Finding a good martini in some parts of Europe is often a challenge. And so it was. I chose poorly. I should have gone back to my favorite place at Gallagher’s, but instead I chose the one place I had not yet been. It is called the Creamery. It was more sports bar than traditional Irish Pub. By the time I decided this was probably not the best place to get a martini, the bartender had already come up and asked me what I wanted and I had ordered. He came back a couple of times to get instructions, but it didn’t help. I got a glass of warm vodka with a couple of small, marinated green olives floating around. Not his fault; probably the first one he’d ever made.
Early in the morning, unable to sleep, I got up and went for an early morning walk in the dark. There are streetlights around for most of the area, but there is a nice long country road that runs along the river and by Durty Nellie’s. I had walked there Sunday afternoon and it was lovely.
I walked that direction, but quickly realized there was no fucking way I was walking down that road in the pitch dark. I am not generally a guy who is easily scared and I am pretty rational. So the rational side says ‘what could you be scared of?’ There are no wild animals in this area. Ireland is not generally a place where there are lots of crazed murderers wandering around–especially rural Ireland. Guns are rare. So what then? Why not just walk down that road?
I decided it was too risky in the dark–I might turn an ankle on a pothole or step off the side of the road and trip on a large rock. Or something.
The Martini Tales 