From Liverpool, I flew back into Cork. The traffic was so bad that the bus driver let us off in the middle of the road so that we could walk to wherever we were going, as it was going to take longer to actually drive there. I wandered around a bit, looking for a decent tshirt before my bus left in an hour, but couldn't find the tourist info center that had the one I wanted. So instead, I grabbed dinner – sandwich and crisps from a convenience store (do they call them something else?) – and made my way back to the bus station.
There were so many people that wanted on my bus that they called up two more buses and made them direct trips to different cities. One to Tralee, one to Killarney, and one to somewhere else that was just before Killarney. See, it's always so easy to get out west and then once you're there THERE'S NO GETTING BACK! Seriously, a hundred buses arrive on the west coast every day and maybe three leave. In any case, this meant that I actually got to Killarney while it was still light out. The town seemed much the same as it had before, save the addition of massive decorations for the Gaelic football final that was scheduled a few days from then. I even remembered how to get to the hostel, and the clerk actually remembered me from two years ago! I was too flattered at the time to have been creeped out by that.
It had been one loooong day of traveling (see the train ride through Manchester, etc. that was all on this same day), and the Timbers would be playing at approximately two a.m., and since there was WiFi I planned on watching them. So, it wasn't much of a surprise then that I slept through the meeting time the next day for the tours of the Dingle peninsula which I kinda wanted to go on, since I didn't have a car and that seemed to be the only way to get over there. Instead, I grabbed a German girl that was moping around in my room looking lonely and we walked around the Killarney National Park and I took a zillion pictures.
Once again, though, I booked too many nights in Killarney, because after the park, there really just wasn't anything to do. There are more Americans in Killarney than any other group of people, especially the Irish, so between the tourist attitude and the local attitude towards tourists, the atmosphere of the town isn't all that great in the evening. I hurredly booked a room in Tralee for the following night so that I could get to Doolin, where there was hiking, as early as possible.
I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to catch up on soccer scores (Sky Sports is fucking evil and stupid. More on that later, I think.), and I called home for the first time to let my parents know that I was alive and well, if a little bored. I left fairly early the next day, hoping to get some breakfast at the wonderful place next to the hostel, but as it was Sunday there wasn't a thing open or a soul about. At the bus station, an elderly couple was fuming mad that the bus to Dingle had been canceled because of 'The Football.' I loved how no one called it just 'football' but always had to add that article 'THE Football,' which to me made it into a proper noun. This applied, I think, to both soccer-football and Gaelic football, although in this case they were talking about the Gaelic version, in which Kerry, the county we were in, was to be playing the final against their rivals and neighbors, Cork. Anyway, The Football was kind of a big deal, I guess, what with bus drivers refusing to run their routes during the match, and the decorations everywhere (houses, businesses, cars, lawns, children).
From the park:
Boy did I love Cork. It had me with the coffee, really, at the hostel. Fresh roasted in Cork! €2! Ummm, mmm, mmm, coffee. It came in your very own (rented, anyway) mini-French press. I always love ordering tea in this part of the world because they give you your very own pot and it makes me feel special. I know that sounds silly, but it's just one of those things about traveling that just tickles me. The hostel's lobby also had free WiFi which also made me very happy after being in the techno-wasteland of Achill. (I love Achill for that, and I hope that relaxed, get-away-from-it-all atmosphere doesn't change too much, but when ya need something done, it's awfully frustrating.) I got directions via public transit to Turner's Cross, the soccer park where I was going to see Cork City FC play that night.
But what really cemented my liking of the city was the market downtown, which I ran across the next day while exploring the city. Much like Pike Place in Seattle (one of the only cool things left in that city), it was semi-underground with wooden ceilings and walls. Full of fresh fish, meat and veggies, it smelled like it, too. I've always loved Pike Place, so I was excited to explore every little corner of the place. This was when I ran across the shark. 
Wow, I can't say I've ever seen a dead shark before. I almost felt sorry for the thing. Ok, not almost. I really did feel sorry for it. And that's speaking as someone who both hunts and fishes. But even I have to admit that it was pretty neat to be this close to a real shark. So the camera finally came out and I became a full-fledged tourist, taking pictures of sharks and streets and buildings.
A lot of things about Cork reminded me of Portland, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. First of all, there's a big river that runs through the middle of downtown. This means that there are a lot of bridges, like Portland, and also like Portland, this means there is a ton of traffic. Fortunately, the downtown is small enough that one is able to walk everywhere anyway, so it wasn't too much of a problem for people that don't need to commute long distances everyday. Then, there's the nickname "People's Republic of Cork" which, adjusted for the name of course, is also one of Portland's nicknames (along with beertown, bridgetown, soccer city usa, stumptown). Plus, Cork has several breweries including Beamish, Murphy's and… and one other I can't remember. I never figured out if they had any smaller breweries, though. I figure they will soon enough since even Dublin has gotten into the organic microbrews scene.
The night after the soccer game, I went to the pub that gave discounts for the hostel I was staying in. The rugby World Cup was on, and I was mildly interested in watching it, since having learned some of the rules, I was starting to find kind of exciting. Ireland wasn't even playing, but two teams in there group were, so there was enough interest that more than a handful of people turned out to watch, too. I ended up talking with a couple people until closing which was nice, since when traveling alone I can go for long stretches without saying more than "thank you" and "pint of ___, please."
Next morning, nicely hungover, I checked out, found some food at a diner right in front of the Airlink bus stop, and began the whirlwind trip to England, which I'm sure I've blogged about somewhere. Yep, there it is! More pictures of Cork:
