Hot off the presses!
You are in for an exceedingly long tale--sorry about that.  Read on for my Irish Adventures:

 I knew I was in for an adventure when the travel agent made my plane ticket out to Ms. Winfrey.  But I should start at the beginning.
 Evan, my roommate, wanted to go to Ireland, and he found this deal called "Friends Fly Free to Dublin" where he could buy two airline tickets to Ireland for the price of one.  So I gave him my £40, and he made all the arrangements, including booking a room at a hostel and travelling plans while we were in Ireland.  In my defense, I must state that because a reliable friend was taking care of all the plans, I sort of switched to autopilot and decided I would just be along for the ride.  You know how that goes--I can sit back and relax because someone else is in charge.  If you don't know how that goes, then you are way too much of a type A personality.  Anyway, Evan was driving, and I was looking out the window with the stereo turned all the way up, which is probably why I missed my flight.
 Surprised you there, didn't I?  We were scheduled to fly Dublin out of BAA Stansted Airport at 4:45pm on Thursday, February 12th, and we were flying back from Dublin on Monday, February 16th, at 5:05pm.  I was told that the train ride to the airport from the Liverpool tube stop would take about 30 minutes, and I figured on another 30 minutes to get to the tube stop, which meant I had to leave my room by 3:00pm to get to the airport by 4:00pm.  I did, in fact, leave my room by 3:00 but due to some delays on the tube and due to the fact that these particular trains only leave every half hour, I wasn't speeding toward the airport at 3:30 but at 4:00.  I still thought I would have enough time, especially when I met some friends on the train who were taking advantage of the same "Friends Fly Free to Dublin" promotion.  However, when they casually asked me what time my flight left and I told them 4:45 and their eyes got really big, I began to experience a sinking feeling--a sinking feeling that was enormously aggravated when they told me that the train takes at least 40 minutes to get to the airport--that would give me only five minutes to get from the train platform to my flight!
 The train miraculously pulled into the station at 4:30, and I picked up my bag and stood by the door.  My friends wished me luck, and I readied myself for a sprint through the airport.  The train stopped, the doors started to open, and my friends yelled, "Matt!  Don't get off!  It's the wrong station!"  And they were right!  Aaauuugh!
 I glumly sat down as the train lurched out of the station, grumbling rather loudly about what the British meant by non-stop express train while my companions eyed me with a mixture of sympathy and merriment.
 Ten minutes later, the train arrived at the airport where, heart in throat and bag in hand, I was off, racing up to the check in desk.  With a few exclamations along the lines of "Excuse me, my flight leaves in five minutes," I quickly cut to the head of the line where a polite and indifferent woman informed me that my flight left two minutes ago--heart stops--but that I put my name on the standby list for the next flight.  I grab for that thin thread of hope--heart starts beating again.  She said that although there might not be room on the next flight at 5:30pm, there was another flight later that night and several more tomorrow--hmm--but if you wait twenty minutes then we will know about availability for the next flight.  Just after that my friends walked up, and I explained that although I had quite obviously missed my flight, the chances of me actually getting to Ireland sometime that day were actually fairly good.  At this happy point, one of my friends handed me my wallet which, in my panic, I had left on my train seat.  Another disaster averted.
 With that more or less out of the way, I decided it was time to answer a higher calling--food.  I had not yet eaten anything that day, so I sauntered over to Burger King, ordered, ate, and pondered my situation.  Twenty minutes later, I was standing in a short line for standby tickets; my name was called, and I was handed a boarding pass, so I slurped down my chocolate shake and trotted over to the gate.  I was tentatively pleased about this, although I wasn't going to be truly relieved until I was on a plane and in the air.  So I got on the plane, waited until I was in the air and would have proclaimed my joy for all the world to hear, except that aside from being more than a little embarrassed by the whole episode, my joy was at that moment being sapped from me by a little girl, about five years old, who was sitting across the aisle and wailing at the top of her lungs.  Or rather, was wailing at what I thought was the top of her lungs, which as it turned out a few minutes later, was not the case.  She was screaming and crying and kicking the sit in front of her, and I thought the woman occupying that seat would turn around and give the girl's mother a few words.  But this woman turned out to be the girl's mother, and all she would do is occasionally turn around and ask the little girl to be quite!  I was shocked that this woman was not shamed into disciplining her daughter, and after fifteen minutes I had decided to say something to the woman, when she produced a lolly (that's a sucker for you non-British speaking folk) which quieted the girl for the remainder of the hour-and-a-half flight.
 Finally we landed in Dublin, and my friends and I exited the plane and made our way to customs where, even though we asked very nicely, they refused to stamp our passports because they didn't have the stamp with them.  Oh well.  Then there was another hassle with the bus to the city center because I didn't have exact change, and I thought maybe I would be left behind again; but fortunately another passenger was able to break a £5 for me.  As my friends and I were leaving the bus, they once again averted a crisis by handing me my wallet which had fallen out of my pocket again due to circumstance which are too complex and at the same time too dull to explain in writing.  Finally we were in Dublin, and after getting directions, we hiked over to the street corner where we met the friends I was supposed to fly with.  (We were all from the same law program and were all friends already; some of us were just flying at different times.)
 I dropped my stuff off at the room Evan and I had at the hostel met the group later at a pizza place.  After a late supper, the friends I flew with met the friends I was supposed to fly with at a nearby pub at 10:00pm.  Evan was there, and he told us that a few people, himself included, were at another pub across the street, having a great time talking to and playing chess with some of the locals.  I'm a big chess fan, so I decided to go join Evan, Jeff, and Brad and maybe I could get in a game or two.
 The pub was a small, low-ceilinged room filled with about thirty people, and in one corner sat a man strumming a guitar.  My friends were over in one corner talking to three middle-aged Irishmen.  Evan introduced me, and they immediately began teasing me in that amiable fashion old friends use when playfully greeting each other after an absence.  I must say that of everywhere I have been in Europe, on the whole, no other people are as friendly as the Irish.  These men clapped us on our shoulders and shook our hands and laughed with us as if we had always been friends.  They told me how Brad had lost to their champion at chess in four minutes (Brad had not played chess in many years and did not even remember all the moves of the pieces) and asked if I could do better.  I said I thought maybe I could, and their champion said we would play when the current game was finished.
 While we waited, we discussed the death penalty, the Gulf War, and the Catholic/Protestant clash with them.  Finally, the two regulars finished their game, and it was my turn to step into the lists.  As we set up the board, their champion gave me odds of sorts--he guessed that I would maybe last ten minutes.  Of course all three of them also said that no one in the pubs plays to win or lose but to have fun, so it didn't really matter.
 All my friends in the pub, old and new, gathered round to watch.  By the luck of the draw, I chose white and so opened--now don't worry--I'm not going to give a play by play of the entire game.  Let me just say that I lasted longer than ten minutes, and when the dust had settled, I had beaten their champion after forty minutes.  He smiled, somewhat ruefully, and shook my hand, while my friends congratulated me and clapped me on the back.  He thanked me for a very fun game, and you know, he really meant it, too.  And then we were setting up the pieces for another game!  We switched colors and roles for this game, he playing more cautiously, while I took an aggressive posture, and I thought he would certainly beat me this time.  But in the end, I won this game as well.  It was now well past closing time (pubs generally close at 11:30pm, even on the weekends), and now the regulars were starting to file out.  I thanked my opponent again for the games and pointed out to him that my victory was due more to the fact that I had not been drinking than any particular skill on my part.  We all exchanged a few more words, my affable opponent said his goodnights, and our little group started to break up.  One of the Irishmen leaned over and told me and my friends that the man I had just beaten twice was probably the best or maybe second best chess player in Dublin.  Let me tell you, I was walking tall out of the pub that night.  Then my friends and I just walked back to the hostel, talked for a while about tonight's events and plans for the coming days before turning in.
 We (Evan, Brad, Jeff, and I) were up fairly early on Friday because we had to meet two other friends at St. Patrick's Cathedral at 10:30am, and more importantly, breakfast was over by 9:00am.  We made quick work of the standard hostel breakfast (one roll and an apple) and headed out to see the sights of Dublin.
 Evan, Brad, and I walked to St. Stephen's Green, a large park that is so peaceful and beautiful in the morning before the sun chased the misty haze from the waters.  I took a picture of a swan floating among the fog in the middle of a small pond, and I desperately hope it turns out well.  We strolled leisurely on through the park, and I saw and smelled the first flowers of spring, some of which were already in full bloom, bright pockets of color dotted throughout the emerald green grass and winter-worn trees.  We left St. Stephen's, ambled along O'Connel Street toward another smaller, but no less impressive park, and then it was off to St. Patrick's Cathedral to meet more friends.
 St. Patrick's Cathedral is very, very big.  Really.  It also has some intricate stained glass and two ornate side chapels.  It is a nice cathedral, as far as these things go, but I suspect I may be getting a little jaded when it comes to cathedrals.  Anyway, we met our two friends and the five of us walked to Christ Church Cathedral, which is very impressive on the outside, and then we met up with everyone from the law program who had come to Ireland.  We all ate lunch and then walked to the Guinness Brewery for a tour.  As you may be aware, Guinness is THE beer of the British Isles, so the Guinness Brewery is a landmark of some importance in Dublin.  Well, I think we all agreed that the tour was mostly just a big, long look at Guinness propaganda followed by one free pint in the very large bar at the end of the tour.  We were given a ticket for a free pint of Guinness as part of the admission price (£2), but I just gave mine to Brad, since I cannot stand beer in general and Guinness in particular (since it is one of the strongest/worst beers available).
 Anyway, after the Brewery, Evan and I wandered back to the hostel, stopping in St. Augustine's Cathedral, which turned out to be surprisingly beautiful.  Back at the hostel, we relaxed for an hour or so before heading out to meet the group for supper.  We split up and I ended up eating in a very good Mexican restaurant with a few other people, and afterwards we went to a pub for a little while.  Then Evan, Jeff, and I left the pub and just walked around Temple Bar (a popular tourist/nightclub/pub area), eventually just stopping in the middle of a street intersection (cars aren't allowed in Temple Bar) and talked for a while.  While we were standing there, groups of Irish people would just come up to us and ask us where we were headed or just start talking to us--they really are a very friendly people (and they have a great accent).  We eventually wound up in The Temple Bar (a pub) talking with a group of Americans who we also met standing in the middle of the street.
 Of course it was up early the next morning (gotta get that roll!) so Evan, Jeff, Becky, and I could catch the bus to Glendallough.  The three Irishmen in the pub from the first night had given us a list of great places to visit in the countryside, and Evan had decided on a small town about an hour-and-a-half south of Dublin that was surrounded by lakes and mountains.  Sounded good to me.  The bus left at 11:30am, and we got to our hostel around 1:00pm.
 Our hostel, although quaint and charming, also turned out to be a mile from Glendallogh.  Oh well; we had come to Ireland to see the countryside.  So, Evan and I checked in, and we all hiked to Glendallough.  Small town doesn't really describe it--country village is more accurate.  Although there are several B&Bs, there is one small hotel, one restaurant, one pub, and one craft store in the entire town, which was also fine since we came to see the surrounding wilderness.
 We hiked around a beautiful lake and a waterfall feeding into it, as well as some ruined churches and a small mountain.  It was really breathtaking.  Then Jeff had to catch his bus back to Dublin since he wasn't staying the night, and Becky had to check into the hostel since she decided that she was.  So we had a quick bite in the restaurant and hiked back to the hostel, which was actually located in Wicklow.  Later that night, we ate at the pub in Wicklow (as in the only pub in Wicklow) and played hearts and listened to two locals sing some wonderful Irish folk songs.  Then around 11:00pm we decided to head back to the hostel.
 As it turned out there was just one big room with about 20 beds for everyone to sleep in, and there were about 15 people staying that night.  Also, there was only one bathroom.  For mixed company.  Without a door that locked.  With one shower.  One shower enclosed only by clear glass!  Well, now, that was interesting.  Only the brave and exceedingly immodest would be clean tomorrow.  We turned in wondering what in the world would happen the next morning.
 Well, at 7:00am Becky was the first one up in the whole room, and she raced to the bathroom, apparently hoping to shower before anyone else got out of bed.  I think she succeeded.  I stayed in bed for another hour and was about to get up and take my turn at the shower, when Evan walked over to me and said, "I've made what I think is an important discovery:  there is a men's bathroom down the hall."  "Really?"  "Yup."  Then we shared a good laugh.
 After Evan, Becky, and I were ready, we paid for a good breakfast and then hiked to Glendallough.  The original plan was to hike to Ashford, a small hamlet ten miles away, but that was abandoned because there were no trails and we had no compass.  Instead we decided to hike up through the mountains to a small lake and then follow the stream from the lake down to the second largest waterfall in Ireland.  We went to the grocery store, bought food, water, and film, and set out.
 We hiked for about two hours trying to reach the top of a mountain, up through thick forests and along an ancient stone wall.  Finally we broke through the trees and could see the bare top of the mountain ahead.  We found out why it was bare as we hiked to the top:  the wind was so strong that it sucked the breath from my lungs--I could lean into it, and it would support me!  But we made it; I was the first, racing on ahead to stand atop a small cairn someone had built to mark the top.  Needless to say, the view was breathtaking.  We rested in the lee of a large boulder, eating some food and drinking a little water.  Then we pulled out the map to see how far we had to go.  The funny thing about maps is, they don't inform you how much farther you have to go unless you tell them where you are, and it was precisely that particular bit of information that we were lacking at the moment.
 We puzzled over that map and the surrounding territory for about twenty minutes and concluded that, although not really lost because we could see the road to Glendallough way off in the distance, we were not exactly sure how to get to the lake, let alone the waterfall.  Fortunately, at that moment two locals came hiking along.  They were an older couple, about in their early fifties, and they not only told us where we were but offered to take us part of the way to the lake.  So we set off at a pace that we three "youngsters" had some trouble keeping up with!  But it is really those two who are responsible for getting us across the mountain, over swampy ground, through 40-50 mph winds (that's what our guide estimated the speeds to be) and pointing us in the right direction to get to the lake.
 We hiked on for a while longer, rounded a bend, crested a rise, and there it lay at the feet of the mountain, an exquisite, heart-shaped lake.  But don't get the wrong idea--this was wild, fantastic country, and the lake, although beautiful, was also a cold slate-grey, surrounded by high cliffs, that we could not even peer over for fear the wind would push us off.
 As we gazed at the lake, the fog started to roll in and soon the mountain peak behind us (we had only come down about fifty feet to see the lake) was completely enshrouded in the white mist.  At this point we figured we had better hustle before we, too, were covered and consequently stranded on top of the mountain.  We hurried east along the side while slowly descending out of the deepening clouds.  We hiked along for another hour or so before stopping for some more food and water.  It was at this point that I realized that generally speaking on a hike you should take about half as much food and twice as much water as you would normally consume.  But then again, maybe I was just really tired of carrying the backpack.
 We hiked most of the way down the mountain, and I essentially leaped and galloped (it's difficult to describe) down the last 300 feet or so.  Then we forded the river at the bottom and crossed over to the road to the waterfall.  After a short hike down the road, we saw it.  Incredible!  It was cascading down the mountain to a small river below.  Words will not do it justice, and I can only hope that my pictures can capture some of its grandeur.  Also, I should note that about 4 or 5 people are killed each year climbing on the falls, and there is a bright yellow sign in several languages warning about the danger of climbing around on the falls.  I think you know what comes next.  I climbed around on the falls.  What can I say – it was practically daring me too.
 After gaping at the waterfall for a while, we started the six mile trek down the road to the hostel.  I ran along a small stone wall and stopped to try (unsuccessfully) to pet some sheep, and we slowly, and by this time, achingly, made our way along the road.  We were told by those three Irishmen from the pub that hitchhiking is an excellent way to travel around Ireland and that you only need stick out your thumb and the first car will stop for you.  After about a mile, we decided to try it, so we stuck out our thumbs, and the first car coming by stopped for us.  It was a small two-door car with just enough room for the three of us in the back seat, driven by a very nice young couple from Dublin who had gotten engaged only a few weeks ago by the waterfall.  They chatted with us and took us to the very door of the hostel and even refused to accept any money for their trouble.
 We ate an early supper (or late lunch) around 4:00pm and determined that we had hiked about ten miles all told and hiked up 1,800 feet!  (Which means of course that we also hiked down 1,800 feet.)  Perhaps most impressive is the fact that Becky wore sandals instead of shoes--she hadn't planned on hiking when she came to Glendallough--the sandals had a heel strap, but they were still sandals.  Evan and I were impressed.
 Anyway we ate, packed up our stuff and caught the bus back to Dublin.  That night in Dublin we ate at the Thunder Road (the Harley Davidson themed restaurant), spent a little time at a pub, and then crashed back at the hostel for some well deserved sleep.
 Monday morning we walked around Dublin, looking in the shops, buying a few souvenirs, and the like.  Then we ate lunch, collected our bags from the hostel, took a cab to the airport well in advance of the flight, did a little duty free shopping to use up the last of our Irish currency, and took an uneventful flight back to London.
 We all had a fabulous time, and I saw such extraordinary, untamed, magnificent land that I can only urge you to visit Ireland and see what I cannot adequately describe.

Thus ended my Irish Adventrues.

 Matt <:{)