I need a Do Over

I was determined to get out of the Armore House in Kenmare without having to deal with Mr. Happy Hands again. I paid in full last night, fully intending to be out of the place by 7:30am.

I got up early, showered, and packed. I snuck down the dark hallway at 7:15am, knowing full well the bus didn't arrive until 8:30. I figured I'd grab a bite in town. I went to the entry way where I'd left my boots. They were gone. I searched all areas of the house that were open to guests; they were no where to be found. I looked outside on the front porch - nothing. At 7:45, he unlocked the kitchen and came out into the common area. After I wished him a good morning, I enquired about my boots. He said he'd kept them in his room to "keep them safe".

I've stayed in a lot of European B&Bs. Never has anyone felt the need to protect my boots. Typically, walkers stuff them with newspaper and leave them piled in the entry. Nobody wants someone else's hiking boots. Weird. I slipped them on, without tying, and headed out the door. Once out of his neighborhood, I properly tied them and adjusted my pack. I was shocked to find that nothing was open in the village. There was no place to buy a coffee or a roll...I sat on the side of the road by the bus stop and waited. Others began to arrive by 8:15. One of them was an Irish character from Cork named Frank. What a piece of work he is. He's like the crazy uncle everyone has, except he's harder to understand.

I arrived in Killarney about half nine and made my way to the International Hotel, where I'd booked a rental through Budget. Liam was working the counter and not at all pleased that I was so early. (Apparently, I'd booked it for noon.) He fussed but finally said that he could find me a car. After the paperwork was done, he escorted me from the one room office, locked the door, and set off for the car park to retrieve my car. I heard a shout from across the street. It was the adorable old guy who owns Bob the horse (remember my first picture from Killarney, taken about ten days ago?) He remembered me and came over to chat. I told him my plans and he said that he wished we had time for a pint. I promised we would get together next time. Liam arrived with the car and gave me a demonstration. I was off.

My first stop was my B&B, where I'd left a bag. Check. After that, I stopped at a shop for a Diet Coke (second one since leaving the States) and a muffin. I jumped back into my little Nissan and off I went. I was cautious, but not nervous. I'd done it before and I have a GPS to tell me how to get to Minard Castle in Annasucal, on the the Dingle Peninsula, before beginning the six hour drive to Achill Island.

I was heading down Muckross Road, and things were congested. There was construction on one side of the road and huge signs on wooden tripods on the other. It was fine. Then an enormous tour bus came barreling up the other lane, taking up part of mine. I breaked and hugged my lane as closely as possible. There was a deafening crash and I was covered in glass shards. I thought someone had thrown something through my window. Turns out, I clipped a construction sign, ripped off the side-view mirror, and shattered the passenger window. As soon as I could function again, I pulled into an apartment complex. I was covered in glass....in my hair, on my face, in my clothes. My Diet Coke and muffin were very glassy. I held back tears as a man came to the driver's side to see if I was okay. I wasn't really able to answer. He opened the door and helped me out. With my rolled up map, he brushed the glass off of me while I stood there dumbfounded, trying not to cry.

Once I was able to speak again, he told me to go down the block to a Nissan dealer. He said they would Hoover the car and replace the window. He told me that it happens all the time on that road. I didn't believe him, but thanked him for his kind concern. He really was a nice man.

I was really rattled, but made it to the Nissan dealership. They'd watched the whole thing. They were pretty nice and called Liam (they're all friends) and I was directed to drive back to the agency. I didn't really feel up to it, but told myself to put on my big girl panties and just freaking do it. I made it back without further incident. Liam was waiting outside.

He told me to get out of the car as he paced the street. Then he told me that he "couldn't trust" me and said he would not be able to allow me to drive one of their vehicles. He went into the office to do the paperwork, while I collected my things from the car, Onlookers gawked at the clumsy American woman who'd managed to blow out a window less than half a mile from the office. To the rescue came the owner of Bob the Horse. Just as I was about to cry, he gave me a bear hug and told me it was nothing. Happens every day. He reminded me how much worse it could have been. He smelled like horse and I felt better. Liam came back out and told me to "step on it"; I had a report to file and sign. Bob's owner told him to feck off. Then he hugged me again and told me that he'd be waiting for me.

After half an hour of being humiliated, I was charged for one day's rental, a full tank of gas, GPS rental, and insurance charges. I was still trying not to cry. Onlookers were still looking. I felt like I was under a magnifying glass until I heard Bob's owner (I still don't know the man's proper name) singing at the top of his lungs. It was some ridiculous song about "she wrecked the car and thought I would be mad but I love her" or some such shit. It made me smile. Then I really cried. It finally came out.

He put his around around my shoulders and took me over to hug Bob. Bob whinnied in agreement that sometimes shit happens and let me rest my head on his neck for awhile. Then my good friend called a friend who drives a cab. He told me I'd be able to rent a car at Kerry Airport. We said goodbye (again) and promised to meet for pints next summer.

Twenty-five euros later, I was at the airport. Long story made short is that there wasn't one stinking car available!! Not one! Liam must have put out the word, the rat bastard. I waited two hours for a bus back to Killarney because it was only six euro and I'm running out of cash. I walked to the train station, knowing I could train to Westport and then probably get a bus to Achill Island. (Not my preferred way to travel; I'm too old for a long day of buses and trains and shit. Unfortunately (or not?), I missed the last train. The next one doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. I walked back into town where the carriages are. Bob the Horse's owner ran to greet me. "Did ye crash anodder?" he asked, before breaking into fits of contagious, Irish laughter. I told him to feck off and said he owed me a pint.

He said he'd make good on that and as soon as he'd off the clock, we'll have pints and lots of craic. I sure could use it.

I wandered town looking for a room. This is a HUGE weekend in Killareny. They are expecting 25,000 cyclists to come for a race around the Ring of Kerry and there's a HUGE game on Sunday; Kerry vs Cork. I wish I could be here for that because I love the game, but I'll be on a plane. (If nothing else goes wrong.) I finally found a single at the Castle Lodge, not far from the main drag. I showered and decided to quickly blog today's events thus far. I hoped it would help me to "get over it". I'm feeling blue and still a bit shaken, and pissed off too.

I'm starving because all I've eaten to day is one bite of muffin before it got showered in glass. It's gotta be at least 3pm and my belly is angry. I'm heading off to town to find a bite and then wait for Mr. Bob the Horse's owner to join me for pints.

I hope the rest of the day is better.....