The night before I left for Cork IES took us all to a rugby game, Leinster v. Treviso. Leinster crushed the Italian team and it was really cool to see a game. The Irish care a lot about their rugby. The best part of the game was in the beginning. The players on Leinster ran out to the Chicago Bull's theme song, Sirius. Then, whenever they scored a field goal Chelsea Dagger would play, the Blackhawks goal anthem. I was glad to see Chicago's widespread influence on the international stage. After the game I went with some people to the Porterhouse, where I ended up having a heated political conversation with an Irishman who knew way too much about American politics and who told me I was narrow minded for saying that Bill Clinton's affair with Monica hurt his presidency. Later, when he was too drunk and slurring his words, he apologized over and over again for annoying me. I told him it didn't matter, because it didn't. I left Porterhouse soon after because I had to catch the 8:00 am bus to Cork in a few hours. I had bought the bus ticket along with a friend of mine who only printed out one boarding pass that had both our names on it. When I asked him why he didn't print two, he said it was because we were taking the same bus. I didn't think it was beneficial to bring up the fact that one of us could potentially miss the bus, so I didn't.
I woke up the next morning with a start when my friend Eve called me at 7:45 asking where I was. I told her I wasn't going to make the bus and said I'd get on the 10:00. Before the bus I had to go find a printer to get the pass. I quickly packed up my backpacked, not so quickly took a shower, and stumbled out the door. I walked to the location of the Trinity technology service because I didn't have a printing account yet, and had a plan to bribe the tech guy a full euro to print out my pass if he was going to give me some excuse that they can't print things out for students or something like that. I got there at 9:20, having sweat through my shirt already, to find the tech place closed. My stress meter was beginning to build. I realized then and there that I had to become "that guy" if I wanted to get on the bus. I walked quickly to the library while texting Evan a very passive-aggressive text ("I hate that you didn't print out two passes"), sweating at full force, asking anybody at a computer if they'd be willing to print out my pass for me, offering a euro to the generous person that would. The first few people didn't have accounts, and I became increasingly desperate until a freshman girl said she'd help me. I sent my document to the print station, but then she realized that she couldn't print off from that printer, Provost knows why. I then ran over to the other building that had computers and printers, and asked the first person I saw if she could help me. She said of course and I had the document in hand two minutes later. At this point it was 9:35 am, and whereas three minutes before this I lost all hope of getting on that bus, I now saw the door open. This didn't mean I wasn't extremely pissed off and stressed, not to mention very sweaty.
I ran out the front gate of Trinity and hailed the first cab that passed me. Getting in, the cabby asked me how I was doing.
Me: Not so good.
Cabby: Oh Jaysus, and why the hell not?
Me: I'm stressed, man.
Cabby: Oh no, what happened to yeh?
Me: Woke up late, missed my bus to Cork--
Cabby: Oh God.
Me: Didn't have my boarding pass because my friend only printed out one for himself yesterday.
Cabby: Psht, beauuuutiful.
Me: Ran to Trinity to print but I didn't have a printing account and the tech service was closed.
Cabby: Jaysus...fucking Chroyst.
Me: Ran from person to person, being "that guy," asking everyone if they'd help me with the printing.
Cabby: Oh, fucking hell.
Me: Now I'm stressed and sweating and I hope I don't miss the bus, which I might after all that.
Cabby: Nah my man, you'll be fine. I'll have you there in 5 minutes.
The driver's name was Patrick, or maybe it was Steven, I don't remember now. He was in his mid-20s, and I'm fairly certain I was meant to get into his cab that morning.
Cabby: That kind of shait happens to me all the time. Nothing worse than starting your day off like that.
Me: Oh no, I also only have 50 euro bills, will you accept that?
Cabby: No worries man, we'll work it out. But anyway, sometimes I get so stressed I feel like Michael Douglas in that one movie where he can't order breakfast because he's two minutes late, so he pulls out an oozie and shuts down the place. God, what a brilliant performance.
Me: Haha....yeah.
Cabby: I think we've all been in those situations before.
We got to the bus station at 9:43 am after talking a little bit longer about Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen and how they were womanizers but that you can't blame them really because it's hard being rich and famous, so says Patrick-Steven. I pulled out my 50 euro bill and handed it to him.
Cabby: Oh no, lad, this one's on me.
Me: Wait, really? Are you sure?
Cabby: Yeah, hopefully this will brighten up your mornin' a little bit.
I was so happy I got minorly choked up. I shook his hand and he gave me a very sincere grin and wished me a good day. I walked out of the cab smiling, and all the stress brushed off like wood chips off a freshly carved statue. This experience reminded me of a passage from my favorite book, John Steinbeck's Travels with Charley in Search of America about when he blows a tire in Portland and the gas station owner goes out of his way to get him a replacement that same day and install it for him. Steinbeck remarks that he was so grateful he could have kissed him, and wishes that the man lives until he is 900 years old and "populates the world with his children." I felt the same way about Patrick-Steven. Never under appreciate the value of good people. I got on the bus 10 minutes later and went on to Cork.
Cork is a port city. Along its rivers are cargo ships, cruise ships, small tugboats (shout out Sammie), and the like. I got off the bus and tried to find my way to the hostel. I took a wrong turn and ended up walking up a major hill for ten minutes before I called Evan who told me I was going the wrong way. I got to the hostel finally and put my stuff down in the room we were sharing with six other American girls who were there from London. They were in Cork for two days, and only because someone told them to go to Cork instead of Dublin because they were the same thing except Cork was cheaper. How misled they were! Then we went across town to find the Bed and Breakfast of the other girls we came with. Their room was pure luxury, and after hanging out for a few hours we left and explored the University of Cork College campus, which was actually extremely nice.
After that the five of us went to a restaurant called Cafe Mexicana, and not only was this where the hilariousness of Cork emerged, but it was also the best dinner I've had so far in Ireland. Whenever we go anywhere we always get embarrased with how American we sound when asking waiters basic and obvious questions. But the group of six American girls sitting at the table next to us definitely won in that category. When we sat down we probably waited for about 20 minutes until someone asked us what we wanted to order, but right before this, as the waiter was walking to our table one of the girls at the table next to us says, "So um, yeah. We're ready to order whenever," in the most condescending way possible. At this, my table burst out laughing, clearly about that comment, and proceeded to laugh at everything this table said. Some of the other comments included, "I cannot believe I just touched the brown sugar with my finger," and, when they had substituted talking for texting other people on their phones, "Look at us, we're so 21st century." Again, everything from that point was funny. That night we bought wine and cider and looked up things to do.
In terms of attractions, Cork doesn't offer much. And by much I mean that tourist attraction #8 in the guidebook was the General Post Office, and viewers were encouraged to admire its neoclassical architecture. We decided that we'd go to Cobh the next day, and then went out to meet with Eve's friend who goes to UCC for the semester.
That night we went to a pub called The Brog, and while there I thought I'd try talking to the locals. I was standing at the bar when down at the end I made eye contact with a girl who mouthed the words, "F*** my life" to me, and I went to ask what was wrong. She was having trouble with her boyfriend who was there as well and acting douchey. I started talking to her friend, ordered some drinks, and 25 minutes later, when I asked where she went to school, she said that she was in high school, 17 years old. Red flag (shout out Sam Gordon). Her friend then came back and sat down with us, looking upset, then began to cry about her boyfriend. Needless to say this conversation had to end then and there, and I found my friends. Later that night as we left Eve asked me, "How were those girls?" To which I responded, "Seventeen." As we were leaving, Evan and I had to go to the bathroom, so we found an alley close by. When I got to my self-designated corner, it was clear that I wasn't the first one there that night. I looked down and saw that six inches from my foot was a real and full piece of human shait. Oh, Cork.
The next day we woke up and took the train to Cobh, pronounced like "Cove." Though there was barely anything to do there, we had the greatest time. Cobh's claim to fame is that it is the last place the Titanic stopped at before departing for Ellis Island. This year happens to be the 100th year anniversary of the Titanic, and there's a little museum. You'd think that they would play up this historical fact, but they don't. One of Cobh's tourist attractions is the "Titanic monument," which we passed on the corner, and is this:
A tad underwhelming, but that's their prerogative. We also saw a really beautiful cathedral, which we enjoyed and very much appreciated. On the way down from the cathedral we spotted another full piece of human feces on the ground, which we of course found hilarious and quite intriguing that we had seen two now in two days. This then led to a major theme of the Cobh day trip--inventing slogans for the place. Eve wisely wrote them down as they were created, and they are as follows:
Insert "Cobh" before all of these:
- Shitholes and biohazards
- Really?
- We don't give a f***
- You can't make us more depressed than we already are
- Detroit's sister city
- Don't ever stop drinking
- Was Dublin closed?
Anyway, we had a great time in a place where there was little to no fun to be had, and left happily. We didn't do that much that night because we were too tired. We went to dinner at a fast food place called Abrakebabra. It was actually delicious, and then went back to the hostel soon after. The six American girls were there when we got back and we talked to them for a while until they became viciously sarcastic about everything and I stopped caring.
The next day was the most notable because we finally got to kiss the Blarney stone. One of my friend's family members lives near Cork, so she drove us there (shout out Claire Hoodmaker, your first shout out!) so now I can cross that milestone off the bucket list:
After that short stop we caught the bus back to Dublin. Thus concludes the highlights of a rather memorable, funny weekend. Thanks for reading.
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