So, I arrived in Cork. The first thing I did, as stated many times, was get a beer. After the hellish days I just went through, what else could I have done? I then practiced my small talk skills on the hostel’s bartender; she didn’t have it. Awkwardly, I left the hostel/bar, and found a lovely (and cheap!) fish and chip restaurant. It seriously reminded me of Five Guys with the amount of food I got for so little euro. After an awkward din din with people staring and watching me, I went back to the hostel and SLEPT. I slept for over 12 hours. Jesus Christ, a nap never slept so good. P.s. my sailor’s mouth has returned with a little help from the Irish over here. Apologies.
When I woke up, I walked around the main strip of Cork for a few hours, just shopping and taking photos. I was a little disappointed in my travels so far. Nothing stood out to me. Nothing seemed special yet. I felt like I was in any other town, at first. I went back to my hostel, to picnik/email/facebook. Later on in the day, I began suddenly very very cold. I went up to the bartender and asked for something warm. He made some Mulled Wine earlier, and shared it with me while we listened to Ja Rules greatest hits. YUM…the wine, not Ja Rule. I’ve had similar wines in America, just with different spices. Still, it was fantastic. Right about then, a man named Patrick arrived looking for a room for the next couple of nights. He booked himself one, and came back to share a drink at the bar. He seemed harmless enough. He was an elder gentlemen, grey thinning hair and beer belly as well. He talked about how he was planning to move to Cork to start over. He was widowed, with no concrete job. He kept asking if I thought it was good for a man his age to try and change his life, start fresh. I thought for a moment. It was such a lovely idea, and very courageous one. I loved it; and I told him so. He simply laughed. We sat for a minute or two longer and he asked if I wanted to go find a place to eat with him. Harmless enough, I agreed to.
I regret that decision. For four hours, Patrick made us walk around town trying to find the perfect place for us to eat at. All the while, he would try to hold my hand, or take me by the arm and pull me in close. At dinner, he would speak about my beauty and try to brush my bangs away. I can’t recall how many times I told him stop, and that I didn’t appreciate him, being a stranger (and just a creepy old man in general now), talking to me or touching me in such ways. I lied through my teeth. I try desperately to get him to stop. I told him how I’m a “prude and don’t even touch my boyfriend in such ways.” Yeah, right! He’d ask which room was mine, and if there was any other people in it. “208 and yes a couple of girls.” 206 and I was the only person in the room for the majority of my stay in Cork. I did not trust this man anymore, and while we were walking around town, I seriously considered getting “lost” in the crowds and running away, back to the hostel to hide. I didn’t. Eventually, I made it clear I was tried and had no interest in continuing on anymore. We went back, where he tried to kiss me and ask me out on a date. If I had learn sooner, I would have told him to just fuck off and leave me alone. I didn’t. I just ran upstairs and hid.
Later that night, I felt ashamed that I really haven’t tried to talk to many people. So, I went down to the bar hoping to find people to interact with. I found Patrick. I once again hid. In the corner off to the side. I was wearing my skinny jeans, a BGSU sweatshirt and my hair was in a huge messy bun. I pondered on how much I enjoyed being able to hid easily from people here, simply because they don’t know all my faces yet. Once I thought he left, I made my way to the bar.
The bartender (cutest Irish barman I've seen yet) commented, “You finally decided to come join the party, yea?”
I responded, “Haha yeeea. You see I was trying to avoid someone earlier.”
The bartender’s interest in me peaked a litte, it seemed. “OH, really? Who?”
“This man in a grey shirt sitting over here….his name is Pa——”
“KERRY!” Fuck, Patrick didn’t leave like I thought he had.
He walked over, started to stroke arm, and talk about “our date” for the next night while I just sat there rigid as a frigid bitch, simply ignoring him as much as possible. The bartender was still standing by and watching me. I shifted my head and moved my eyes towards Patrick, signaling to Jeff (aka cute bartender) that this was the man I wanted to avoid. Jeff demonstrated his understanding by nodding and stepping closer to ask Patrick something. After a few awkward moments, Patrick left and went over to another part of the bar, instructing me to follow him. I told him after I finished my drink I would. The moment I finished my pint, I grab my things and ran upstairs. I stayed there for the rest of the night.
I was a little upset at the fact that I let him ruin my first real night in Ireland. But, I convinced myself enough at the time that I was fine just sitting up in my room watching a bootleg version of Breaking Dawn Pt 1 and facebook chatting Dylan until four in the morning. While, that’s not a bad night, it’s also not an exciting or adventurous one.
Because of that night, I was convinced that I didn’t like Cork, and regretted coming over. That is until the following day. I was suppose to see Blarney Stone, and take a tour of Cork this day. Never happened. The tourist company (Paddywagen) cancelled on me the night before, which only added my hatred for that day. So I just walked around the town center again in the early morning, finding nothing of too much interest. I went back to the hostel, read a little Nick Sparks down at the bar and then took a long nap. I woke up with a note from the Hostel telling me Patrick wanted me to call him for dinner and that he’d be getting off work in a few hours. Fuck, well I’ll eat now then, thanks for the warning I suppose Bru. I walked a block up the street to a bar called the Shelbourne. There, it was wonderful.
The Shelbourne had deals with local restaurants, so all food was delivered in and really cheap. The barman seemed to be more friendly than those I have met up until this moment. He asked questions about me and where I’m from. We talked about everything from drinks in America compared to Irish drinks to American politics and how I won brownie points for being a democrat. The locals were all late 20s to late 30s, and were extremely friendly. BUT, not in any creepy way like Patrick. They were just generally nice people. I loved it. They made jokes about me traveling alone at such a young age to a country where I have never been to before, and had no relations within. I was nicknamed “The Fugitive” and every now and then one would crack a joke about me running from the law. I spent eight euros for pizza and one drink, then sat there for eight hours with these people and drank God only knows how many West Coasts, Irish Ciders and Guinnesses. It was fan-freaking-tasti ;)
When without the all that, I still enjoyed my time there. Some of them just understood me. They understood that I wasn’t shy but content with observing and absorbing everything around me. All the misconceptions people usually have of me, whether I’m a stranger to them or not, those people knew that wasn’t me. I loved them for that. I sincerely loved them for that. And, because strangers like this understood so well, and welcomed me with open arms, I finally felt like I found my place in the world. It’s hard to describe and understand, even for me, let alone whoever reads this. But, I don’t know how else to word it. Sure, I have loved ones back home, people who love me and would do what they could for me. It’s not like I’m a complete loner back in BG or Cleveland. But, I always felt that even with some of my closest friends, there wasn’t one that automatically got me after just a few drinks with me.
I really started to open up after meeting them. I had a bit more confidence in myself. I declined from going out to the late bars with them; it was already 1am or so, and I hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights. I went back to my hostel, found that my first roommate arrived (a older man, trying to sleep). I was going to watch Psych, drink, do this and do that, but I felt rude if I did anything up there with him there. So, I went down stairs to the bar; I thanked God several times when I saw that Patrick was not there. I asked the barman just for some water; primary intention was just to drink that and go upstairs. Then the barman (Jeff, same from the night before) came over and asked me about my night. I told him about the free drinks for so many hours down the street. He noted that he was jealous, and went back to the game of pool he was playing with a resident.
Feeling outgoing and drunk, I decided to walk over and just watch them play. I figured eventually they’d warm up to me, and if not I’d just go back to bed. Well, after a few minutes they did warm up to me. The resident’s name was Allen Coss. Allen is a 34 year old grad student from Galway. He studies linguistics, but reads about hundreds of other topics. We spent the entire night talking about philosophers like Hobbs, Kant and Plato, as well as a few others I never heard of. We talked about politics, and Ireland’s current situation. We talked about our lives and where we came from. We talked about relationships, what makes them work, what makes them fall apart. We talked about “organic intelligence” where someone is born with brilliance and understanding, while others force it by studying and read on subjects (but yet, they never fully understand). We talked about how the people in our lives may or may not have it, and how we ourselves (all three) have it in varying degrees. We talked crap to, don’t get me wrong. Boys will be boys, and every now and then Allen and Jeff would get a little “vulgar”. Always in good humor, however.
When that wasn’t going on, Allen was trying to get me to date him, and marry him. I was his soulmate, he kept saying.
“I’m sorry, love. I have a boyfriend.”
“What? No! I can’t believe it. I was just about to go over there and start kissing you. Your so beautiful and bright. We’d be perfect together! Please?”
“No, I can’t.”
We talked a little about relationships, specific ones we’ve had and the problems we found in them. I told him my issues with my current relationship. How, although I love him dearly, we’re different people. I like to argue, and I love it when the person can argue back. I love poking fun, and joking around. My jokes aren’t always the nicest or cleanest jokes, and I love it when the person can take it as that, and give it back even. I like being secure, and feeling secure with my significant other. I like feeling wanted and loved all the time, not just some of the time. I love passion, both aggressive and gentle. I like having that connection that allows me to be me one hundred percent of the time. Do I get this from my current relationship? Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t bother anymore. But I don’t have it all the time. It comes and goes. That’s my problem.
“I can give you all of that.”
“Bull, Allen. I won’t be here tomorrow, and neither will you. We live oceans away from each other.”
“You need that. I’m good at all of that. We’d be perfect for each other. Soulmates! Come on, something brought us together tonight; it’s fate.”
“Pshhhh…” I just laugh at him.
“Laugh all you want. You’ll date him for another year or so, and that’d be that. Unless something changes, you two will never be satisfied with each other fully. You can be with someone like me.”
*shakes head. smiles* “Fuck off.”
The convo continued….on other topics as well, not just the apparent fact I met my soulmate and he’s 13 years my senior and lives nearly 4,000 miles away….yeah, ha! We stayed up, drank, danced, talked. Allen missed his train to Dublin, and I missed mine to Killarney. None of us gave a fuck anymore about anything. We just enjoyed our company too much to leave.
We said our goodbyes to Jeff once he decided to leave a couple hours after he got off work. Allen and I walked to the train station together, poking fun at the Irish and Americans, respectively. Just having fun. Then out of nowhere,
“Come to Dublin with me.”
“I can’t and you know it. I have to go to Killarney.”
“Come on, come to Dublin. Spend Christmas with me and my family.”
*shakes head*
He hugs me goodbye, and kisses me on the cheek. As he lingers, the trainstation manager yells at him to hurry or he’ll miss his train. Another hug and kiss goodbye, and he runs off.
I’m on my own again in a strange country, just hoping for the future.
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