MORE DUBLIN PHOTOS I FORGOT ABOUT: http://www.thecobrasnake.com/partyphotos/lepracans/index.html CARDIFF, WALES Mark and I made it to the train station with minutes to spare. We were cranky and zombified. Multiple nights of not sleeping will do that to you and I think we’d finally found our breaking point, although we’d prove otherwise later. This was supposed to be the climax of our trip, the whole reason we came to Europe in the first place, to participate in the wedding of our friends Marissa and Stewart, and it was. As the train rocked back and forth and we neared closer and closer to Cardiff, we had no idea what lay ahead for us. Once we finally arrived, we still hadn’t slept very much. I could barely open my eyes, my baggage felt like it weighed 1,000,000 pounds, I had a headache. We walked to the holiday inn (possibly the worst holiday inn ever) and checked into our room. We both passed out. 3 hours later, I woke up and looked at the clock. Holy shit, we were late for the wedding! Mark and I rushed out of the hotel with a piece of paper, upon which were scribbled shoddy directions. We walked around for an hour until we found the proper chapel. We walked in in the middle of the ceremony, severely underdressed, heads down and the focus of upset family members. Luckily, my best friend, Zane, and his lovely lady, Lexi, and her brother, Gabe, were there to console us in our time of need. The wedding was beautiful. Huge chapel, long, hand-made dress, everyone from grandmothers to punks. It was a melting pot of cultures as the Americans and Welsh mingled, trading accents and tears of joy. Having missed the majority of the wedding (i’m not good with formal occasions anyway), it was now time for the reception. We were all escorted to a castle right outside of Cardiff. I’m not sure what it was called, but I do know it was the second largest castle in Europe, and I was to rock the party in it that night. We arrived and it was so huge and gothic. I couldn’t help thinking of how many people must have died in really fierce battles there. I kept imagining scenes from ‘The Two Towers.’ Huge explosions of orcs and men, bashing each others brains out, cuz orcs are real, you know. The theme of the reception was pirates. Everyone got their own little goody bag full of booty and eye patches. I set up the dj stuff and set the mood. Indian food was served and Mark and I shared a table with the priest. Surprisingly, he was totally rad. Mark and he debated religion and he and I talked about led zepplin. We went through the round of congratulatory speeches, shots were had, and after a devilishly delicious dessert and a private tour of the castle grounds (provided by the guard on duty, who told me ghost stories about the place and really spooked me out), it was finally time for me to do my duty. I did what I do best, and kept the castle pumping for the duration of the reception. It’s my second wedding this year, and what I find to be so amusing about dj’ing them is that people really get crazy. Like EVERYBODY, young and old, and there isn’t that musical generation gap, they all dance to everything. I think it’s cuz they’re all so drunk, not sure, but I definitely saw some welsh elders freaking each other in ways I’ve only seen a t some of the more hard core hip hop joints in L.A. I had to shield my eyes a few times. CHECK OUT THE WEDDING & RECEPTION PHOTOS: http://www.thecobrasnake.com/partyphotos/whitewedding/index.html Once the reception came to a close, they loaded everyone onto a bus and drove us to the reception after party in downtown Cardiff at and excellent club called the Soda Bar. We walked in, and they had the whole back room blocked off for our party. Mark and I quickly became friendly and popular with the whole staff. We drank our asses off and danced up a storm. I was so drunk, I think I attempted to flirt with over half the girls in the place and later in the night, I found Mark passed out on the couch. The owner of the club took a liking to us as well and kept buying us drinks, even waking up Mark to feed him shots. The bar stayed open until 5am, but once it closed, nobody was finished yet. There was yet another after party. We all loaded up in the owner’s BMW and he drove us to what was either a rugby player’s house or someone in some band. I forget which. Mark must have gotten a second wind, because once we got there, he quickly joined in the battle over the resident ipod, blasting out tracks by The Killers and screaming along at the top of his lungs. My body, on the other hand, had finally had enough and it was my turn to pass out on the coach. It wasn’t until I saw the Cobrasnake photos later that I new what mischievous deeds they’d done to my lifeless, limp body. Fuckers. CHECK OUT THE SODA BAR & AFTER PARTY PHOTOS: http://www.thecobrasnake.com/partyphotos/sodabar/index.html At around 7:30 am, Mark woke me up and literally dragged me back to the hotel. I was so exhausted, you could have shot me and I wouldn’t have noticed. It was about a half a mile walk, so I finally perked up enough that by the time we got back to the hotel, we could partake in the free breakfast before finally going to bed. I got in line and as I kept fighting my body’s need to completely and utterly shut down, I stared at these black circles that looked a bit like hash browns. I almost picked one up, and then, luckily I asked, “what are these?” “oh, that’s fried cow’s blood,” I was answered. I tried not to throw up. British people eat the wackest shit. Anyway, we ate, finally went to bed, and what was up next? Oh, Paris…..