Syrian Refugees

Everyone is in an uproar about this Syrian refugee "crisis." Normally, I don't chime in on these types of things too much, but here goes my .02. Begin rant.

I don't rely heavily on my facebook feed for a place to get valuable, accurate information about what's going on in the world, but it does give me a pretty accurate representation about how my friends feel about topics like this.. At least until I unfollow them. I'm honestly probably only following about half of my friends list (and that's a generous estimate). I've been seeing two sides of facebook propaganda the last couple of weeks. The far right side says we don't need to allow refugees, and if we do, go with Donald Trump's suggestion of making Muslims carry a special ID that shows their faith because they could be terrorists. People of America, may I introduce, Hitler with his new and improved, unkempt toupee'?  While we're making them carry special IDs and putting patches on their shoulders, why don't we just skip a few steps and start incinerating them? Honestly, how does that not sound like the beginning of the Holocaust?

Hitler similarities aside, Donald Trump may be an excellent businessman, but business politics are nothing close to world politics. In business, you can lose your temper, scream "you're fired," and basically ignore anyone you don't like. You can't ignore Russia, people; and you can't bully them into any position you want. If Trump and Putin got into it, as much as I hate to say it, that's a war game Putin would win. Trump has straight up said he knows more than our Generals. I'm pretty sure that's another place Hitler went wrong. There's also this thing called the United Nations where we have a permanent seat with veto power! Trump, if elected, may discover that playing games with the stock market is not the same as running a nation. And while the United States President may be considered the most powerful man in the world, he doesn't rule the world, and there are still rules he has to follow. But I digress, this isn't about Trump...

The second half of that argument was that refugees might be terrorists. That's ignorant, people. Of course some of them are terrorists. Are all of them? No. In fact, a great majority of them aren't terrorists. And the terrorists that might be kept out by not being in allowed in as refugees would find another way in. Honestly, does no one remember 9/11? Did no one read about how the attackers in Paris all had passports? One of them even had a French passport! If terrorists want in, they'll get in. Does being a refugee make it easier to get here? Yes, but it makes it harder for them to hide here. Which is their ultimate goal. And while most of the refugees coming here wouldn't be outright terrorists, or even Muslims for that matter - I know, it's hard to believe someone from the Middle East could belong to a religion other than Islam, but Syria practically encompasses Lebanon, a State that's been ruled by both Christians and Muslims since it's inception. - a majority of them would be Muslims. And when a large population of one religion or nationality or even region is moved en-mass to another place in the world, they will band together. That's why we have neighborhoods in the United States that are comprised almost solely of Hispanics, or Russians, or Africans. It's simple psychology and sociology. Those who would have only been considered lip-service Muslims will find familiarity in their local Mosque. It will be the only place that feels like home in a world of white men who are nothing but suspicious of them. If that mosque happens to be one that preaches to the more extreme side of Islam, you're bound to breed a few terrorists.

The other side of the news feed propaganda I've been seeing is the whole "we were refugees too. We're all immigrants" blah blah bullshit. Allow me to give you all a history lesson. The United States did not begin as a place for people to escape to. For many, that may have been how it was, but people came here to settle a new land. In the beginning, this land was still owned by the English and the people who came to settle here were coming here to settle in a land where they had to fight the Indians, win, and start a family and worship in their own way. Fast forward a little and you have the Revolutionary War. This is the part you should pay attention to. When the government was imposing unfair taxes, the thirteen colonies revolted and started a war that won them their independence. In Syria you have president Bashar Al-Assad who was never meant to be president. He was an ophthalmologist in London for crying out loud! BUT! For ten years (beginning in 2001) he returned to Syria as his familial duty when his father and older brother died rather unexpectedly (whatever anyone tells you, Syria isn't a Democracy. It's "officially" a Republic and unofficially a monarchy) and ruled with a gentle hand, slowly implementing more western policies so as not to upset those in power who liked things "the old way." In 2011 when the Arab Spring began, things went to shit. Instead of the Syrian people stopping to think about it and saying, "hey, we've got a President here who is trying to make things better for us," they hopped on the Arab Spring bandwagon and got a little out of hand. I'm not in any way condoning how Assad gassed his people, nor the civil war he's been engaged in, but I can see where he's coming from. Most people in Syria don't understand their own politics (neither do most Americans for that matter); but if you put yourself in Assad's shoes all you can really say is, "Dude, I've been here for ten years and I've been giving you ungrateful assholes as much as I can as fast as I can. Believe it or not, my hands are tied. How do you think my dad and brother died? Now you want to revolt? Fine! We'll just go back to the way my dad used to handle things!" The Syrian people, while they didn't have all the liberties they wanted, were too blind to realize they were being given those liberties about as fast as they could come. It took until 1920 for women to be able to vote in the U.S.. That's 144 years in a state founded on Christian values and equal rights. You think you'll get it any time soon in a nation founded on Islam and Sharia law?! Baby steps, people.

The Syrian people had the gall to start a civil war, but lack the fortitude to finish one. This is a population which has solved a majority of their issues with violence. They were getting their desired changes through diplomacy and started a war anyway. Now they're running. Even if it was only the women and children coming to the United States as refugees, you just took away the Syrian Army's main reason to fight for their own independence. I'll preface this next statement by admitting that I am not a veteran. (I'm trying to join the military, but I have to wait another year before I'll be allowed in for medical reasons) However, I'm pretty sure most of our current military, particularly those who joined shortly after 9/11, did so so they could protect their homeland. So they could make sure their loved ones would continue to sleep soundly at night. They went off to war so the women and children in their nation never had to witness the violence they brought to the doorstep of our enemies. One might argue that there's not been a war fought among our homes since the Civil War like there is in Syria right now. To that I say, shouldn't they be MORE motivated to fight?! If there were a war being fought among our homes every redneck in the nation (man, woman, and probably youth) would be wearing mossy oak with an American flag sewn on their shoulder lugging around their bow, shotgun, pistol, and any other weapon they could find. If we're doing anything for the Syrian people by taking in their refugees, we're taking away their motivation to fight. And as an American, I don't necessarily care to harbor cowards who haven't the gall to fight for themselves.

End rant.

I'll Have A Day On The Rocks, Please.

In my last post, I mentioned that I'd taken up rock climbing since I moved to Colorado, but I didn't really say anything else about it. That's because I'm basically in love with rock climbing and it deserves its very own post.

You may remember when I went to AZ with Leo, he took me on my first rock climbing adventure. My second climbing venture happened on my trip to Italy. While I was there I met a complete stranger off of tinder who offered to take me climbing. Of course, everyone in Italy then was a complete stranger. But this one was an American stationed in Vicenza. So I met him at the train station with my shoes, a beaner, my ATC, and enough webbing to make a harness (because that's all the rock climbing gear I took on my backpacking trip), jumped in his car, and let him drive me to a whole other city half an hour away. Yes, I recognize the safety concerns involved in this endeavor, but you know what? I'm still here. And I got to go rock climbing. And I made an awesome friend that day! Paul, who I still talk to, took me to Lugminano and explained how it had been one of the biggest rock climbing places in Italy back in the 80's. It was probably a class 3 hike in, but there were soooo many routes! Paul didn't know what the names of the routes were, or what they were graded at (they use a different grading system in Europe than we do here in the states, anyway) but it was fun!

Climbing in Lugminano, Italy. Paul let me borrow his harness!

That day I basically decided when I came back to the states I was going to go learn to climb somewhere.. I initially thought I was going to buy a beat up old van or something and drive it to red rocks just outside of Vegas and just camp out and climb for a few months. Obviously, that's not what happened. And I'm glad it didn't. I really like frequent showers.

When I moved most of my things up here to Colorado in May, I wasted exactly zero time. I was only here for a week before I was to start my road trip to the North East, pretty much only owned what I'd had in Italy plus a harness (climbing in a Swiss seat made from webbing is never fun), I had no idea what I was actually doing, didn't know anyone in the area who climbed, and I had a severely pulled bicep tendon that was still healing. None of those seemed like good reasons to not go climbing. It took me all of two days in Colorado before I found a random person on facebook with enough experience to teach myself and my new roommate the climbing basics. Again, I met two complete stranger in a parking lot at some ungodly early hour and drove off into the mountains with them. Except this time with my roommate. I have yet to regret a spontaneous adventure, and I'm quite glad I took this one.

My roommate and I, climbing at Clear Creek.

I learned the basics of climbing that day, and since I got back from my road trip, I've gone on several climbing ventures. In the last two months I've gone from someone who didn't know what cleaning was to climbing a multi-pitch called "Lost in the Jungle," leading and cleaning routes up to 5.9s, and just last week I climbed a 5.10C called "Via Comatose Amigo." To say that I'm in love with this sport would be putting it mildly. My goal is to be able to lead a 5.11 by the end of the year, and perhaps one day do a climbing competition. Which makes me wonder why I'm sitting on my couch right now instead of climbing... I should do something about that.

Making my way up Via Comatose Amigo - A 5.10C

Since I've Been Gone..

Ok, so it's been a few minutes since my last post, so here's what's been happening. I came back to the states, took up photography, bought an old beat up VW Passat wagon, drove it around the northeast for a month, went to the West Point graduation, did New York City up right, ate at the Chegg on Long Beach Island in New Jersey with my body builder buddies, hiked on the Appalachian Trail, moved to Denver, CO, somehow got a part-time job as a mechanic, a full-time job as a police Dispatcher, and have taken up rock climbing. It's been an adventure to say the least. Here's the highlights...

When I graduated high school, I applied to West Point. Like so many others, I wasn't offered an appointment. I was, however, offered a scholarship from West Point's Association of Graduates to attend Marion Military Institute for a year. If I performed well there, I was all but guaranteed an appointment to West Point the following year. While I was at MMI, I decided West Point wasn't the route I wanted to take to get my commission, but I made some awesome friends - many of whom went on to graduate West Point in May. I was fortunate enough to be invited to stay with Lt. Col. Charles Faint and his family on base during graduation week. I really can't say enough about what awesome hosts they were. Or how nice it was to be on base instead of having to drive there every day. And having Charlie and his wife Lilla give me directions so I didn't wind up completely and utterly lost.

West Point Graduation Parade

The graduation was, well, a military graduation. Efficient. General Dempsey was the honored speaker, and he sang (and made the graduates sing) "New York, New York." Aside from his little Sinatra piece, the General actually laid out some real words of wisdom. I'd love to have lunch with that man.

My roommate from MMI, Chelsea Kay graduated that day, and was commissioned by none other than the Superintendent, General Robert Caslen. How she got the Sup to pin her, I don't know, but she did. It was really cool to get to attend her commissioning in the Sup's garden, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the school. It also gave me a kick in the ass. I didn't attend West Point, but I finished college and did my short stint of travels. And here was Kay, kicking my ass and getting her commission first. So now I have no choice but to get mine and catch up with her.

Chelsey Kay, the new butter bar

After I saw Kay off, I made a B-line for New York City. As fate would have it, I discovered that I wasn't the only old cadet from MMI who attended the graduation and was spending the next couple of days in the Big Apple. My old platoon leader from MMI, Roderick Bonner was also in town. We spent the next day sight seeing and tasting all the local cuisines... And by the local cuisines, what I really mean is hot dogs from street carts and the occasional piece of pizza.

The 9-11 memorial on Memorial Day

After NYC, my plans to see a friend in upstate fell through when he had to skip town for work. So I spent a night in the Catskills camping out of my car and hiking. As uneventful as a story as this is, I mostly just want a reason to post this picture..

The sunset where I camped.

My next stop was New Jersey. I was genuinely surprised when not one single gas station I pulled up to was self-serve. Apparently, there's a law in Jersey against people pumping their own gas. No, seriously. Every gas station has attendants to pump your gas for you... I spent the next few days trying to find a balance between not eating too much, and looking like a bird at every meal... Meals, of course, where every few hours. Because I was with Pat the body builder and his body builder buddies. Who only stop eating to work out and sleep. I ate with them, I worked out with them (although we pretended not to know each other in the gym. I'm not leg pressing any cars anytime soon), and I slept in Pat's house. And Pat made sure I got to do the tourist stuff like buy a lighter from Ron Jon's, check out the famous people's houses, and drive the length of Long Beach Island. He's a pretty cool guy when he's not busy trying to date my sister.

The traditional beach pic.

Pat on his third round of wings at the Chegg.

The next stop I made really should have a post all its own, but for the sake of catching up, I'm just going to give it this short piece. That, and I really want to go to sleep.

Becky Lessner and I have been best friends since we both ran on the Point Park Cross Country team in 2012. We decided while I was still in Spain that we were going to do part of the Appalachian Trail. Becky wanted to do the portion up in Maine, but we really didn't have the time to get up there and back, so we opted for a piece out of the middle of the trail. On the first of June we bailed out of our beds at the hostel in Harper's Ferry and got ready to go. It was raining, but we were super prepared. We donned our rain jackets and set out into the 75 degree morning. It was uncharacteristically cold considering it had been well over 80 for the last couple of weeks. We made it about an hour before we realized the temperature wasn't getting higher - it was only getting lower. I'd packed for this trip almost three weeks ago, and I certainly wasn't prepared for this. I had a single pair of pants, a pair of shorts, two shirts, and a rain jacket I'd borrowed from Becky. About twelve miles in we made it to a cabin for hikers and started getting comfortable. We'd taken our hammocks to sleep in and no sleepingbags because, well, it was supposed to be in the 80's and 90's and only getting down to 70 at night. The temperature kept dropping and I was tired of being cold and wet. One of the other hikers on the trail (Over Forty was his trail name), exasperated, expressed how he wished we could start a fire in the furnace in the cabin. "Furnace?! Fire?!" My posture perked like a dog being told to sit for its favorite treat. "Yeah," Over Forty said, "there's a furnace in here, but there's no dry wood." I made my way into the cabin and snatched three dry pieces of wood out of the pile. "Y'all go get wood. We're making a fire." Everybody started bringing me wood. Small stuff at first, and then bigger pieces. One of the fellows there just kept repeating how we would never get a fire going because the wood was too wet. He quit bringing in wood after his second time out, complaining that he was cold. With a paper towel, a couple of dry sticks, and going light headed from blowing on the flames so much, I kept our furnace hot until three in the morning. Over Forty officially named me Draco Fire Starter. So there's one more nickname I have to keep up with. Becky and I ditched our hammocks and took a bunk in the cabin. Around four in the morning we were both freezing our asses off in shorts, all of our t-shirts, our rain jackets, and our hammocks and my microfiber towel for blankets. When you're cold and water logged, even the extra body heat from spooning doesn't keep you warm enough to sleep. We both threw in the towel like the pansies we are, stuffed breakfast down our throats, gave our extra food to the other hikers, and headed back towards Harper's Ferry.

Just after the rain let up.

We were certain velociraptors were going to jump out at any moment.

This is as clear as the weather got for us.

After we finished on the trail, I made a B-line for Nashville to crash at my sister's house. I hadn't slept at all in the cabin, had walked well over twenty-four miles in the mountains in the last two days, and drove eight more hours to make it to Nashville. I don't even remember if I saw my niece and nephew off to bed. All I really remember is that I forced myself to take a shower before I drug myself to my bed. Then I got up ungodly early and drove another eight hours back to Arkansas to gather the rest of my belongings, change my oil, and move to Denver.

A New Directive

I know I've been absent lately, and I have yet to tell about my trip to Italy. I've been working on a different project for a little bit now and I'm feeling pretty good about it. Here is but a small excerpt. 

       Jessica did what she is often times quite remarkable at, and asked me a couple questions that made me think. She asked me first if I regretted coming home from Europe so soon. I didn't. Partly because I felt like I was finished in Europe, but also, I wasn't the type to regret things. I don't know if there was a definitive turning point in my life, if I had gradually evolved, or if I had never really experienced true regret, but I couldn't think of a single thing in my life I regretted doing. Every time I came up with something unfortunate that had happened to me, or a stupid decision I had made, I could think of the lessons I had learned from those incidents and decisions. I knew the outcome of each event in my life and I could either learn from or laugh about each and every one of them. Usually both. Every instance was undoubtedly responsible for turning me into the unique character that I was today, and I was genuinely excited about the person I was going to become in the future. I didn't just not regret coming home from Europe, I was intrigued to see what role that particular decision would play in my life several years down the road.  

The second question Jessica asked me was, "when were you the absolute happiest?" Immediately, my mind jumped to Belize. The first night on that windy, sandless island, sitting on the deck, drinking Belikin. Every five minutes I would get this shit-eatin grin on my face and say, "Dave! We're in fucking Belize!" It wasn't the place, the company, or the beer that made me feel happy in that moment. The reason Belize meant so much to me was because I had accomplished my life long goal. To drop everything on a moments notice and skip the country. To disconnect, almost completely, from the rest of the world. To just decide to leave, and go. It was exactly what I had always wanted to do and I had done it. I kept asking myself, Why did it take me so long to do that? School and work were both valid excuses, but they were still excuses.

Nike's just do it slogan was my new directive. I had just done most everything I wanted for a while, but there were things I had always wanted to do that I hadn't had any plans for accomplishing. Living in Colorado was a big one, and those pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. Do a road trip around the United States was another, and I already had a plan unfolding in my head for that as well. Again, I wasn't sure if this change in attitude had happened at a definitive point or over time, but I wasn't going to sit around and day dream anymore. I was going to make life happen for me. If there was something I wanted to do, or accomplish, I would do it. Whether I had a partner in crime or not was irrelevant. The world was lying at my feet and it was within my ability to go anywhere and do anything I pleased. 

Ireland: Carrick-a-rede Bridge and Giant's Causeway

Carrick-a-rede Bridge

Ever since the first time I saw pictures of the Carrick-a-rede bridge several years ago, I've wanted to cross it. When I found out Paddywagon did a tour with a stop there, I had to go. I didn't even care that it wasn't the main attraction, which was the Giant's Causeway, I bought a ticket right there. I didn't even care about going to the causeway, honestly. I boarded my bus around 8 in the morning in Dublin and patiently awaited my destiny. 

On the way there, we stopped at some cool trees that were supposedly used in filming some portion of the Game of Thrones. I'll be honest, they were pretty cool. It was at that stop that I realized two things. First, it was snowing. Second, the wind was blowing. Like a lot. When we got back on the bus, our driver crushed my soul with a single sentence, "the carrick-a-rede bridge is closed due to high winds, so we aren't going to be able to cross it." Thanks, wind! 

We did still go to the bridge though. It's a little over half a mile from the gift shop to the bridge and most people on the tour bus opted to have a nice cup of hot chocolate at the restaurant in the gift shop instead of making the trip. I, however, was not missing this opportunity. I said screw the wind! and started walking. The wind was so high that I was pretty sure I was going to turn into a human kite and fly into the ocean a couple times. I'm really glad nobody had any children there. 

On my way out to the bridge, it actually started sleeting! Then a fellow coming the other way stopped me and said, "be careful, there's a wall of rain coming this way!" And pointed behind me. When I looked and saw the downpour headed for me, I just laughed and said to myself, the only thing that could make this any better is if the wind actually threw me into the ocean!! Then I promptly knocked on the wooden fence along the trail, cause nobody needs that bad ju ju. About that time I found an older British lady who was just as determined as I was and we did our best to act as paperweights for each other for the rest of the hike. 

At the bridge a stout gentleman there saw my complete lack of qualifications in the area of paper weighting 100 pound old ladies in 60 mph winds, and took over for me. Since the half mile trek back was into the wind, I had to grabbed my coat hood from the inside with one hand and pulled it down over my face because the wind was making my eyes tear up. Then I ran. Or tried to. In normal conditions, the pace I was setting would have been a steady 7:30 mile, but I'm pretty sure that's how long it took me to make it the half mile back to the gift shop. 

I may not have gotten to cross the bridge, but I'm pretty happy with having to gotten see it. Plus, it costs money to cross the bridge, and I didn't have to pay! And there were no crowds!! What more can you ask for?

Giant's Causeway

The Giant's Causeway was the next stop after the carrick-a-rede bridge. I'm told that on a clear day you can see Scotland from there. I kinda had to laugh at the thought of a clear day in Ireland, cause I didn't see one the whole week that I was there. 

It was still insanely windy and cold, so I paid the 2£ to ride the shuttle down to the causeway from the visitor center instead of taking the "15 minute hike" to the bottom. There was a lady at the bottom with an infant. Woman was nuts, but must have incredible grip strength cause the wind was measured at 60mph with higher gusts. I won't lie, I was thoroughly unimpressed with the hexagonal rocks. What did impress me though, was when I let myself fall into the wind and it actually held me up! I did that for as long as I could stand the cold and got some foreigner to get a photo of me. Then I paid attention to the rocks.. There was some kind of officer there making sure no one climbed on the rocks, but while someone else was distracting him, I grabbed a guy from Minnesota, gave him my phone, asked him to get a picture for me, and climbed the rocks. 

 

As soon as the next shuttle came around, I jumped back on and rode to the top. There wasn't much to hold my attention in the huge visitors center though, so I did what I do best. I found food. There was a restaurant in the visitors center, but who wants to eat at a visitors center? There's a tiny little restaurant just down the hill that looks more like a cottage. They had a bar and a few open fires. I grabbed a seat next to the fire and had what will probably the best soup and sandwhich combo I'll ever have. And a hard cider. I'm pretty sure I'll never be satisfied by food in the United States again. 

I doubt I'll ever pay that much for soup and a sandwhich ever agin either though. Since  Northern Ireland is technically still a part of the UK, they don't use the Euro, they use the pound. So the 12£ i paid for my meal seemed fairly reasonable. Until I did the math and realized I had just paid about $25.. I still probably should have gotten another cider though. The one wasn't enough to keep me warm for long after I stepped outside. 

Ireland: Cliffs of Moher and the Blarney Castle

I'm a little late with this post because I've been doing other things.. Very important things.. Like drinking my life away in Italy. It's been a good time. Anyway, here's my experience with a couple tourist stops in Ireland. More to come later. 

Note: since I'm too young to rent a car in Ireland, I did all of my tours with Paddywagon tours. They have busses leaving pretty much every day from Dublin, Belfast, Cork, and a few other places, and they stop at all kinds of cool little spots on the way to your main destination so you actually get to see quite a bit. All of their tour guides were very nice and friendly and knew a lot about the places we went. If you can't rent a car, or are too cheap, I recommend using them. 

Cliffs of Moher

For those of you who are fans of The Princess Bride, the Cliffs of Moher are THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY! Yeah, they're real. It's ok, I thought they were a movie set too until I turned 5 and discovered how to use the Internet. They're on the west side of Ireland just a little way south of Galway. Galway looked like a pleasant little town, and everyone I talked to spoke highly of it. If I'd had a car and not been too cheap for a train ticket I would've stayed there for a couple of days. The Paddywagon tour stops in a town called Doolin for lunch. In Doolin there's a bar called Flanagin's. It's kind of amazing. If I'm ever foolish enough to get married, I'm doing it in Ireland just so that place can cater the wedding. Which, I don't think they cater, but I'll figure that out. They also stopped at the "baby cliffs" which are only about 100 ft high. They stop there first so you won't be completely underwhelmed when you make it to the real ones. 

The real Cliffs of Moher stand about 700 ft tall. You don't really get a true appreciation of just how high that is through pictures though. You kind of have to go. If you can help it, go when it's not pouring rain, because if it's stormy or there's a lot of mist, you can't see much. Don't get discouraged if the weather forecast is calling for rain though, there's rarely a day in Ireland that it doesn't rain. It rained while I was there and I still saw the cliffs just fine. Take a rain coat instead of an umbrella though; and for you ladies and men with luscious locks, go ahead and tie up your hair. The west coast of the island is quite windy, and on top of the cliffs there's not much to break it. I'm pretty sure if they had half a dozen wind mills on the cliffs, Ireland would have clean energy for decades. Hats are a bad idea too. 

When you get there, I suggest breaking the rules. All of them. When you get on the trail past the gift shop and take your first glance at the cliffs, you can go left or right. Going right will take you up a little hill to a round castle looking thing where the guy that used to run the town would take his women (he was a womanizer, the local husbands weren't his fan), for a romantic view. I can kind of see why they went for it, cause the view really is incredible. On the trail to get there, if the winds are high like they were when I was there, there's actually a spot where the wind carries the ocean spray all the way up and onto the sidewalk. You're seven hundred feet above the ocean and you can hear the waves crashing on the rock, and then you feel the spray on your face. Kind of awesome if you ask me. 

There's no rules to break there though unless you want to climb on the tower, breach a castle door, or do some deadly cliff diving. However, if you go left, you'll soon come to a sign that says not to pass it. Pass it. Cops aren't going to come after you. I honestly didn't even see the sign because of all the people who were walking right past it. It's really just there so they can't be held liable if you fall and die. There's a narrow trail with a wire fence on the left and kind of a rock slab wall on the right. It's quite safe. Next, go over that rock wall. There's kind of a trail on that side of the rock wall as well, but it leaves nothing between you and the edge of the cliffs except the wind. The trail can be wide in places and narrow in others, and it can be a little muddy, but it's really not bad and the view is ssssooooo much better! 

You really can't go wrong if you visit this place. I feel like even if you were there when it was misty, you could still get some pretty good pictures. You'll probably have the uncontrollable urge to watch The Princess Bride too, so just go ahead and pack that. 

The Blarney Castle

When most people think of the Blarney Castle, they think of the Blarney Stone and being granted eloquent, flattering speech. I have two things to say to that. First, there's a lot more to this place than just the stone. Second, I kissed that stone and I wouldn't say that my speech has changed at all. It certainly didn't help me in Italy, where I arrived with a vocabulary consisting of "thank you" and "whore island" (thank you, Sterling Archer). Thanks, for nothing, stone. 

The Blarney Castle itself really is quite a sight. There are a lot of castles around Ireland, but many of them aren't this intact. This one has obviously had some maintenance done on it, but it's still awesome. When I got there, there was a choir group singing at the base of the castle distracting everyone. Since I have the apparently unique ability to appreciate someone singing without watching them move their mouth, I passed the crowd and made it to the entrance before everyone else. Score one for me. Inside the castle is really nice, but on the way up, it's pretty much a straight shot to the stone. At the top, take a second to enjoy the view, and maybe put on some Chapstick. After all, the locals piss on this thing at night, so having a nice protective layer between you and that nastiness probably isn't a bad thing.. That could be why my speech isn't flattering though.. Kiss at your own risk, I suppose. You have to literally lay down and bend over backwards over a hole in the floor to kiss the stone. Don't worry though, there's a mat there to lay on, and someone there holds you to make sure you don't fall, and another to take your picture. They're probably the same ones that relieve themselves on the stone though. 

The way down from the top is a little more interesting. There's a few rooms in the castle you can go into. The dining hall, the kitchen, the maids room, etc, etc. it's all pretty interesting. Once you leave the castle though, you can go behind them to see the poison garden, the caves, the creek, and a non-poisonous garden. I'm not sure about the poison garden though. There's a sign that says not to touch, smell, or eat anything in it, and I definitely saw and old lady bent over getting herself a good whiff. To my knowledge, there were no ambulances called there that day. If you're not quite as brave as that old lady, you can sit on a bench that's got some kind of "poisonous" vine growing in a canopy over it. I saw a couple taking a photo there. Kind of ironic how they were celebrating their love in a poisonous place. Way to kill your relationship, guys. 

If you're still not that brave, you can walk on a trail along the wall to the other gardens, or down to the creek. The trail along the creek is actually quite pleasant. I am in love with the sound of creeks though, so that's just me. I found a stump to sit on right over the creek and pulled off my shoes for a bit of relaxation, then headed for the cave ( after I put my shoes back on). The caves were a let down to say the least. I was expecting something big and filled with pots of gold and maybe a leprechaun or a cave troll. Nope, just a little cave inhabited by a spider. 

When you're finished with the castle, the lying stone, the not-so-poisonous garden, the creek, and the caves, go ahead and pull out your cash. The world's largest Irish gift shop shares a parking lot with the Blarney Castle. They have some pretty awesome t-shirts for normal people and alcoholics alike, souvenirs, and a bunch of cotton stuff all made in a warehouse there just up the street. The place is huge! Like, three or four stories kind of huge. If you're like me with only a backpack and you don't want to buy anything, there's a nice restaurant attached. I didn't eat there, but I was told it was pretty delicious. 

Ireland

To anyone who is wanting to travel to Ireland, I have a few pieces of advice for you. First things first; once you land, leave Dublin. It's not a bad city, and there's some cool history there, but in comparison to places like Belfast and Cork and the countryside.. It just doesn't compare. Second, drive around the north. I, unfortunately, didn't get to do that. I tried to rent a car in advance, and Avis' website says they can rent to those under twenty-five, but that was a lie. They did give me a refund though, so that was nice.. I spent the first few days in the south, and while I enjoyed it, my final day in the north was more scenic. In the north the hills roll on for miles a little more fluidly than they do in the south. The mountains are even prettier. It is colder though, so bring a coat. They consider 26C (78F) sweltering heat, so if you're from the south like me, just plan on being cold.

Third, pack a rain coat or an umbrella. Preferably both. Most of the time it's cloudy and drizzly.. And when it's not.. One minute you can see the blue sky there promising you a glorious day under the sun, and the next there's a tempest blowing through. The locals all said that's pretty much an all year round thing. 

If you are going to drive through Ireland, be prepared for some changes. Like EVERYTHING IS BACKWARDS. In my head, I knew they drove on the wrong side of the road and the steering wheel was on the wrong side and the Irish just generally do things involving transportation wrong, but it still messed with me. When I went to get on the bus at the airport, I immediately felt dyslexic. Imagine my surprise when I suddenly looked up from my phone and realized that we were turning into the wrong lane. Yeah, I shit a brick. About twice a day every day. Also, in the cities I think there's more one way streets than there are two-ways. And being a pedestrian trying to figure out which way to look was almost impossible. Thankfully, the Irish have gotten one thing right. On the ground at just about every crosswalk in Dublin it says "<- look left" or "look right ->." That was pretty awesome. 

Do the tourist things. Ireland is gorgeous and if I could (and it was warmer), I would probably rent a car and explore it for a month. But since I didn't have that option, I used the paddy wagon tour company and rode their tour busses all over the place. The tour guides were pretty cool, and they stop at a lot of interesting places. Like the Blarney castle. Yeah, I kissed the stone. I'm really eloquent and have the gift of flattering speech now, could you tell? If I had planned better and wasn't so cheap, I probably would have done their nine day tour. But I am not a big planner and I'm a cheapskate. 

           One last weird thing that I've realized is pretty much the same all across Europe; in a multi story building, the ground floor is floor zero. And you might be on floor three, but have room fifty-one. I swear they do that just so they can watch Americans walk in circles sometimes. 

Overall though I found the Irish people to be very friendly and welcoming. Weirdly enough, I heard a lot of other languages just walking around in downtown Dublin. I mean, virtually everyone speaks English, but other pedestrians talk in several languages. I heard Slavic languages, Arabic, Celtic, Spanish, some Asian languages and several others I couldn't identify. It was really interesting. Overall though, everyone seemed pretty friendly, and even though I stayed in the slums, it didn't feel that sketchy.

          Oh yeah. If you're a cider person, have some Bulmers. It puts everything I've had in the states to shame. Of course there's also the Old Jameson Distillery and the Guinness brewery in Dublin. They were, of course, packed with Americans.