The suite is named in Gaelic, (Greek to me).

Light and clean, with Kinsale harbor and bluff views, it’s dreamy. There’s a lounge area with a sofa, a desk, and a round reading table with two cushioned chairs. The bathroom is marble-tiled with a deep-soaking tub and a glass shower from which can be seen through expansive windows, the active harbor. And a king-size bed. Ahh, the bed. I ache to lay down and close my eyes. No. I know better. I learned this as a flight attendant working international all-nighters. Easy to fall into bed once at the hotel. Much, much harder to wake to an alarm set for three hours after arrival. Which you have to do. You can’t sleep all day to be up all night then work the return flight in the morning. Now, the consequence of disruptive sleep patterns, is touring a layover city sleep deprived. A zombie state which I’ve actually come to appreciate.

There’s something to be said for a sleep deprivation buzz. Words translate to sound like a 45 rpm record set at 33 & 1/3… slow and comically distorted. I stand vertically but I sway horizontally, like I’m floating on a slightly deflated water lounger, undulating in rhythm with the waves. Yes, as a permanent condition this is detrimental. But if one must be in this temporary altered state, one might as well find a groove and ride the buzz.

I brush my teeth, splash my face with cold water, and hit the streets of Kinsale…

She’s tired (Don’t you know she’s pooped) —  Mel Brooks (Blazing Saddles)

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I think I’m going to like it here…

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