Pity that all the pretty ones are usually more touristy

“I cry all the time because I’m not the Hulk.”

“So what you’re saying is that Jesus’ clothes were spun by Mothra?”

My brother is a strange, strange creature, but hey, at least he’s entertaining. Last night after driving around a scenic area for literally hours, the lot of us went into Galway city and met up with Conor, a friend whom I haven’t seen in quite some time, for dinner and for him to haul the boys off to his to traverse them to Dublin, where a plane will carry them to London, where yet another plane with take them to Iceland’s capital, which I know I can’t spell so I won’t even try. Reykjavik, says spellcheck. Oh well.

Today was more driving around and a lot more of something about which I had a mini-discussion with my father: tourism. I hate tourists. I hate being a tourist, I hate being around tourists, and I hate feeling surrounded by them. Or any people, really, but that’s another matter. What Dad and I discussed was how right now, there’s nothing I would like less than to spend my elderly years traipsing around in busses filled with other old people and being shepherded around to places ‘I’d always wished I’d gone when I was young and now I have time to visit!’

Stick a fork in my head and call me done. It’s probably something to do with being young and wanted to adventure and experience the world for myself. When I’m out on my own and I’m travelling the world—because let’s face it, I’ve got too much wanderlust to stay in the Bay Area for the rest of my life—I won’t habit the touristy places drowned with people, and if I must I’ll go when no one else is around. I’m more of a night owl anyway.

So right now I’m in the back seat of the car we rented, wishing that I had more legroom, typing away at a dying computer, listening to a dying iPod. I’m going to go stir-crazy if we don’t find an internet connection soon. But Limerick, which we passed through probably a half-hour ago, was surprisingly pretty for a city. And I mean the very urban part.

Now I’m told that we’re in Adare, which really doesn’t tell me much. The buildings are nice though, and I just spotted a sign pointing us in the direction of Tralee, and I do know where that is, so I don’t feel quite so lost.

I hate being lost, and there’s been a lot of it this trip, of more than one variety.