Did you read this before? Well, read it again.
By day 9 I was giddy from Guinness and waiting for a band I had never heard to take the stage at Whelan’s, but what about days 1-8?
Monday, was spent flying and skipping around Philly. I was high on my own map reading skills and thrilled that I had not only found the Liberty Bell and Love Park, but a Belgium sugar waffle shop serving cheap deliciousness. I had been out for the obligatory cheesesteak, but stumbled upon this gem instead. I felt like this had to be setting the tone for happy discoveries to be made over the course of the trip.
After my seven hour layover, I flew to Dublin and subsequently navigated to bus system and the city roads to my hostel. I triumphantly dumped my backpack and sought out lunch.
Then the lady at the sandwich shop pitied me for being alone.
And then I cried.
No, really. The sandwhich lady made me cry.
Crocadile tears.
In Dublin.
So, I threw on my sunglasses eventhough it was cloudy and drizzly and disgusting out and made my way back to the hostel and up to my room.
Where I continued to cry.
Crocadile tears.
While on vacation in Dublin.
So, I called my sister, on the iPhone I was going to leave at home, and $40 later she had talked me off my ledge and helped me realize that I was jet lagged, exhausted, and in need of a shower. And yes, it was freezing and wet and gross and, no, I didn’t bring a coat, but I could buy one and why didn’t I take a nap and then go and do that.
And that I was in Dublin, so I should shut the hell up.
To be continued…
ADDENDUM: I had a fantastic time on my trip. I just never took the time to write about the rest of it. After that nap, I explored the Trinity College area, walked along the river and poked around Temple Bar. I went to a show that was part of the local fringe theatre festival and made a friend. Over the next few days I took a historical walking tour, did some boutique shopping, and hit up the Guinness Brewery at St. James’ Gate, the Jameson Distillery, and the Dublin Writers’ Museum. At the Dublin City Gallery I took in an exhibit on artist Francis Bacon’s studio that fired up my current infatuation with modern and contemporary art. I spent an evening at Whelan’s with the angst of Mick Flannery and took a day trip into the country side through Wicklow and Dun Laoghaire. Oh, and I went to Paris for a few days. How could I resist when the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and piles of tasty crepes were only a very cheap plane ride away?
There are pictures, but not too many. I was too busy soaking everything up first hand. And while I got a little lonely sometimes (Examples: Sunday night in Paris when the sidewalks rolled up at 6pm, and another night in The City of Light when I got back to my hotel and flipped on CNN to find out that our stock market had crashed. That phone call home went something like, “What the hell are you guys doing over there?”), I don’t regret going alone. It’s something I’d recommend everyone do at least once. Yes, it’s intimidating, but damn did I feel proud of myself after I got myself from the airport to Paris proper to my hotel to the glass pyramids of the Louvre relying only on my map reading skills and very limited French. I’m not explaining it very eloquently, so you should hop on over to This Fish, because it’s just like this. And that’s why I can’t wait to do it again. In Italy. Ciao ciao!
