As soon as I touched down in Ireland one thought rose to the top of my thought inventory. Drinkin' a pint of ole Guinness. Now, I was not about to walk into any old pub in Cork and order my first alcoholic beverage in my life, no folks this took thought. As I toured Cork by my lonesome there was a pub on every corner and I kept saying to myself, "this one looks good...wait keep walking...there will be a more welcoming one." Of course, beer is not a new liquid to me but for some reason these 470mml of fluid meant something more to me then any other old 470 mml of liquid. So as a walked through the vibrant city, passing pub after pub I finally found one. The pub had no name and was very small. As, cornfed American me entered the small room no bigger than the size of a gas station but one of those stupid ones that don't have any food or drinks just small cash register and one cooler full of a dilapidated soda selection, most of the conversations stopped and I got many drunken "goo day chap". I walked in dragging my larger than average back pack with nalegene hanging off the side set it on the floor next to a old leather covered stool and asked a short bald man for, "one pint of guinness please." He looked at me and said tree-fifty euro (tree is how irish folk say three) I paid the man and settled in to my bar stool, listening to the sounds of old crotchety men mumble "fuk" everyother word when the news reporter mentioned the european economy. Fill in the rest, I am super Jet legged and need to sleep. Moral of the story is the Guinness was really good and I old men are funny looking.
peace and love,
Rob
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