We toured around Limerick and saw the big sites there, King John’s Castle (which was never occupied by the very king that commissioned it in the 13th century), the Hunt Museum and a beautiful church called (if I remember correctly) St. Mary’s (something or other). We ate some mediocre but incredibly over-priced food, and decided to do road trips the next day to the Rock of Cashel and the Lough Gur, both of which were lovely.
Driving around Ireland is so frustrating. First of all, it’s the whole, how to navigate the car on the other side of the road thing; secondly, it’s problematic that there are no road signs; and finally, even the locals aren’t necessarily aware of what the road is or what the road is called. Inevitably, when we were out driving trying to find a site that wasn’t necessarily right off the main road or in a city centre (which was most of the time), we would get lost, sometimes for hours. The roads wind and bend all over the place, and they seem to have no cohesive narrative in terms of leading to one another — and you wish the maps would help, but they don’t really because there are no signs telling you where you are or which way you’re going, so it’s really like looking a pile of sqiggles and lines that make no sense in terms of the map. Are we here? Who knows! Are we there? Maybe! Which way do we go? Who’s to say!
In a way, I’m so glad I went to Ireland because it’s a beautiful, magical, historical and fascinating place, but as with anything in my life that I learn about, read about, think about, there’s a tendancy to romaticize it. It’s important to remember that life goes on in Ireland just like it does in Canada, in France, in London, and it’s just as regular as anywhere else in the world, only with a different accent.
After a long day of travelling, I’m back in London (sitting at the airport, taking the rental car back). I’ve read three more books since I’ve been on vacation, one not even worth mentioning and two others that I enjoyed (The Perfect 10 by Louise Keans, terrible chicklit to waste time at the airport; The White Lion by Henning Mankell, which I loved; and Carolan’s Farewell by Charles Foran, which I thought was pretty good. What does that make now? No.s 40-42? I think so).
Today I’m going at a leisurely pace, being in Brixton at the library using a computer, then off to Marks and Sparks to get some lunch for later. I’m off to see if I can get a ticket to see Neil Labute’s new play and then go to the Victoria and Albert Museum.
London Ho!
PS.
I’m feeling quite homesick, and I miss my RRBF terribly. There was a flight out of Shannon airport yesterday going directly to Toronto, and I considered just buying a ticket and going home. But then I wouldn’t get to see my friends in London and with only three days to go, it would have been a shame not to see them. And there’s a lot to occupy my time in London, which is an awesome city. Okay, end of feeling sorry for myself!
Oh don’t worry. London will clear the cobwebs away! Who can pass up London? Who? I miss you though!