I arrived by train in Kilkenny in early afternoon. It was raining. I found a room at a tiny labyrinthine B&B, and then set out to eat some fish and chips. That accomplished, and it still raining, I decided to check out the main tourist attractions. Kilkenny has two: the Castle and the Cathedral. It being a Monday, the castle was closed. I went to the cathedral instead. I was really impressed with its age: as my first real European cathedral, it knocked my socks off. Carved wooden gargoylish heads peered down on the stone cathedral's interior as they have done for 800 years. I was in awe imagining all that those impassive wooden faces must have witnessed.

That evening, I went off in search of Irish music. I found an excellent session at one pub, where I talked with some Americans. One of them was the step-daughter of one of my favorite writers, Barry Lopez. The pub was a terrific atmosphere: low stone archways connecting the dark-wood-panelled rooms, coal burning cheerily in the fireplace, kids dancing on the benches, old men greeting each other with a familiarity born of years of conversation between bar-stools. Outside, it was still raining as I hiked on to another venue, where the music wasn't nearly so good.

I walked home from the pubs at midnight. On the way, I passed Kilkenny's one big department store, which was full of people. The next day would be Christmas Eve, and so apparently everyone was out stocking up before the stores closed for the holidays. I stopped in and chatted amiably with some elderly Irish ladies in line. I bought some orange juice and nuts and raisins for a snack, and also some provisions for the next day's transportation to Kilarney.