Part II: Hubcaps made of Plastic and a 1,000-euro insurance policy

Thus follows today's adventures:

Having planned to wake up at 7am this morning, so we could leave the hostel at 7:45 to be at the airport by 8:30 to rent the previously reserved car, I set the phone alarm the night before. When we all woke AT 7:30, we stressed, shrieked, rushed, shovelled down breakfast, and caught an overpriced taxi to the airport


where we learned of the Irish law that they could not rent cars to 21-year-olds

when I had done extensive research into this VERY issue, hoping to avoid all possible mishaps, and confirmed multiple times that they DO hire to under 25.

Liars.

After a sketchy deal, Dooley rental services stepped in, charged us a bundle, and gave us a car.

I can't count the amount of times I have stalled, bopped the curb, gone the wrong way on a roundabout (which I still insist was NOT a roundabout), balked at oncoming traffic .... et cetera.

After a visit to a small “gas station” (which we found via the directions of Colleen's GPS—Albert. Upon arriving, we discovered that Albert's “gas station” consisted of a run-down looking building with a couple cars strewn about the front yard, no legitimate sign—not sure if it even had a name--, oh: and the remnants of pump stations .. without the pumps) we returned to the wrong-sided road suppressing the urge to pull over and cry while winding around mountain roads on which even a chipmunk should be afraid to sneeze.


I mean a sheep.


We left the car in the parking lot of a church, ate day-old pizza plastered by its grease to the sides of the zip-lock, and traipsed into a hostel manned by a woman who informed Bre that her multi-colored eyes were a sign of good luck and charm because it means the fairies abducted her as a child.



And everyone thinks we're natives because we've already adopted the Irish brogue.

Brilliant.



Other news of the day:
Visited Powerscourt Estates and frolicked among the acres and acres of gardens—which smelled like faerie dust and buttermilk—and marveled/gawked/looked-as-confused-as-we-had-in-the-Egyptian-exhibition at the multiple renditions of naked Grecian statues littered about the grounds.

And now, we're in Kilkenney, where the streets are too skinny to breathe but the buildings and the people are full of green Irish charm.

Cheers