Kinsale, Ireland
In a country where it is often raining, my luck was bound to run out when it came to sunny days for travelling. My day trip to Kinsale fell on one of those days. I woke up at a ridiculously early time for a morning that followed a late night student dance. It was early in February and my own health was starting to catch up with me after the continuous travel plans I made since getting to Ireland, but I had made plans to meet some people, so I filled my water bottle and toasted a piece of cinnamon raisin bread for the road.
The bus ride to Kinsale was an hour from Cork. Despite a drab, gray sky, buildings were a vision of vibrant colors. Like most coastal towns in the winter, it was mostly quiet but for a couple tourists and those people who worked in their stores.
Stegasaurus in Koko's (left) and Yellow Gate (right)
As the mist hung in the air and I dug my cold hands deep into my jacket, I swung into Koko Handmade Artisan Chocolate because a trip away from Cork wasn't official until I bought chocolate somewhere. I settled on a white chocolate hot chocolate. I didn't pay too much attention as the woman behind the counter made it for me, but it tasted like she melted a bar of white chocolate itself. It was rich and sweet and, more importantly, warm. As I lingered in the warm chocolate shop, admiring all the hand-crafted chocolate dinosaurs and other non-extinct animals, I learned that the woman who was working was from Scotland. She dolled out suggestions of places to visit, as I mentioned I would be going to Scotland soon. She mentioned her and her friends wanting to move to Germany--that it was so easy--they could just go. Europe blows my mind sometimes. I rarely think about how easy it would be to move to a different state, let alone a different country. But she was right. Travelling in Europe was so easy. Going to Scotland, I didn't even have my passport stamped. In Greece, I stared down the employee, waiting for them to stop me as I dragged my luggage out of the terminal. They never did. Travelling in Europe was just getting on a plane, on a bus, and just going.
Kinsale had garnered fame for being a gourmet and, more specifically, seafood capital of Ireland. It would have been silly for me to leave before filling my stomach with a full meal. For lunch, I stopped into one of the few restaurants open: Dino's Traditional Fish & Chips. Fish nets hung like hammocks above my head, as I sat against the wall on a long, cushioned booth. While in Ireland, I probably had fish and chips at least 3 times, and they tasted about the same every where I went--soft, flaky, fresh. On the edge of my plate rested a small metal cup of mushy peas. I did not know until the first time I ordered fish and chips in Ireland that it was always served with mushy peas. Although I never learned why exactly mushy peas were such a staple on the fish and chips plate, I didn't complain. After my initial "this looks like baby food" skepticism, I learned that it tasted no different from regular peas, which I've always believed to be quite good.
Stone Mad Store Window (right) and Kinsale Street (left)
I did not stay long in Kinsale. Though the rain held off, the chill was worsening, and I figured I was due for a nap back in my apartment. Before I left, I took some time to sit on the bright red bench in the middle of Kinsale's town square and watched as a stray dog wandered nearby. It was a sad creature. Though there were many dogs in Cork, they all seemed to have their owners. I said aloud: "If that dog comes over here, it's going to be a problem because I'm going to want to take it home." It never came over.
The bus ran late. I gazed out the top window of the double-decker bus and didn't mind that the day was dreary. As cliche as it sounds, I often preferred the bus ride over the destination. As long as the clouds didn't keep me from seeing the pastures and the houses that dotted across vast expanses of green, I was content to just spend an hour, earbuds in, watching the world roll by.
