Goodbye Wales, hello Ireland

We’re on the ferry to Ireland, and that means we’re reluctantly leaving Wales. We really loved Wales; all that lovely grass, woolly sheep, and castles on every street corner (it’s like McDonald’s without the hype). And I do think the locals really took a liking to us, once I introduced myself to everyone I met as Edwin Evans, great great grandson of the fourth Duke of Llywellyn. Okay, I made the whole think up, but you can’t believe the reception I got – naked Welsh nymphs gathering around, feeding me grapes and offering wine, wait a minute, I think that was a dream I had last night – damn these hot doonas.

 

The Welsh countryside, with lots of Welsh cows (they've even got Welsh passports)

Everything looks grey, and that just about sums the weather up (and the colour of the stone)

Before we left, we visited Beaumaris castle. Of course, I was expecting something ten miles down an old country road, surrounded by hundreds of acres of expansive gardens and hunting fields. What the hell was I thinking? It is right in the middle of the village (try imagining Kryal Castle in the main street of Eldorado). It was Edward I’s largest castle, built in the thirteenth century, but unfinished as he ran out of money (that famous medieval TV program Backyard Castle Blitz has been the ruin of many renovators).

It's quite amazing to consider that at one stage we entered the castle's cathedral, and the private chamber of King Edward I. It then dawns on you that you are standing in the actual room, and on the actual spot, where the King of England stood almost one thousand years ago. Needless to say, this sent a slight shiver down the spine.

Beaumaris Castle - I can feel a valid tax deduction coming on.

Inside the castle - I imagine they held picnics and bocce in here.

Some of the walls are a bit decayed (Scotty Cam where are you?), but this castle was never actually finished.

Good view of the walls, and the proximity to the village

To be shur, to be shur, Doblin at last (okay, enough of that terrible Irish accent – we can all blame Father Ted for that). Surprisingly, one guy in Wales thought we were from America, but then again he did volunteer the information that he'd love to visit Australia one day, except he's got a criminal record and isn't allowed in. I didn't ask what he'd done, but judging from his trakky pants and sloppy jumper, I'd say it was most likely for a criminal dress sense.

From our few hours finding a meal, Dublin looks to be a vibrant and lovely city – in some ways it reminds me of Melbourne a little, although I can’t say why. For those who love an Irish pub there’s, well, a hell of a lot of them. The Temple Bar section of town’s got more pubs and bars than you can shake a shamrock at. It’s back into the city tomorrow to look at all the sights, including Dublin Castle (no, not another bloody castle), Trinity College, the odd cathedral or two, and you get the general idea. I’m just dying to try out my Irish accent on the locals to see if they can spot I’m an impostor – I reckon I’m pretty safe. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to the teatr’.