Rejuvenating Savasana -- Cork, Ireland

James took Roisin and me out for drinks the night before last at one of Roisin's favorite stops; a traditional pub a few minutes walking distance away from her home. There was live music and good ambiance and lovely company. James went to order and I tried to remember some of the alcohol on my challenge list...

Might as well knock one out here and now, I racked my brain. Irish coffee... yes, that's on my list. But I'd rather not be up all night. Cider! Yes, but it was a specific brand. Not Bulmers... goodness, I can't remember. My head still hurts. I shut my eyes and tried to visualize the travel page on my website. And poitin. Poitin was on my list. But I don't want to bother trying to pronounce that right now. I'm sure it's got all sorts of hidden sounds, and I've been feeling like enough of a misfit lately. 

"Could I have a pint of cider?" I finally asked James as he stood patiently at the bar.  He was good enough to recognize that as a visitor, I'd probably appreciate something local, so after a few moments of looking at labels, I was handed a refreshingly sweet local pear cider. 

The cider alleviated my headache and being in the presence of two welcoming people calmed my nerves. I tried to contribute to the conversation, but found myself growing extremely tired. The rest of the evening passed in somewhat of a blur until I found myself in the spacious antique room with the duvet pulled up around my chin. 

I slept like a rock and woke up the next morning at 5:30, feeling completely refreshed and excited for my first full day in Cork. 

And what a perfect day it was.

Roisin fed me Cashel Blue cheese, fruit and coffee for breakfast. Then she headed off to work, I fed her two adorable dogs --

Bunny! All grown up and hairy now.

Daisy. Roisin has given her a New York accent. Bunny doesn't have a voice yet, but I'm pushing for the voice of a precocious French child. I think interesting interactions would ensue.

-- and then padded up the creaky stairs to do some epic updates on my blog.  After updates were mostly finished, I grabbed my purse, my iPhone and Phocus telephoto converteer lens, and went exploring. Roisin would be at work until at least one o'clock, so I had three hours to wander the artsy, vibrant city of Cork.

I found so many coffee shops. SO MANY. With internet. Bookstores, teashops, and sketchy Asian restaurants also dominate the city streets.

A quite delightful teashop not far from Roisin's home

 I also saw some of my first street art in Ireland! This is for you, Roger.

 All in all, I think that street music in Cork is far more popular than street art. I haven't seen a lot of graffiti or statues, but I have heard loads of musicians. This could simply be because the economy is suffering and musicians are able to open up their instrument cases and ask for spare change. Graffiti artists don't really have that option.

 After meandering in and out of shops for a good hour and a half, I decided to sit down in a park I'd chanced upon and read a chapter or two of Game of Thrones (such a guilty pleasure...). However, the park was completely overrun with hyper school-children, so I quickly abandoned this doomed activity and moseyed out of the park and back the way I had come.

 

And I found the English Market. It's a major tourist attraction and has been in the same place since 1788, but I was still absolutely ecstatic that my aimless wandering had actually delivered me to a place I'd wanted to visit. 

That never happens to me.

I'm delicious, I promise!

Crubeens! I'll be eating you soon, tasty little gelatinous morsels.

So much pig...

 

After several minutes of enthusiastic browsing, I found my way (with nary a hitch!) back to Roisin's. She arrived home about 1:30, and we set up for her yoga class. 

And I filmed and participated in a refreshing and cleansing yoga therapy session.

God, I needed that, I thought as the tension flowed out of my back and shoulders and forehead with the help of Roisin's gentle guidance. What a blessing. Sweet rejuvenating savasana over, she led the other student into the backyard to send her home with some of her mother's flowers. I tagged along and took photos.

I missed Judy. 

Roisin went to get her hair cut after the lesson and I returned to my very productive wandering. I witnessed several drunk and mostly naked Irish men announcing their manliness for all to hear (Roisin says that bawdy behavior in public at 4:00 in the afternoon is normal when the sun is out) and I found a couple more interesting trinket shops. I returned to the hair salon at the designated time, but Roisin's stylist was running a bit late. As is expected for this country. The salon was so pleasant that I adored my half-hour wait. I read magazines and was brought a surprisingly good cup of fresh coffee and passed the time in fine style. Roisin emerged her lovely face framed in bouncing dark curls, and we headed downstairs to pay. 

"I wish you'd get your hair cut more often," I commented. "I'd go to just sit in the waiting area."

Roisin wanted to treat me to a glass of wine on the way home, but to her frustration, none of her favorite spots were available. As we were on the subject of alcohol, I thought it would be a good time to ask, "I'm probably going to butcher the word, but how do you say poitin?"

"Protein?" Roisin laughed.

"No... it's an Irish alcohol that was given to me as the "expert" challenge on my booze list. It's spelled p-o-i-t-i-n. I think."

"Oh, ya mean hooch! Well, dat's illegal."

"You don't say?"

I thanked my lucky stars (which have recently started shining) that I didn't ask Cathal to purchase hooch for me the night before. Could have been mildly awkward.

I did some research today and found that poitin (Roisin pronounced it "puh-chin") is generally made from potatoes and has an alcohol content between 60-90 ABV. It's known as Irish moonshine, apparently. However, Roisin was slightly wrong when she told me it was illegal, as there are two distilleries in all of Ireland permitted to produce this blinding substance. Bunratty Mead and Liqueuer has a license, as does Knockeen Hills Poteen.

Perhaps I'll have the chance to taste it after all. Although with an alcohol content like that, a taste is all a lightweight like me will be able to tolerate.

After being rudely treated by a bartender at a "Captain America" bar (figures), we agreed it would be best to purchase a bottle of wine and drink it in the courtyard of her home. We dined on dried sausage and wine, listened to music, shared pictures, and chatted late into the night.

What a beautiful day.

Preconceptions:

I take back what I said about pale skin in Ireland. It's abnormally prevalent in the small country towns, sure -- but in big cities like Cork, there's so much diversity that it's silly to say the Irish are pale.

Challenges:

Handcrafted cheese I bought at the English Market (I was so excited that I nearly walked away without paying the poor girl)!

Creamy and satisfying and delicious. Only one more to go, Cathy!