Our stay in Waterford was overall pleasant, it is a bit more quiet there as it is less youth-oriented than cities like Galway. We had a rather horrendous night at the hostel, however, as we were sharing a room with the most obnoxious Irish and English guys I have ever had the "pleasure" of meeting. They left the room and came back in twice, extremely drunk, and were singing and talking for hours. Needless to say, not much sleeping was done that night. The next day, we intended to go on a walking tour of Waterford which focused mainly on the Viking history. We found out that they don't generally run on weekends, but the tour guide, an enthusiastic little Irish man, agreed to take just Dianna and I around the town.
Dublin came next. I have quite a lot of stories about it but am a little sick of typing, so I will just give a brief summary to keep you in suspense: drunk bus lady, the dreadful temple bar, and angry Brits.

Galway is the Best City in the World

Well, perhaps I cannot really say that seeing as how I would have needed to visit every single city before making such a declaration. However, I have a feeling that I will never love a place as much as I love that gorgeous little city on Ireland's coast. I was only frustrated with my dear, sweet Galway for a brief instant upon arriving at a different bus stop as last time and thus being uncertain of where the hostel was. Though, it was not the city's fault, really, it was my memory's. The hostel was just as nice as last time, perhaps even more so because this time we had a room en suite.

The first night there was a Saturday, and I was not ready at all for the sheer insanity of the city on the weekend. Last time I was in Galway it was mid week during the end of March, thus the pubs were esentially empty. This time, it was certainly not the case. All of the women were dressed to impress which Dianna and I certainly did not do, we decided to sport the jeans and long sleeve shirts look. This was remedied the second night however after we felt completely out of place on the first.

We still had fun, however, we went to the hot spots in town and could barely squeeze through the crowds. We met the usual dose of strange people but also some nice ones throughout the night. There was a shocking amount of stag and hen parties (as they refer to bachellor and bachellorette parties) about, and it was just an overall crazy amount of people.

More to come!

Sausage Skins

As previously stated, Dianna and I made our way on a rather uncomfortable train to Munich. Though our stay in Munich was brief, it was definitely entertaining. Munich is a lovely place with a bustling atmosphere and tremendous food! I could easily live off of sauerkraut and sausages followed by a warm apple strudel smothered in vanilla sauce. After arriving at our hostel and making ourselves feel a tiny bit less repulsive after the sweaty train ride, we headed out to what is likely the most well-known beer garden in Munich: the Hofbrauhaus. We got a tip from a local to try the veal sausages- a strange, white sausage served piping hot with sweet mustard. We began to eat the sausage despite the rubbery skin and were quickly greeted with laughter from the table beside us. The German man told us that we were supposed to remove the skin, which we immediately realized made the entire experience better. The food at this brewhouse, especially the desserts, were truly phenomenal and despite the association of this brewery as extremely touristy, it is worth it in my oh-so-humble opinion, if you ever find yourselves in Munich's welcoming arms.