Cork

Usually Joe and I go walk about when exploring a new city...unless our destination is just terribly far or we have bad weather.  As our Irish luck would have it, we had bad weather.  Cold, cold rain and wind.

Our second day in Cork (rather than continuing to Dublin) started out with us taking the train from our dockside in Cobh to Cork City - about 20 minutes away.  In Cobh, the wind was blowing a gale - it damn near lifted me off the gangway!  We hoped that the weather would be a bit better inland at Cork, but once out of the station there we discovered it was just as fookin' terrible!  Within five minutes we were soaked to the skin.  Shite!  So we ran back to the station to catch a cab to one of the shopping centers.  Even wetter!! 

Okay.  Let's regroup and reset.  We want a bit of shopping, some lunch, and a couple of pubs.  Let's go.

We got our shopping done and set out (once again in the rain...we are out of our fookin' minds) for about a five minute walk.  We found a lovely lunch spot with a good beer selection and sympathetic staff - bringing extra napkins to help us dry off.  As a testament to friendly folks here, we asked - in passing - if there was a cab stand nearby or if we could call one from the restaurant.  Our waitress said, "sure!"  About three minutes later, the manager came over to our table and told us whenever we were ready for the bill, she would call a cab for us.  And sure and begorrah she did!

We cabbed it over to our favorite spot of the trip (so far) - a tiny little pub called Sin É (pronounced Shin-nay).  This pub and bartender were right out of central casting - exactly the kind of place we were looking for.

Dark and woody, walls covered with memorabilia from years of patrons, cramped corner tables lit with candles stuck in Jameson bottles, and several Irish mainstream and local craft beer pulls, we felt right at home.

There were two gentlemen at the bar batting about the news of the day with Orin, the barkeep.  Fookin' this and shite that, my heart danced with the Irish brogue filtering through the air.

"Oh, lads," he said, "I spent turdy minutes lookin' for my fookin' keys tiss mornin'! I knew I had'm 'cauz I opened da fookin' door wit 'em.  Finely fount 'em still n the fookin' lock!"

Talking about higher American ABV beers, he said, "Sure you be drinkin' da boozy ones n sure-n you'll be singin' 'Git yur tits out far da lads!'" as he lifted his shirt and waved his arms in the air.

I really wanted to hand him a phone book and let him just read it to me.  By the end of the day, I was pronouncing things, "luvely" and "gooin" and of course, "fookin."

Oh we're coomin' back, lads.  I need more of dis luvely land n my life!

We finally headed back to Cobh and onto the ship.  Off to France and St. Malo.