It was a bright sunny day in Cashel and I was standing in front of a gas station holding a sign that read CAHIR. Cahir was a nearby city said to have a beautiful castle with an actual moat. After standing for a while, my pack was starting to dig into my shoulders so I loosened the straps and let it fall off my back. I heard sickening crack and looked down to see that Excalibur, the long black umbrella I’d bought in London, was broken in two pieces on the ground. It might seem crazy, but that got me kind of emotional. Having been on the road for nearly two months with only a handful of possessions on my back, seeing that umbrella shattered and useless on the ground really tugged at my heartstrings. Before dropping it into a nearby garbage can, I considered for a moment setting it on fire and giving it a sort of Viking funeral…but I decided that that really was crazy.

A car pulled over and a young guy stuck his head out the window and shouted, “Hey you! Are you Nolen?” I was more than a little startled and responded, “Holy hell, are you the CIA?” Introducing himself as Tim, the guy laughed and said that he was friends with Conor, the guy who’d given me a lift a couple days earlier. Tim recognized me from a picture Conor had posted on Facebook and considered it destiny to be able to help further my travels. Amazed by my good fortune, I got in the car and met Tim’s girlfriend, Francis, who was just as upbeat and friendly as he was. They dropped me right in front of the castle in Cahir, where I took a picture of the lovely couple before saying goodbye.

I walked around the castle and explored the expansive gardens surrounding it. It was a very handsome castle with much darker stones than the castle I’d just come from in nearby Cashel. The moat turned out to be a wide stream that flanked the castle on three sides, home to an impressive number of loud-quacking ducks. I sat down by the water’s edge and tossed the remains of a Doritos bag out for the ducks to enjoy.

I eventually made my way to the nearest watering hole for a cup of coffee, which was quickly followed by a few frosty glasses of “Ice Cold Budweiser” from the tap. This is something you’ll notice in bars around Ireland; they will have regular Budweiser and Guinness on tap, but next those will be specially marketed “Ice Cold” versions. While a light beer like Budweiser is nice served ice cold, in my opinion a dark beer like Guinness tastes decidedly flat at that temperature. As I nursed my beer, a big red bus pulled up outside the bar and unloaded a handful of people. I asked the bartender where that bus was going, and after looking at his watch he decided that it must be the bus to Kilkenny. “Do they have a castle in Kilkenny,” I asked. “Oh yeah, a massive one!” he replied. I downed the rest of my beer and ran out to the bus.

I arrived in Kilkenny at 5PM, which is long after sun sets there in December. Kilkenny was aglow with Christmas decorations and only a few minutes after getting off the bus I saw the illuminated Kilkenny castle from a distance across a river. I walked around the city for a while enjoying the crisp air and festive lights as I looked for lodging for the night. I eventually saw a neon blue sign with a big arrow and the word HOSTEL emblazoned on it. The sign lead me to a sports bar where the bartender placed a call for someone to come collect me and show me to a room upstairs. I was the only guest in a cozy room with an ensuite bathroom that included a luxuriously large shower. I dug out the smart black blazer I’d recently bought in Cohb from the bottom of my backpack and hung it next to the shower to steam while I washed away the worst of my vagabond smell. I dawned the blazer and went out to explore the city some more.

I went into the first pub I heard live music coming out of and sat down for a performance by a husband and wife Irish-folk duo. The woman was playing a beautiful acoustic guitar and singing while her husband played every clichéd Irish instrument there was behind her—pipes, flutes, mandolin, lute, animal-skin drums, and more. The pub was bursting at the seams with an older cliental, and I eventually gave up my barstool to an old woman and left to find another venue.

As I was walking through the city, I saw two beautiful girls in stunning dresses and leather jackets walking the opposite way. I briefly made eye contact and smiled at them as they passed and I wondered to myself where they were going dressed so nice. Suddenly remembering that in my blazer I was somewhat incognito as a man-of-means, I turned around and shouted after the girls. I told them that I was new in town looking for a nice place for a drink and asked if they might be able to recommend something. They told me there was only one bar worth going to in Kilkenny – The Left Bank – where they were going now. They invited me to join them and I happily accepted their offer. Their names were Shana and Emma, and when I asked them why they were dressed so incredibly nice on a Sunday night they just laughed and said that that’s how Irish girls always dressed when they went out. What a wonderful country. We sat at a tall table near a roaring fireplace inside the spacious Left Bank bar and talked and laughed for hours. The girls also gave me a list of interesting things to see while I was visiting Kilkenny. When Sunday night began spilling over into Monday morning, we finally said our goodbyes went our separate ways.

I went ahead and checked out of my little hostel in the morning and carried my pack along for a self-guided tour of Kilkenny. My first stop was the castle, which was a spectacular and very well maintained structure on a hilltop overlooking the city. The gardens and manicured lawns surrounding the castle were sprawling, and I could just imagine the grounds swarming with sun-loving students during the warmer summer months. Unlike the last couple castles I’d visited in Cashel and Cahir, I was actually able to go inside the one in Kilkenny. The inside had been modernized to resemble a 1970s elementary school with furnace heating, and as I wandered the halls I realized that the castle was actually home to a number of city offices. There was also a small cafe and an art gallery where an interesting display of interactive nature photography was on display.

As I ventured away from the castle I passed the Smithwick brewery, but opted not to pay for a tour since I’m personally not a big fan of the metallic-tasting beer. I continued down a cobbled street full of little shops and explored a few bookstores, as per my tradition. As I was admiring some of the medieval architecture along the cobbled lane, a friendly orange cat rubbed his face affectionately against my leg and waited expectantly for a scratching behind the ears. I obliged him until he darted off at the sound of a car starting nearby. Having nothing better to do, I followed the cat around a corner out of curiosity, through an alleyway, and up a set of winding stone stairs. He led me straight to an 11th century church, Kilkenny’s famous Dominican Black Abbey, where someone had put out a saucer of milk for my little orange friend. I went inside to have a look around and lit a few candles before returning to the sunny day outside. I spontaneously chose a direction and continued exploring. I soon came across the St Candice cathedral, another impressive structure significantly older than my entire home country.

By that point I’d been walking through the city with my forty-pound pack for a few hours and was beginning to feel burned out. Kilkenny was a nice place and I knew I could probably have spent another couple days there, but it was already the first week of December and I still had so many people and places I wanted to see before returning to Germany to meet my family for Christmas. So after a quick lunch, I made my way to the train station and bought myself a ticket back to Dublin. After spending so much time on buses driving on rough roads, I’ll never forget the luxurious smoothness of that train ride.

Back in Dublin, I checked into a place called the Generator hostel – a gargantuan complex that felt like a New York Marriott compared to the quaint little places I’d been staying the last few weeks. In addition to the nine floors of dorm rooms, the hostel had it’s own movie theater, restaurant, bar, and pool hall. But despite the hustle of activity in that hostel, the only thing I wanted to do that night in Dublin was to return to the Kelt pub and listen to the funny Irish folksingers I’d heard when I’d first arrived a few weeks ago. So I dawned my rain jacket to face the rain outside, feeling a slight pang of loss thinking back to my broken umbrella in the trash back in Cashel.

On my way to the pub, I walked by the hostel I’d stayed at with my Canadian travel companion Chelsea last time I was in Dublin. Even though the Kelt was just around the corner, I went in the hostel for nostalgia’s sake and to temporarily escape the wind and rain. I sat down for a few minutes and warmed myself by the fireplace near the entrance. A girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Chelsea sat down by the fire and unexpectedly struck up a conversation with me. Her name was Amanda, and apparently she’d just arrived earlier that day and was hoping to see some live music in the city. When she said she was looking to go someplace with authentic Irish music, I invited her to join me at the Kelt. She jumped at the opportunity and went to get her raincoat. What a strange coincidence, I thought, to meet a doppelganger of Chelsea in literally the exact same room where I’d said goodbye to her. When Amanda returned with her coat, I asked her where she was from. “Oh I’m from Canada,” she said. “Well how ‘bout that…”