Starting to question whether we should really be calling ourselves the Backpacking Battlers. The only reason we can keep calling ourselves that is because we battle more than everyone else we seem to meet. But even so, we’ve been gone just over four months now so if we hadn’t learnt a thing or two along the way and put that into practice, I’d be worried about what my life will turn out like. Maybe we should change the name to ‘Backpacking Buddies’ or ‘Backpacking Boiz’ or even ‘Bullshit Backpackers’ because everything we do surprises everyone. I say this because the amount of luck we’ve had so far is starting to become scary. Waiting for something big and bad to happen.
OR, which makes a hell of a lot more sense, Finnegan the Leprechaun has casted, over our innocent souls, the luck of the Irish. Kid you not, every time it’s drizzling and we walk outside, the heavens close up and the rain eases. Been crap weather for ages now, rarely seeing Earth’s generator.

Arriving to Snoozles Hostel from Cork, the reason we had come to this place on the east coast was to see the infamous Cliffs of Moher. Upon arrival it looked like we wouldn’t have any luck for a clear day to see the cliffs; disappointing. Whilst semi on the subject of Snoozles, they should have called it Sneezles for there was either something in my bed I was allergic to or I have a cold and the start of conjunctivitis simultaneously.

The Bullshitters went on their second tour in four months as they both despise them. To see the sites themselves in about a tenth of the time saves both money and boredom.

Jumped aboard the bus and took the only few remaining seats left. As we sat, the Buddies watched the tubby bus driver’s moobs (man boobs for those not in the loop with the modern day lingo) bounce up and down as he danced or skipped – dunno which because he looked like a div either way – up and down the aisle of the bus. I reckon he had at least a B cup. The bloke had so much energy. And good on him. Although he wouldn’t shut up the whole time over the speakers located above every seat in the bus, he was insightful and made the trip more enjoyable.

The Boiz saw some castles and other random stuff which was alright. Took a few snaps and that. Had lunch at a pub and bought enough chocolate and fudge at a homemade chocolate shop to pay the owner’s bills for the next few months. By late arvo, we finally arrived at the Cliffs of Moher.

This natural wonder was moher fohing insane! Nothing has ever stolen my breath like these cliffs did. Shivers running down my spine and goose bumps rising on the surface of my skin and not because it was rather cold. This is what I’d been waiting for. Something so spectacular that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself or what to say. Only thing I could do was walk along the edge dragging my jaw behind me. This type of architecture, the architect of nature, really is the greatest artwork the world has ever witnessed. The best art, sculptures, museums, galleries, bloody dreaded ruins and any other building, even music, don’t deserve to be put in the same category as this brilliance.

Eddie and I walked very close the edge as we took a thousand of the same photos of the cliffs. You seriously just couldn’t get enough of it. As we were walking along the trail, a woman walking in the opposite direction yelled at us “Excuse me! Do you speak English?” Our general response when people ask us that question is yes and we had no reason to answer any other way so we stuck to the norm. She showed us the viewfinder part of her camera and said “This is you! I took a photo of you from a more outer part of the cliff.” It was a photo of me on the edge of the cliff peering over, marveling the several hundred feet drop into the wind tattered, wave crunched rocks below. Eddie stood behind me. Was one of the greatest photos I’ve been apart of that I’ve ever seen. She’s going to email it to me so I’ll definitely share it when I get it.

Although some of the tour wasn’t what we wanted to see, and especially as I get cranky easily on those things when everyone just farts around wasting time, I enjoyed this one. It showed us the real Irish countryside with its unimaginable green fields and stone built fences. Everything I had hoped and had pictured in my head of Ireland all came to life today. I couldn’t be happier and wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right now.

Reiterating what I was saying to start with, how can this be ‘battling’? If this is what battling is, the dictionary has the wrong definition