Dublin the fun

 Dublin is an industrialized little town with history dating back to the origin of time. Luckily, Aaron and I knew everything about ancient civilizations from playing the Age of Empires video games as kids. For the first 1200 years of civilization as we know it, societies really just built battering rams and trebuchets and other war machines, constructed churches and castles, and then demolished each other and moved on. The problem was, unlike the game, you couldn't just use "70 gold" to manufacture new human foragers or hunters, and farming wasn't always dependable, so the conquering proceeded. This was most true in Ireland, which effectively became known as Europe's Punching Bag. I'm fairly confident that the reason Irish are known as ill-tempered pub fighters is because the country was conquered about 100 times by the Gauls, Vikings, Anglicans, Anglo-Saxons, the British, potato famines, tourists, and even each other (the IRA), just to name a few. Can't blame them. Thankfully they are getting over it, these are some of the kindest, most friendly people in the world.

We were determined to be conquerers. Nice ones, though: we weren't trying to get fined for vandalism or burning down city walls or stealing children to start a new community with. That's frowned upon.

Day 1 highlights:
- cab driver's quotes. On his thoughts on Northern Ireland, "Don't care, cut em off an' let em float to Ang-lind, ya know?"
- "Full Irish" Breakfast at Wuff (Smithfield): two sausage, two bacon, black and white pudding (black = made with animal blood), two eggs, toast
- watching Ireland vs France on Smithfield town square's big screen
- Audeon's - Dublin's oldest church. We think. I also think they all claim that. Refilled our luck supply by touching our 3rd good luck charm of Europe, the 1000-year-old Lucky Stone. It's worked so far. Felt good to acquire some more luck, just in case.
- St. Pat's, Christ Church: 1300s churches that are a) amazingly still standing and b) amazing in general
- Dublin Castle and gardens: we're pretty into the Castle and Gardens scene across the continent. This one wasn't so majestic, but a historic site full of info on the 1916 Easter Rising which was a triggering event that led to Irish independence, finally, in 1949
- Leo Burdock's Fish N Chips: a foot long cod cooked in lard and a tub of grease with a pile of wet fries...and it was unreal. Aside: the place now brings in over $2 million per year and serves about 1,000 customers daily despite being just a corner shop with no seating. Part of the reason: the owner signed a lease for a 500-pound down payment and 100 pounds per year... For 100 years. Yes. 100. They still pay that price, even with the country gaining independence in the meantime.
- Lord Edward: tiny, vintage Irish pub, complete with old timers singing Irish drinking songs toward the end of the night. This is where we met an employee of Leo Burdock's next door. He polished 4 Guinness on his 1 hour break as we talked, and headed back. A bit different from the U.S., yes.

Some highlights in pictures

Aaron blow drying his socks...far more efficient than air drying

Smithfield watch site. Nice work, thanks for keeping us safe fellas

Lucky Stone

Ireland to-do list

Christ Church

Day 2
We awoke early for our pre-booked Wild Rover tour of the West Coast. Not 8 hours early as Aaron preferred, but early enough. Again, we were attempting to expand our conquered area to all of Ireland within 3 days, so this was very necessary. And very worth it.

Stop 1: Moneygall
This is a rest stop built along the Highway in the tiny town of Moneygall. Unbelievably, it was titled Barack Obama plaza. You can leave America but America never leaves you. Obama's great great grandmother was from the town, so he made a voyage here in 2011, and they love the guy so much they titled it "the most historic day in Moneygall history," and built a museum to him and Irish American presidents of the past upstairs in the stop. Seems a bit much, seeing as he was only there for less than a day. Also, the choice to honor the day with an interstate rest stop if anything? Questionable, at best, but a nice gesture?

Stop 2: Cliffs of Moher
Well, now I've seen it all. Actually not even close, and we only got two hours here which wasn't enough. BUT, we did see land masses popping out of the ground that I previously didn't believe were possible. Aaron and I couldn't figure out how something so gorgeous could form. 700 foot cliffs erupting from the ocean? So we took a bit closer of a look. While the girls screamed. Unbelievable. There are sites in the world too unbelievable to capture on camera, let alone in words. The scale is just too large, and the beauty too surreal. Sorry. So here's an effort:

Stop 3: The Burren
Translation: big rocky place. They were right. Limestone cliffs and terrain galore. I felt like I was walking on the moon, but there was a disappointing amount of gravity.

The bus continued along the gorgeous Atlantic and everyone around us slept despite paying 50 Euro for the tour and missing our tour guide dropping hugely useful knowledge bombs about Ireland as we cruised past Norman castles and vast blue ocean views. They might have missed half of a potentially life changing experience, but at least they caught up on sleep and got some good Instagram pics out of it. I didn't sleep for one minute thank you very much. My fellow travelers had some struggles, but ultimately came through strong after 4.5 naps each.

Stop 4: Galway
Ireland's colorful cultural hub. We walked the cute little town and ran into a couple thousand other tourists looking for some cute quaint little towns to devour more greasy potatoes in. As an aside: we totally ended up doing the same. I might have put Ireland into another 1850s potato famine single handedly

Ended the day at The Cobblestone. Shout out to my Irish hooligan and total goon of a friend Connor Phelan for the recommendation - figured he would be a degenerate drunk at this point after witnessing his amazing ways in college for his year abroad at BC. Turns out he's a functional human with an amazing job. This was what we'd been seeking. Off the beaten path, totally vintage. We entered and I was entirely under the impression that I accidentally walked in on a traditional Irish music club meeting. But we were in Dublin. And it was real Irish music. And there were others in the bar. And they all went silent with shushing from the crowd as they played quiet acoustic, acapella, strings and flutes, and resumed talking during the upbeat background music. Never seen anything like it. No microphones, not even a stage to grace the band with, probably a decent amount of Guinness supplemented with some smiles.

First of 6,000 cliffs of moher pictures I think

Power couple

edge of glory

Pretty much

The Burren

broken picture frame

Galway all the way

Day 3
Had to take this day by the horns to leave Dublin properly in our wake. The grand finale. I think I might tear up writing this.

Started at Kilmainham jail, which closed in 1924. This place was home to the executions of 13 leaders of the Army of the Irish Republic who fashioned the Easter Rising, dank cellars of revolutionary solitary confinement (as opposed to grouped prisons where they'd all just beat the crap out of each other), dank cellars, diseases upon diseases, and probably some bad people during its hay day. Aaron and I spent a solid half hour breaking down the Easter Rising into it's moving parts. Going to need a return trip to tie up some loose ends. We then got depressed as pretty much everyone involved was slaughtered. We enjoyed starting our day with a sobering experience within a place representing death and punishment.

So we fixed that with an American lunch. Meaning, we just went somewhere and over-ate until we almost exploded. Trinity College followed. That night, we met up with Connor who explained that they're the longest standing college in Europe to never expand. This really just puts them amongst the best in the world at never doing anything.

We hit Stephen's Green and some more signs explaining the surreal history of the 1916 rising, which they didn't realize I majored in as recently as 4 hours previously. From there, a mandatory stop at the Guinness Storehouse was made. For some reason, it's better here. We needed to get to the source and figure out why. Basically, the whole experience is a giant willy wonks factory except alcoholics not children have found the golden ticket. It's an incredible operation that only takes place at St James Gate, and Arthur Guinness signed a 9000 year lease to keep it there. 9000 years. This happened in the 1700s, so the Guinness factory's lease on the acres of land in the heart of Dublin is currently the equivalent of 45 pounds per month, and will continue to be that until the year 9,700, or if the world ends, either or. This definitely surpasses Leo Burdock's 100+ year lease, but the Irish really aren't afraid of commitment.

We learned the secret technique of producing this nectar, and promptly forgot it, then met Connor out at Bull and Castle. This is a lovely spot with a brewery and, seriously, a craft hot dog truck within the bar. So, obviously that needed to happen. The night was finished with another craft bar and a tour from Connor who turns out to conveniently be a part time tour guide. He threw knowledge left and right and probably made up 90% of the rest between memories of our days as BC Ultimate (/parties) teammates. Thanks again Connor - you're welcome in Omaha any time you feel the desire to come to Omaha.

Kilmainham jail cell. Cozy, no doubt.

LITTLE COLDER HERE

Stephen's Green

Proper wafting technique on display

The trip home
Just to throw a little last minute travel anxiety in for fun, here's tour second Dublin airport experience in brief: flight delay -> Irish delta agent says we missed our flight despite being 1 hr 45 min early for 11 am flight -> customer service says he's wrong and we are fine , prints boarding passes -> up to immigration -> no forms -> I run back down to grab them -> united agent -> useless as usual, send me to delta -> same delta agent says they give the forms only if they check passports -> back upstairs -> get Becca -> back to dumb Irish gate agent -> checks passports -> alright you're good to go! -> can we have our immigration forms please?! -> oh, we don't have them here -> you literally just told me to come get them from you -> oh! let me check -> checks -> nope we don't have them! they are upstairs -> ok I hate you bye -> line to scan boarding pass -> front at 10 am -> boarding pass won't scan -> back downstairs -> reprint -> back upstairs -> scanner works -> security -> through at 10:20 -> panic -> run to US pre-clearance -> line -> through by 10:28 -> feel like the dream is over -> downstairs to customs -> line -> filling out the customs forms we originally were seeking while walking -> through line by 10:33 -> agent says we will for sure make it -> no idea who this prophet is but I like her -> passport control -> line -> gate by 10:40 -> last ones on plane.

I get that they are a tad new to the "independence" thing, but a bit of work could be done on the efficiency of the aviation of Ireland as a whole.

Tonight, The Victory Lap comes to an end. It's been an absolute joy and we have to thank our parents for inspiring (and partially funding) this trip and making it possible in my 19-day summer. Aaron, Katie, Connor, Billy, random Irishmen, French waiters that couldn't understand us, etc., thanks for putting up with me. Becca - sorry, you're going to have to deal with that the rest of your life. Fans and friends, I hope I've kept you entertained in this blog which has turned into a long form journal and memory book of the ridiculous, the beautiful, and the ridiculously beautiful areas of the world. I enjoy this creative outlet, and seeing such sites expands what I thought was possible in the world, opens my eyes to the fact that life extends far beyond just your city - I love the feeling of knowing no limits and recognize I am fortunate to feel it (shout out to the government for funding me!), and I hope all can join at some point and do the same. Maybe this blog will inspire you to get out of the comfort zone and go somewhere. Anywhere. If so, then my overly sarcastic writing has certainly been validated.

Thanks again for reading! Next post: my 2017 honeymoon updates.

The Ryan Air Experience

Ryan Air. Just saying those two words draws laughs from some, concerned looks from others. This super-budget regional airline was crafted for backpackers and those that place 0 value on customer service. The journey from Paris to Dublin began with figuring out how exactly to get to the airport that Ryan Air flies into in Paris. The problem there was that despite the flight being from “Paris” to Dublin, our flight left from a miniature airport 1.5 hours from Paris that looked like it was built to be a temporary shanty home out in the middle of nowhere. Our confirmation e-mails did not contain any info on this because that would ruin the fun. So our price of transport went from a cheap 50 Euro to 68 Euro immediately. We caught a 6:30 a.m. shuttle bus to arrive at our doll house airport a bit early at 7:45, and followed some signs through our sagging eyelids to check-in. While we opted for mobile passes, Becca noticed the fine print on their mobile passes read "This mobile pass is not a mobile boarding pass," which might as well have read "GOTCHA!" So we found a window to print our passes, as there were no kiosks. Why? Because normally, it is 15 Euro per person to print your boarding passes. I just looked on Craigslist and found some used printers for less than $15, but Ryan Air wanted to charge us $66 to PRINT BOARDING PASSES. On a piece of standard printing paper. Luckily, the agent recognizes the pure ridiculousness of this entire idea, and did it for free. Plenty of time, it was 8 a.m. when we got in the first of 30 or so lines.

After a small snafu locating my passport within the large pocket of my suitcase, unpacking and then repacking, we hopped back in line. We got through the first line leading to security with no problem until the Ryan Air "agent" (or, a massive black man hired to calm the angry crowds), pointed at our suitcases and grunted something French. He then pointed to the miniature metal cage which is built to house a pet gerbil. Needless to say, none of our bags carrying our two weeks of survival materials fit. Becca tried and it looked like a triple scoop of ice cream sitting on a sugar cone. Not even close. Katie's and Aaron's weren't much better. But he only wanted Becca and I to go check our bags. Probably because we looked terrified of him. Whatever, plenty of time until our 9:25 flight, let's just do it.   

So we waited.We reached the baggage check-in line by 8:18, watching the clock tick and watching the security line we'd already been through double, then triple in size. Ryan Air has more lines than Neuschwanstein Castle and Disney World combined. We made it to the front by 8:30, now starting to sweat a bit for our 9:25 am flight. We shifted some clothes to backpacks, and our kind agent said with a smile "35 Euro each, please!" Yes. 35 Euro to check a bag we were being forced to check. 35 Euro almost doubled the price of the ticket itself. That, and we couldn't pay at the desk. Becca had to go pay at a separate window, then bring the receipt back, then they'd check our bags. Price of travel now 103 Euro. Well played, Ryan Air. Time now 8:35. We turned around and, well, that's it. The security line was now reaching us from about a half mile down the hall. I remained calm in the pocket. Becca started going through what we could do in Paris for the day, since we obviously weren't making it.

We reached the front at 8:50, amazingly. 5 minutes to get through and get on the plane before the "gates closed" at 8:55 according to the signage that nobody believed. Problem: 3 lines were trying to merge into one. With no other instruction, the Spanish speaking squad around us basically cut the half hour line on the right, another dialect cut on the left. This was basically a free for all at this junction. This is not an exaggeration: there was a family rolling through with two strollers, and I'm pretty one kid was 6 years old but put in a stroller to fly free. They also had 12 bags among them, not including the strollers, but claimed some of these monster duffle bags were actually their 3 and 6 year old childrens', which earned a miraculous thumbs up from the new gate agent. We reached security at 8:55, when the gates were supposed to close. For the first time, I began to lose hope. The mix of languages and anger and confusion would be too tough for any form of crowd control. Thankfully, Ryan Air is conditioned to operating within the realm of pure chaos.

After a half-hearted effort at screening the masses proceeding through, we brisked through and made it by 9:03. No chance we were getting on. The nail in the coffin: stumbling into passport control, which there were 0 previous signs for. Amazingly, no line existed, though. This either meant that there is 0 passport control whatsoever, or we were too late. Somehow, we weren't. The gates never truly close at Ryan Air. We made it through, and to our gate, after a quick 1 hour and 20 minute total process. Aaron and Katie upon arrival: "Hey!! Where you been?!"

How was this possible?? Well, we were being sent out into the rain to wait more, that's why. You see, there were other disheveled cheap flyers that were currently de-planing. We were boarding a plane that had pulled in 5 minutes previously and was currently de-planing. No cleaning. Maybe some refueling. No safety checks. Maybe put out an engine fire if needed. Other than that: one group in, one out. Are you kidding me? This is essentially just a flying bus stop?!?

Pretty much. On board is a site to see. The backs of the seats were plastic yellow squares with the instructions in case of emergency. They fly over 20 million passengers per year, and boast of a 90% on time rate... but the other 10% are in the ocean somewhere. Hence, the emergency instructions in open view. One of them read: 'WARNING, you're about to fly Ryan Air!!!! You sure about this?'

Aaron and Katie and Becca were just audibly laughing at the entire situation at this point. Aaron was actually concerned that the whole plane was made of plastic, not just the seat backs. The plane is essentially what I designed in 3rd grade: a tin can with wings, just for fun. No first class, no complementary amenities, and an overly colorful bright yellow interior. Former roommate John Kinzer once described this is airline as a "flying McDonalds Playplace," and that's pretty dead accurate, sans the ball pit. In addition, the flight attendants are turned into part-time salesmen, and they actually have to buy their own uniforms and pay for their own training, as Ryan Air is run by one of the con artists turning profits by the Eiffel Tower. Probably.

 I felt like we were on the Sacre Cour hillside again, getting accosted by vendors. Here are the things the flight attendants sold, in order: drinks -> snacks -> magazines -> morning newspaper -> drinks again -> makeup (?!) -> snacks again -> Insurance. I'm not positive on the last one, but through the muffled and possibly drunk flight attendant's announcement, I'm almost positive he said they were selling insurance. I believe they meant that it wasn't too late to get life insurance or medical insurance in case you didn't realize you were flying on Ryan Air.

I asked for a coffee at one point, not realizing that Ryan Air offers 0 complementary anything. Not even a seat pocket. Or a SkyMall to purchase a robotic dog house. This coffee made me almost burst out laughing. I am not a coffee snob by any means, but when I ask for one I have a baseline expectation that, at minimum, the coffee is brewed. Mine was not. The attendant opened the lid and poured hot water into the grinds sitting at the bottom and handed it to me. "Make sure you drink through the filter." "Um. What." "This part - this is the filter," she explained, pointing to the plastic lid which had a built-in mesh. To supplement this revolutionary coffee experience, I was also given a cup of condiments. So there I sat in the flying can mashed full of humans, drinking and chewing my coffee which had just been mixed with "Milk in a stick," or, milk coming from a little plastic baggy. My God you could at least have some dignity, Ryan Air! But coming from a business whose CEO honestly is exploring the possibility of flights where there are no seats and only standing, like it is a very literal Air Bus, I guess dignity is optional.

A few jumbled messages came from our pilot who probably just polished his 5th Guinness, and we'd landed. A tad roughly, but forgivable considering it was likely his 20th bus stop flight of the day. Off we got, in to more rain because Ryan Air doesn't believe in gates and/or "customer satisfaction," and on the next group got, through the other door. Incredible. We made it, I think. Still not entirely sure what just happened.

Paris + Versailles = happy

Paris: Day 2

We started Day 2 off hot with some coffees but cold on decisions. We masterfully crafted a plan to beat the crowds and get to the interior of Notre Dame early. 10:30 felt mighty early after spending the previous night of fending off beer vendors approaching us like we were the sharks on Shark Tank. The only differences were that their products required 0 innovation, their propositions were preposterous, their presentations were shoddy at best, and their asking price was about 1/500,000^th of a normal investment. Unfortunately, about 10,000 other tourists had the same morning plan. Seeing the line of tourists wrapped around tourists was a bit discouraging. We decided that this was Notre Dame the non-French and fake Irish rural Indiana school's fault, and that it probably wasn’t that cool anyways. So we moved on to the Natural History Museum. 

Cool - we've seen enough

This was actually a convenient accident. Becca’s first bathroom break of the hour was about 30 minutes into the day, and brought us into the museum upon arrival at the zoo/Esplanade/flower walk/conservatory/Natural History Museum grounds. Aaron magically learned how to translate a sign in what looked to be Elfish to me, but was actually just French, and determined that 26 and under had free admission. No, we still have not determined a single reason why 26 would be the cutoff age. But PSA to 26-year-olds like myself: you can’t be on your parents’ insurance anymore, but you CAN get free admission to Paris’s Natural History Museum, so those pretty much cancel out.

The museum was like a regional Southeastern U.S. United flight – it was packed with unreasonably enormous immobile creatures basically sitting on top of each other. This included a narwhal, which may or may not have been totally fake, amazing reconstructed blue whales, whale sharks, dinosaurs and creatures I think they made up. Each exhibit had accompanying French explanations that we made up translations for and concluded “Yea that sounds pretty accurate I guess.” 

Aaron is just as chiseled as the archeology remains

After our fictional pre-historic tour, we walked the gardens outside which, of course, insisted on containing the most robust flowers ever. I now recognize that when Paris doesn’t know what to do with some slightly unused plot of land, they just start making it rain flower seeds all over the place. Flowers, or just a palace. Or the biggest cathedral conceivably possible. One of those three though. Patios, roofs, windows, street lamps, even flowers within flowers – everything is a victim of flower attack, almost to the same level as Switzerland. Luxembourg Palace is a good example of all of the above. This glorious, pristine little summer home and estate has been turned into a public park complete with miniature boat rental for the main fountain, 109 statues, tennis and basketball courts and cafes, as if the palace itself is just an afterthought. Whatever, just another dumb palace, let’s go play doubles. A quick follow-up on the fountain boats: Katie has insisted that the sticks that these motor-less wooden toy sailboats come with are more than just sticks for kids to move them from the wall with. You wouldn’t just rent these for 4 Euro if there weren’t some magical superior force emanating from the aforementioned stick. They could be anything from magnetic to spiritual to supernatural to dark wizardly powers. She insists. Predictably, just about every boat/yacht/barge we see now comes with a sarcastic question from Aaron or myself regarding where we can get the spell casting stick to control said vessels.  

Flower..

..Power.

Magical mini boats

The view from within

 We headed from here to the Eiffel Tower. Previously, we had placed bets on how many steps it contains. Despite breaking it down mathematically, estimating about .75 feet per step, my guess of 750 steps was actually 1,000 short, and Katie’s prediction of 1,700 nailed it. No less, Aaron and I were determined not to short ourselves of a manly conquering experience, so we were going to climb every step. Ladies, if we don’t make it, we love you. Stay strong... about 500 steps later, despite our insistence to be valiant in the face of such a treacherous journey, we discovered that tourists aren’t actually allowed to climb the stairs to the top. There’s a stop midway for all, no matter what. Whoops. A bit of a blunder on my end here, as I had done the Eiffel before, and bragged that I climbed the stairs to the top, when really it was about midway, and now I am way less cool. I feel like I need to call all my previous life achievements into question as well, maybe they’re only half as good as I thought.

We legged it to the Arc de Triumph, which I believe was built for anyone who climbed up to the second level of the Eiffel Tower instead of using the elevator, mixed in a dinner crepe at some point, and then made the trek to Sacre Couer. Sacre Couer is a gorgeous church perched on a hill overlooking the city, complete with a 270-degree view of the sunset and swarming with Parisian teens and more beer suitors. The nightly summer crowds overwhelm the trash system, and 0 porta-potties in sight meant the streets were brimming with urine as the locals have absolutely no shame urinating on the other hillside just feet from a palace of the Lord. I believe this downhill urine tributary to the Seine could be an alternate explanation for the same scent wafting into our apartment windows.

But that view

The main event is the ensuing sing-along provided by the acoustic artist on the steps. This included not one, but two renditions of ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis. An African American friend of mine, Ian Roundtree, once referred to this as “the whitest song of all time.” While that’s definitely accurate, it’s also a European anthem of sorts, as I’ve now heard it covered just about every time I’ve heard someone playing a guitar in Europe. The crowd made it echo into the Parisian night. Some more annoying beer suitors repetitively confronted us, and when Aaron and I didn’t whisk them away with a royal wave of the hand, we went to town with some soul crushing deals. Aaron, incredibly, went one on one with a suitor who looked to be friendlier than most. A few feet away just minutes earlier, some English lads achieved a 2 Euro for 1 beer deal that they assumed was the deal of a lifetime. Little did they know, our elite standard was 5 Euro for 4. Aaron smelled blood in the water though, and this suitor was weak. Evolution selected for the fittest and Aaron managed to pull off the previously inconceivable one for one deal. There was a point he was literally dangling a 1 Euro coin in front of the vendors eyeballs. He couldn’t resist it.

A final previously inconceivable event occurred on Sacre Couer. This is such a sketchy and ridiculous business, that one suitor seriously approached us, spoke some jumbled words, pointed at a large box at our feet, and walked away. Generally, this is the same format for a terrorist attack, but the guy seemed trusty enough. Turns out, he wanted us to watch over his box of 20 Heineken while he went and sold elsewhere. Never seen anything like this in my life. Here, customer, watch over the only thing I have to make a living off of while I walk around for a half hour. We considered pulling off a 20 for 0 Euro deal, but after considering we had his liquid currency at our feet, we opted against it, and instead walked down the steep hill to find a late night Doner Kebab and Crepe oasis before retiring.

Day 3

Day 3 was dedicated to the most ridiculous, overzealous, totally selfish and unnecessary housing unit on earth…next to Neuchwanstein castle, maybe. King Louis XIII established this immense plot of land as the “family hunting grounds” after Louis XII started that trend. Louis XIV then decided the 6+ palace options within Paris (that we have seen, at least) just weren’t good enough if he was expected to get up and, you know, be a rich king every morning. Tough life. So we arrived at ol’ Lou’s house by noon to assess the line to get in. This assessment took approximately 3 seconds, as we saw that it wrapped around the golden gates of the gorgeous palace and, again, promptly decided the interior was probably old and run down anyways. Couldn’t be that cool if it was built 400 years ago – Louis XIV probably didn’t even have WiFi LOL!

The gardens in back, though, were mind blowing. Even a second time through, I’d somehow forgotten the pure majesty of this place. The incredible insistence on detail and manicured lawns and flowers would make St. Andrews’s golf course Head Greens Lieutenant (pretty sure that’s a real job title) shudder. We walked and walked and then did some more walking. After my legs transformed into linguini, we shifted our mode of transportation to our masculine manly men upper bodies. Aaron served as house servant, and whizzed us royalty up the royal grand canals. That was fun, but then I came in as the closer, which wasn't as fun. Fun fact: approximately 3% of tourists know how to row a boat properly. This creates for a fun scene of beautiful views mixed in with 7 or 8 near-disastrous crashes per tourist. We docked, and luckily timed it so that we had 1 hour left of the “Musical Fountain Show.”

The Musical Fountain show is a ridiculous concept. Essentially, they turn the fountains on on Saturday afternoons. To watch this, you must pay 9 Euro per person, although the fountains are only doing…exactly as they were built to do. But there is music, so, you know, that’ll cost ya. No less, we paid our dues, and it was glorious. Louis XIV absolutely LOVED water structures, apparently, so he built a hundred or so, as was necessary.

Running short on time to see them all, we started...well, like I said, running. The Tour de Fountain was probably the most unique way one could see the palace. We jogged for about 3 minutes through the perfectly trimmed 40 foot hedges until reaching another fountain exploding with joy, took a picture, maybe two, and took off for the next. ‘Cool! Alright, ready, smile! Andddddd NEXT!’ Nailed it all, with exception to the two fountains that never turned on. You had one job, Versailles.

We concluded our Parisian voyage with Steak and Frites. Just kidding – we had steak and frites and THEN concluded the night with “dessert crepes” down the street from Hostel de Urine. Had to get some sleep before departing for Dublin. Any sleep. Becca was very excited to hear that Aaron is different from Katie and I in terms of travel. Accordingly, then, my beauty sleep would be cut a few hours short, as Becca and Aaron insisted we leave about 16 hours before our flight, but we compromised at just 4.

Next, came possibly the most outrageous experience we’ve had yet: our first Ryan Air flight. To those who have ever flown Ryan Air, you’ll understand why I say that describing this experience needs to be saved for the next post. It was…well, you’ll see.

Enjoy some pics from Lou's Place, see you in Dublin

Gold gates: for when you don't know where else to put your excess gold

Kinda looks like us..but not

Nearly shipwrecked in first 3 minutes of half hour alotment

We named this "Vomiting Earth Man Throwing a Rock Grenade"

Aaron channeling his inner Asian power pose..

...Mine was better though

Not entirely sure

Potential future home viewing

Incredible burst on display

GET THE KNEES UP. FOUNTAINS TO SEE!

I don't recall the king and queen taking selfies back then but I could be mistaken