Today begins as peacefully as is possible.  We head up to the heather for a quick bite before going to take in the serene place that is Glendalough.  I really hate that we don’t have more time here because this is just such a place that you could get a bottle of whiskey and sit out under the stars at night.  It’s pretty natural, because of all the places we have been, this is the place that most reminds me of my beloved Scotland.

We head down for the hiking trail.  It is just so very gorgeous.  We take the track down to the cemetery and then the lake before hiking back up to our car and taking off to Dublin.  Trust this all took longer than what this paragraph insinuated but I have a hard time writing about Glendalough because I really just want to go back.

We head out to Dublin.  We check into our hotel, Harrington Hall.  The same place I stayed last time.  Perfect due to parking and location to the city.  We park our car and head out.  Our goal here.  Drink in as much of Ireland as possible on our last full day here.  So we do.  First... walking through St. Stephen’s Green to get Stag’s Head Pub where we get a pint and of course in Ireland that pint never changes unless you specify and then my sterotypical favorite.  Potato soup and soda bread with unbeatable Irish butter.  Such a cliche, but it truly does make so much sense when you are here because it is warm and filling in the damp cool weather, with the nectar of gods to wash it down.

We finish up and go walking about.  I know we see St. Patrick’s and Christchurch Cathedral respectively.  I also know at some point we visited Brazen Head Pub and the Jameson Distillery, but to be quite honest something went off track around the Lord Edward Pub.  

No first if I mention a pub in these blogs, it has been researched and it is good and known for some reason or other.  However our day got real hazy around the Lord Edward.  We shuffled in for a beer.  A single beer and what we got was an experience.

There were three regulars at the bar.  One of whom I can’t remember his name, but at some point started telling Tammy about the woman he loved.  Can’t make this shit up.  The other was a small and nervous little man named Seamus.  Seriously... this is all true.  Then there was Tommy.  Rhastafarian Tommy.  Or at least that is what he told us.  I exclaimed, “Jah bless.”  To which he replied with a confused look, “what the hell are you talking about?”  BUSTED!  “You’re not a rhastafarian, you are just a pothead.”  Tommy slaps the bar and starts laughing like a hyena.  Tammy and I are both startled.

Next thing I know Tommy has delved into our lives and he and I have taken to smacking each other on the shoulder.  To be fair, I started it.  He finds out that Tammy is the Irish girl and then looks to me.  “You Irish?”  “A little,” I answer, “but mostly Scottish.”  “I fookin’ knew it.  Your full of too much piss.  I’m going to call you Haggis.”

Keith the bartender, a somewhat younger and clean cut version of Captain Jack from Pirates of the Carribean shouts, “pipe down you fookin’ old fook.”  Tommy starts yelling back.  They continue the back and forth arguing.  “Seamus is fookin’ deaf in his left ear because of your loud trap.  Isn’t that right Seamus?”  Keith exclaims.  Seamus just smiles.  He is clearly amused by Tommy, but mostly because I start arguing with Tommy as well.  I suspect Tommy tends to hold court the most with Keith or anyone for that matter, while timid and nervous Seamus just watches.  I think Tommy is who he wishes he could be more like.  For what reason I have not a clue.

We sit and sip our beer.  Keith teaches us some gaelic.  He shows Tammy the gaelic version of her name, gets to mine and was like... “it’s just Jennifer.”  Tommy screams, “it’s fookin’ Haggis.”  I smack him across the chest and he laughs again.  Wheezing and struggling for breath again like a hyena that has lived on 3 packs of Pall Mall’s for the best of his natural life.

Tammy eventually becomes involved in her conversation with the kind and gentle man who’s name I for got, leaving me with this loud and obnoxious claimed Rhastafarian with a lichen growing off of his eyelid.  I can’t imagine what state that skin tag is in.  He clearly is still alive because he has more alcohol in his veins than blood at this point.  Cancer is screwed if it tries to attack Tommy.  He has sterilized himself with Guinness and Irish Whiskey... and some other concoction that he pulls out of his pocket.

We finish up and head out, but not before I argue with who I now refer to as Fookin’ Tommy for another 10 minutes.  “Fookin’ Tommy your and idiot.”  “Ohhhhh... is that whatcha think Haggis... do you wanna get high?”  Seriously I don’t know how he makes his transitions.  

We manage to extricate ourselves from the bar.  I don’t know what happened after that.  I know we went for dinner.  We put a lock on Ha’penny bridge over the River Liffey, like I said the Jameson Distillery, Brazen Head and Temple Bar were in there somewhere.  

Does it really matter though.  That experience is the reason that I travel.  I mean... that doesn’t happen in Chicago.  That experience was sooooo fookin’ Irish.  That would never happen in Chicago with that amount of authenticity.  And it is all because we showed up to this bar, with three crazy regulars and a pissy bartender just living their regular damn lives.