Leaving the hectic hustle of Dublin and traveling only a few hours to serene forest was amazing. On day two or three of the trip we stayed in a little town and they offered horse-drawn carriage rides through national forest. Honestly I felt like I had traveled into some Masterpiece Theatre movie and instead of American Apparel leggings and a granny sweater I was in sweeping gossamer dresses.
I spent most of the stops on the trip sitting among ruins with Bob Dylan or Cat Power on my iPod and scribbling what I thought were profound thoughts into my journal. I am sure most people on our bus trip thought me a right wanker, but I have never seen them again so who gives a rats ass.
Halfway through our trip we visited a small island, Inis Mo, which changed up my routine a bit. The main thing to do on this island is rent a bike and attempt to ride said bike (rust trap) to what I am guessing was some ruins then continue on in your circle till you make it back to town. Sustaining my strong anti me + bike stance I stayed behind in town and played fetch with one of the many random dogs that litter Irish towns. I also looked in every tourist store and explored the grocery store with there 5 euro tomatoes.
In all this wondering about town I had caught the eye of the hostel owner, who that night decided he would show me and my friends a good time. And by good time I do mean getting absolutely shit-faced and then having a dance party in the hostel kitchen and watching some local kids roll a tractor wheel down the giant hill into town. If you were inclined to use the word legendary this would be a good way to describe this night.
Then the next morning we packed up and left and I said adieu to my Irish hostel owner for good.
Or so I thought