We woke up early in Galway in order to catch the first train to Dublin. I was hoping beyond hope that the delightful bakery we ate at previously would be open at 7 am on a Sunday but alas, it was not so. After searching for a bit we found a little cafe that was open, though they seemed alarmed to have customers. Joe ordered a sandwich and after pondering the menu, I asked if the porridge could be made to go. "Of course!" the pimply Irish youth told me.
When we settled ourselves on the train shortly after, I examined my breakfast. My to-go porridge was packaged in a huge dish and closely resembled the container a "family sized" frozen lasagna comes in. And inside was about a liter of porridge. I was a bit dumbfounded.
Joe's sandwich verged more towards the normal side of things in that it came wrapped in a sensible paper bag instead of say, a body bag.
The train ride was uneventful except for the exceptionally drunk group of twenty-somethings that were busy shouting a minute by minute playback of their drunken night and laughing crazily. A few of them were passed out. We quickly switched cars.
From the train station in Dublin, Joe decided we should walk the hour long walk to our hotel. My legs protested greatly. Our hotel seemed like a sweet, sweet palace compared to the barracks of our hostel room in Galway and I had difficulty leaving the room. "I'm sure Dublin is just like the rest of Ireland! Let's stay here and find some Irish reality tv to watch!" I pleaded. No success.
Joe and I took a tram into town and wandered. We somehow stumbled upon the Street Performance World Championship and watched a particularly funny and attractive man from New Zealand whose name escapes me. Such things happen when foreign boys with tattoos take off their clothes in front of me.
Mostly kidding, sweetheart. Love you!
(Just googled-- name of the street performer: Sam Wills. Above is a picture of him with an inflated rubber glove over most of his head. Cheers!)
After that we wandered more, aiming for Trinity College. Luckily we were in the area and didn't have much difficulty finding it. Gorgeous place! Step 2 was to find The Book of Kells, which is kept at Trinity. I didn't really know that The Book of Kells was, other than the guidebook said we should see it. Don't tell my European history teacher.
But it turned out that The Book of Kells is an insanely decorated Bible and the exhibit was definitely worth seeing. It also turns out that some strange man made an animated movie about the Book of Kells that looks totally awesome. All history lessons should be presented in cartoon media.
Further wandering took us to the apparently famous Temple Bar. It was busy and not playing Irish music as we had hoped. Instead, I bought an ice cream and Joe wandered into another bar, determined to have a pint a Guinness before we left Ireland. You can perhaps see where this is going.
The one Guinness turned into the epic hunt to consume all Irish beers. Joe would like to inform you that his favorite beer was Beamish. I would like to inform you that I have never seen so many elderly women consume such large amounts of beer as I did in the bars of Dublin.
At one point Joe decided we should have Irish coffee. I had Bailey's and coffee, though I ended up liking the Irish coffee a bit more. Here is a particularly attractive picture of me consuming said beverage:
Once Joe had consumed many Irish beers, we headed back to the train station to catch a train back to our hotel. We had missed the previous train and the next one was to come in 40 minutes or so. "Screw that!" Joe slurred. "We can walk back to our hotel in that amount of time!" To which I said, "Are you sure you can navigate us back to the hotel? I really don't want to get lost." Joe said, "Of course I can lead us back!"
And that is how we ended up in the slums of Dublin at nightfall.
I should've known, it was much like when Joe and I picked up my sister after she had her wisdom teeth removed. When we went to the pharmacy to pick up her pain pills, the pharmacist asked if Mia could sign for them. I glanced back at Mia, who was slumped over and drooling. "I don't know... Mia, can you sign this?" I asked. Mia perked up and said with great conviction, "Oh, I can sign. I can sign like a DEVIL." And then she scribbled illegibly on the receipt.
I hate getting lost. Oh, how I hate getting lost. I especially hate getting lost in dark and dingy places in Ireland that smell of urine. After an hour we were in the complete opposite direction of our hotel and I was approaching Very Pissed Off and also Freaked Out. Joe wisely hailed a cab in order to save our relationship.
I liked Dublin and it has some neat stuff to see but all in all I enjoyed the quieter bits of Ireland better. The parts in which I didn't feel I was going to be knifed by some drunk Irish street kids. Just kidding, love you Ireland.
Never trust a boy who has had several drinks to navigate anywhere other than the restroom. It never ends well.
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