Day 3 in Cork

October 20th

It's laundry day. I'm out of clean clothes, and Brian's down to his last day's worth, so it's off to the laundrette we go.   After watching the clothes go in circles for a while, it's time to meet Turly & Jim back at our B&B. The clothes aren't quite dry, but they don't seem too bad.  

It's also checkout time at the B&B. This is probably when I should mention that the reason Jim's not staying at the same place we are (he's actually a bus-ride away. It's not that far out in the boonies, but we're walking distance from the city centre) is that he's still using the vouchers for B&B's, while we used all of ours in Dublin. At this time of year (plus the cut that the various middle-men get), we actually end up paying less by paying for the B&B with a credit card than we would by using the vouchers.

Trinity Presbyterian

(22K)

On the way down the hill from the B&B, we stop to look at the church with the leaning steeple (Trinity Presbyterian) we've been walking past for a few days. It's a noticeable lean, especially when you look at it with the straight wall of the building in the foreground near it. I find myself wondering if the people putting it up stopped for pints partway through the construction. Update, July 24, 2005: Of course the actual explanation isn't as interesting, but that's life, I guess.

We tried going to the art gallery, but it's mostly closed for renovation (are you sensing a theme here? We sure were.) so there are only a few rooms open. There are a couple things I like, but the catalog is in black & white and there aren't any postcards of 'em. Oh well.

We're kind of at odds for a while. We'd planned on spending the rest of the morning at the art gallery, but with that closed, we're not sure where to go. We see a used bookstore, but most of the used books are priced higher than new books in the states, and I'm not that impressed by the selection, so we move on.

Murphy's Brewery (84K)	The North Cathedral (as seen from Shandon) (53K)
Another stop at the tourist bureau gets me a short history of Ireland. I figure if nothing else, I can use it to refresh my memory when it comes time to write up the trip. We also decide that walking up to Shandon should give us some good views of the city, and this turns out to be a good idea. On the way to Shandon, we see the Murphy's Brewery. On the way up the steeple at Shandon, Jim plays Bells of St. Mary   on the bells. Farther up, we have to walk right past them, and Turly tells us how kids will sometimes wait for tourists to get to the bells and then ring them. I'm pretty sure that would be a loud experience. After climbing down from the steeple, we walk around the church to get a good view of how the faces don't tell the same time.
St. Ann Shandon (The Four-Faced Liar) (97K)	Brian & Jim, looking for the right view of Shandon (15K)

Next to Shandon is the Butter Museum. What a strange concept. We try to go, but it's closed. I'm a little disappointed, but only because I was wondering what the heck you'd have in a butter museum.

We seem to run out of things to see in Cork, so it must be time to buy the wooley jumper   for Mom. Turly forgets which store it is we should buy one at, so he asks at a fine men's store, and we're directred to Quill's, which thankfully has a sale on them, and I get a nice sweater for Mom for under 30 quid.

Now we're really done in Cork, so it's back to the Corner House for a few. After a few pints, it's time for Jim to be off to the train station (where he left his luggage in a locker in order to avoid an extra run out to his B&B) and thence to Dublin, so we say goodbye to Jim for the rest of the trip. We'll meet up with him in Gatwick Airport. I look at the list of things we wanted to see in Cork   and it looks as though we haven't missed anything, though perhaps we could've seen another pub or two.  

While Jim and Turly are away, the proprietor of the Corner House, Fergal gives us pens and lighters with the pub's name and address on them, so here it is:

The Corner House
7 Coburg Street
Cork
(021) 500655

I highly recommend it if you're in Cork.

Once Turly is back, Fergal also gives us shots of Redbreast, which is the only single-malt Irish Whisky. Made by Fitzgerald & Co. Yummy stuff. After that, it's off to an Indian takeaway for a quick sandwich before catching our cab to the ferry in Ringaskiddy. The cab ends up being almost 20 minutes late, but that's okay this time, since we'd planned on it and have plenty of time. The only problem is that while we're waiting for the cab, it's raining, and since we've checked out of Auburn House, and the proprietress isn't around, we have to wait outside. Oh well, it isn't raining hard, and we take advantage of the entryway. Our luck at dodging the rain   seems to have run out.

The cab-driver on the ride to the ferry is less talkative than others we've had (though not a lot less once we start talking sport), and his accent is much thicker. I can actually understand most of what he says, though, which probably is a sign that it's time to be moving on.

Well, we're in Ringaskiddy, and there's no sign of a pub near where we are. In fact, there's no sign of anything near the ferryport with the possible exception of some water. And it's dark and it's raining, so even if we wanted to walk around and explore, there wouldn't be much to see. Oh well, I guess we'll have to spend our Irish money on the ferry. We've got nearly an hour to kill in the terminal. Shades of the long wait in Holyhead, but that was a nicer terminal (since trains stopped there, as well), and it was a sunny day. Now it's raining and dark. Ugh.

There's a group of 28 Americans (well, actually just two, who are getting the tickets for the whole group, who's standing off to the side) in line ahead of us. One of the guys is trying to crack wise with the girl at the counter, who clearly would rather be sitting at home than working here tonight.

Him: Are our cabins on the Libido Deck?

Her: [Stony silence]

I'm reminded why American tourists get a name for being ugly. I mean, we've screwed up on tipping   , but at least we've tried to be polite.

We queue to board the 2100 ferry at 2015. I guess that's right, but it seems a bit early to me. It means we didn't have to wait all that long in the ferryport, which is probably for the best. Oh well, at least the ferry will have more to do than the terminal at the ferryport does. We get onto the ferry. The room is quite small. The bathroom is almost as large. We drop our bags and head for an onboard pub with a TV, so we can watch Ireland play Argentina in the Rugby World Cup. Prices are relatively cheap on the boat. £3.45 buys us two beers, which is 15% cheaper than prices on land. Then again, the beers might not be full pints, so it's hard to say for sure. Ireland finishes the game camped on the Pumas' try line, but can't score. There are a few people cheering at their loss (must be English), but there's quite a bit of mourning for the Irish team. With the match over, we wander to the duty free shop   to spend the last of our Irish money. The items there, plus another beer gets us pretty close to having used up the money, (nothing left but change, which is fine as a souvenir) and then it's time to sleep. On the way back to the cabin, I bump my head on a smoke-detector in the ceiling. I think the ceilings are only 2m high, and being 1.95m tall, the up-and-down of the boat, plus the smoke detectors hanging down about 3 cm, plus me having had a few pints makes for hazardous walking.

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