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Today I fell just a little bit more in love with Ireland. There is nothing quite like being shown around a foreign place than being shown by a local. My lovely friend Gemma (OK…the truth is she is Clare’s lovely friend Gemma, but I am claiming her as my own while I am in Ireland) is a born and bred Cork girl and we spent a magical day wandering around the places of her childhood. Stepping off the bus in Cork I was instantly captivated by the animated feel of a village that is a city, that looks like a movie set and bustling with enchanting characters of every shape and size, energetically bantering in sing-song voices while going about their business. With a moment of spare time on my hands, I thought what will I do? Naturally, food trumps fashion every time and I gravitated straight to the English Market where my senses were sent into rapture with smells, sights, tastes and sounds of an effervescent foodie heaven with every color of the rainbow come to life in the semblance of olives, cheeses, fresh herbs, coffee, sweets, bread, butchers, fishmongers and vibrant locals frantically vying for their Friday evening meals. I teamed up with Gemma and within a nano-second, we had bags laden with goodies from duck-liver pate to sunflower baked crackers, bunches of fresh basil to apple and raspberry pie. There was no stopping us, we were a skillful tag team swiftly moving from vendor to vendor hungrily buying up like we were destined for the gallows. We could hardly get home fast enough, stopping only for a tub of ice-cream and a bottle of Villa Maria on the way. The platter was splendid, the wine divine, the setting cozy and the company wonderful. The man of the house, Terry, recognizing a girls night in when he sees one, set us up with a chick-flick (which of course never saw the light of day) a roaring fire, an extra bottle of Villa Maria for good measure and headed off to the pub while Gemma and I talked non-stop till he got home…and then some. Gemma entertained me with tales of her childhood and in return, I educated her on Aussie Rock songs every girl should know (she now sports Cold Chisel, Noiseworks and Hunters & Collectors on her I-Pod). Starting with a lazy coffee at home in the morning, we then trekked to Kinsale, a seaside village 20 minutes out of Cork. Book stores disguised as coffee shops, art galleries boasting local works, quirky shops filled to overflowing with nothing you need and everything you want, it is indeed the quintessential seaside holiday village. Many restaurants and cafes were closed for the winter and you could easily picture the dawn of summer when “Closed” signs are put away in favor of “Open” and almost feel the hustle and bustle that comes with the warmth of the sun. The changing of the seasons is something we don’t embrace in Queensland because we are blessed with sun and tourists all year round, but I still appreciate the thrill that comes with the first glimpse of a new season and the opportunities it brings along with it. We had coffee and scones for breakfast at lunchtime, then meandered around the shops of Gemma’s childhood summers taking photos outside curious and colorful buildings. We bought bits and pieces we never knew we needed, then walked the 2 or 3 km to the endearing Bulman’s pub for a late light lunch before heading back to Cork. Gemma dropped me off and headed for home to revel in her newly purchased art supplies and I marveled yet again at what a delightful city Cork is on the way to the bus-stop (via the English Market of course). My delectable semi-sundried tomatoes and basil-infused mozzarella balls are waiting patiently for my attention while I record this remarkable memory.