"Ennis anyone?" a Ennis Travel Page by LolaSanFrancisco

Two girls early in the morning arrive into the little airport in Shannon Ireland late in September. Yes it was early, and *** it was cold but who cares! I have a hot lusty throbbing desire for a smoke. Yummy smoky goodness. Come on, you know that first smoke off the plane? Unfortunately my gal-pal I call Palie, is one of those: “I’m allergic to smoke, cough, cough, and hack. Get that *** away from me.” Crimany.

I’m alone with my true love at the taxi stand in front of the airport and I look around to notice one very interesting thing: there are a lot of smoken hot men at this airport! Palie gave me a deep meaningful look in my eyes as if to say: “Having a boyfriend at home sucks, Lola, and you can’t keep secrets for ***.” Alrightie, I say to myself… if I get her liquored up good and plenty and let her get “carried away” with one of the smoken hot airport guys, I can have black mail over her and she can’t make me smoke alone in cold corners of boring places.

Ok, I think, where do airport dudes in Ireland hang out, I’m hoping Ennis baby, because that’s our first stop..."

Palie doesn’t care one bit that I’m half way “there” with my cigarette, oh yes just a little bit more, just a little tiny bit more….; she waves me over to a cab that’s waiting. They both look at me as if to say: “Don’t even ask about smoking in the cab.” Both of them stand and wait, impatient with the loser smoker holding up the show. ***. Fine then.

The ride from the airport to the town of Ennis was exciting to say the least. Riding in the driver’s side as a passenger was weird and unnerving. At one point I looked over to see a little 10 year old boy driving and I thought to myself: “Oh my, they let kids drive young in Ireland.” But he was a passenger. Fun was had by all.

Upon arriving into the little town of Ennis I tried to pay attention to my first look at a real Irish town. It looked clean, small, clean, and small. I looked over to see if Palie had the same little crush on it I did. She did not. She was appalled at the size and skeptical at the cleanliness. Oh boy, disappointment on day one. Only thirteen more days to go.

Now Palie didn’t handle the plane ride as well as I did, I have to say. I tried my best to get her to take sleeping pills with whisky, but to no avail. I had a nice little cramped 18 hour travel stint, but she was thrashed, ugly, mean, and at this point: hallucinating.

Though the hotel reception staff lady told us repeatedly that it was 8:30 in the morning and that our rooms where not ready, Palie freaked. After some whining and prodding I finally got her to the breakfast bar and ordered a Whisky & Coke for myself and a nice soothing glass of red wine for her. This concerned even the locals, and miraculously our rooms were ready in the flash-of-a-eye.

Naps were had, showers were enjoyed, and the war paint was put on. It was time to get into trouble, punk rock style. Palie wore her leather fur trimmed jacket with over-the-top bedazzles and bling-bling this-and-thats. I was in my sassy ware, with a tee-shirt that had the words SLIT on it.

We wondered the streets and found nothing to do. We popped into bars and had drinks and left, bored and wondering where the fun was. We did this for a few hours until I realized I was broke, and a sickness came over me. The ***ing Euro was killing me. I don’t drink beer and Palie only drinks Champaign, we were screwed. I however, almost fingered myself when I realized I brought my flask! We were devastated to find that a bottle of whisky was $35 USD in Ireland and in the US is was $13. I resolved right then and there on the spot that I would forgo souvenirs and drink myself some good memories. Palie thought it would be a good idea to get clean in Ireland, maybe workout more, stop drinking as much, eat healthy. I was greatly amused, with her idealism, and hoped to see her passed out drunk on the laps of Irish Airport workers.

That night we heard our first “Session” of traditional music in the bar attached to the Queens Hotel where we were staying for the night. This place is located in the shadows of a very old, barely there church ruins. Across the street was a little river with darling little bridges and sleeping water fowl that didn’t much mind two drunken giggly girls making all sorts of unnecessary noise. They seamed to look at us and roll their eyes.

That night as we said goodnight and went to our separate rooms, we both worried that this trip may be a bit too rural and wondered if the Irish were a bit put off by us? How very wrong I was. One night in Ennis does not make Ireland.

In the haze of morning, as we rolled our over sized suitcases to the cab heading out the bus station for Galway, I had high hopes, and little did I know I would never be able to live down the next 3 days.

(Continue on to Galway with sex, drink and peeing at the cliffs of Moorer.) http://www.virtualtourist.com/m/57eeb/48386/