Sunday, November 12, 2006

When I die, Dublin will be written in my heart. -James Joyce

I have returned from my journey to the homeland! Dublin was great. Blair, Gideon, and I flew out on RyanAir (crummy service, really cheap) on Friday (my birthday) morning. We were supposed to meet my friend Madi (flying from Rome) at the airport – her flight ended up being cancelled due to fog. (But more about that later.)
So, Madi-less, we took a bus to city center and found our hostel. It was, in a word, foul. Okay, maybe not complete squalor, but pretty gross. Welcome to la vie bohème. Blair and I were staying in a 12-bed female dorm with one(!) bathroom for all 12 girls. (Gideon stayed with his friend Kate, who goes to Trinity College in Dublin.) The girls in the dorm were pretty nice. Most of them were Canadian, and they had been living in the hostel for a MONTH while they were working and looking for a flat. That’s insanity, in my book, but they didn’t seem to mind.
After getting somewhat settled, we went and got the most delish fish and chips for lunch (with lots of salt and vinegar – yum), and then walked around the campus of Trinity College, which is just beautiful and for about an hour I was seriously contemplating transferring there. In the Trinity library there is the Book of Kells, which is this old beautiful manuscript, copied by monks hundreds and hundreds of years ago.(It’s one of the “1000 Things to See Before You Die,” so I figured we had to go.) We looked at that for a while, and then Blair and I walked around the city, and did some shopping, of course!
We found this store called Carroll’s which was totally dedicated to all things Irish – no joke, three floors that looked like a leprechaun threw up on them, chock-full of any kind of souvenir you could imagine. I think we spent an hour and a half in there. Pretty sad.
After a delicious dinner in a pub, we experienced Dublin nightlife. Allow me to share some things I learned:
Only losers go out before 11.
There are no such thing as bars for the younger set. Even at the trendier pubs, there is a mélange of people ranging from age 16 to 65. It’s actually a little disconcerting to watch, ahem, the more, shall we say, “mature” set try and get down and party. Not pretty.
When someone asks you, “What’s crack?” they are not inquiring about illegal substances. They are saying, “What’s craic?” which is Irish for “fun.” (You ask it when you want to know what fun things are happening.)
Irish men are awkward. Painfully awkward. Blair and I were hit on by the following men:
- A boy our age, who was so drunk he forgot his command of the English language. He came up to us, told us we were pretty, and then started swaying back and forth with a blank look in his eyes. When we looked confused, he resorted to sign language and starting pantomiming something that I think was, “I like to jog. Penguins are nice. Toilets.”
- A chubby balding man with a dimple in his chin of epic proportions, who asked us if we were on holiday, but couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that we were Americans studying in Paris. We left him to ponder that one a while.
- My personal favorite, an Irish guy who, when he found out we were Americans, told us he was actually from Louisiana and started speaking in the poorest approximation of a Southern accent I have ever heard. He started spouting nonsense – I’m still not entirely sure what he was trying to convey, but he used the word “critters” a lot, told us that we need to listen to our “Commander in Chief,” and said he knew Donald Rumsfeld, the “fecker.”
- A guy whose opening line was to point to our drinks and ask us if we knew they had 7% alcohol in them. Yes, thank you, genius. (It said so on the bottle.) He then immediately proceeded to ask me if I had ever seen the movie “Unfaithful” with Diane Lane and Richard Gere. I said I had only seen parts of it, why? Einstein replied, “Oh. I don’t really know…It’s a good movie.”
Needless to say, by the end of the night, Blair and I were really good at making a tactful, yet hasty, exit. This was very disappointing, as I am a huge sucker for an accent. However, even the hottest accent can’t cover a complete dearth of social skills.
Don’t let Riverdance fool you – most Irish people can’t dance. In fact, I’m pretty convinced that this extends to all Europeans, but the Irish brand of dancing seemed particularly heinous. More field research may be necessary.


Despite all this, we had a blast. I love how everyone just piles into the pubs and it’s noisy and crowded and every one is sloppy and tipsy. It’s great, and made me proud to have the third most common last name in Ireland.
The next morning, Mads FINALLY arrived. (She actually had to take a plane to London and then connect to Dublin at 6 in the morning. Ouch. But, she was determined to get to Ireland!) The three of us actually found a tour to go out into the countryside, and we went and visited Malahide Castle, which is outside of Dublin. It is a medieval castle that was owned by the Talbot family for 800 years until they sold it to the state in the 1970s. It was so cool, and the grounds it was on were unbelievably gorgeous. It was also kind of misty outside, so the pictures turned out really neat-looking.
After the castle tour and a scone with clotted cream (so unhealthy, so good), the tour took us up the coastline, where we saw beautiful green cliffs – just like the postcards! Unfortunately, my camera didn’t quite capture how vividly green they were – the girls and I were getting quite faklempt.
Upon our return to Dublin, we enjoyed fish and chips again, and then went and toured the Guiness factory! It was pretty neat, although after the Heineken factory in Amsterdam, we were already pretty much beer experts, so it was a little same-old, same-old. At the end, though, we got to go up to the Gravity Bar for a free pint of the black stuff, and the bar had a gorgeous view of all of Dublin at sunset. Fabulous.
Speaking of Guinness, the “blonde in the black skirt” is really growing on me! I’ve been drinking a lot of the stuff lately. (I mean, not like, alone in my room in a sad pathetic way, but when I go out. You get what I mean.) It’s so dark and full of bitter goodness, and plus it kind of makes me feel like a badass. Okay? I admit it.
After Guinness, funds were kind of low, so we enjoyed a delicious dinner at…Burger King. Don’t knock it – after almost two and a half months without, a char-broiled meat patty really hits the spot.
At that point, Madi had been up for 48 hours straight, so she went to bed and Blair and I headed out to a bar called the Porter House for more awkward encounters. It was glorious.
I’m back now, and exhausted since we got up so early. The good news, though, is that I am 21! Woo hoo! And, I have been to Ireland! And, they actually stamped my passport this time!

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