Drogheda

My professor from my creative writing class invited the entire class to come visit him in his home town of Drogheda, a small town about an hour outside of Dublin. Three of us actually went, although one girl brought a friend along.

I got up at 6:30 to make it in time to catch the 8 a.m. bus, and Stephen was there waiting for us when we got off the bus. We made a quick run up to Newgrange because none of the other girls had seen it. I took more pictures of sheep, but I'll spare you.

We headed back to Drogheda after that and got a quick lunch. Stephen then took us on a guided tour. We walked up to the fort that over looks the town. We didn't actually go in, but I took some pictures of the town from there: here and here.

We did, however, hop a wall taller than me behind the fort. There was a handball court there. Here's a picture of Stephen attempting to teach a bunch of American girls the joys of handball. I was out pretty fast. In my defense, I'd fallen off the wall in the process of climbing over, and banged myself up a bit.

We also went to two of Drogheda's seven churches. We saw lots of graves and other things, as well as the head of St. Oliver Plunkett. I took a bad picture of it, which is here.

We saw a lot of other historical sites, every one of which was improved by Stephen's stories, including a historic pub, which is historic for, among other things, having a grocery store inside it at one point and a bartender who didn't allow jokes, loud noises, or anything really.

We ate dinner at a delicious Thai restaurant and then headed back to Dublin.