Made it to Dublin! The hotel isn’t quiiite what I’d hoped for—there’s no bathtub and the shower door doesn’t close. I have literally never spilled so much water during a shower in my life. And I can’t find the pool. I’m kind of worried about its existence.
There were so many half-drunk groups of Americans on the plane ride over. With giant hats from a Dr. Suess story and green, white and orange feather boas. These guys were dressed for a night out. Cue facepalm.
I pulled out a book and ignored them. Sometimes I think I might be better at that than is healthy.
Confession: I am sick again. So it’s definitely effecting my patience and endurance. This weekend by myself in a party city is going to be all about chilling out and recovering. The crunch-time stress will be there when I go home to Edinburgh.
Another confession: I didn’t actually make it into the city centre tonight. I know, shame on me. St. Paddy’s Day! In Dublin! Ireland! And I missed it! Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!
Not. The city’s official festival lasts until Sunday night, and since tomorrow’s Friday, I figure the chances for green beer and crazy-people watching will only increase. Instead, I went for a walk. Found the bus stop I’ll need tomorrow, and a grocery store where I can pop in and get a croissant, or something, for breakfast. (There’s a kettle in the room! I get my morning tea! :) Although it’s labeled “Irish Breakfast Tea.” Would it really kill them to just call it “English Breakfast Tea,” like the rest of the world does?)
I rather enjoyed myself today, anyway. The flight went smoother than I’d hoped for (despite the half hour delay) and I didn’t mind the wait for the shuttle to the hotel. The air was chilled and crisp, but not unbearable. The moon is almost full, and it was silhouetted by clouds in that way that shows up in movies like The Wolfman or basically any other movie that takes place in Scotland/England/Ireland but is more rare at home.
Oh, and I had a silly American girl moment. :) I couldn’t figure out which shuttle/bus to get on, so the second guy I asked called me “love” (“luv”?) as he corrected me. He was older than my parents and had a comb-over, but it made me think of a girl I used to ride the bus with in high school. She went to London one summer with her parents and went out walking by herself, and a couple of construction guys started razzing her a bit. “Hey, luv—d’you think he’s sexy?” She was too embarrassed to answer, so she just kind of blushed and shrugged. The guy cackled and turned to his friend. “She doesn’t think you’re sexy!”
She said it was a highlight of her life so far. Being called “luv” by an English guy. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t good looking—it was something to check off the bucket list!
That’s kind of what I’m banking on this weekend being. Something to check off the bucket list. St. Paddy’s Day in Dublin. I’m going to see the sights, have half a pint of green beer (I’m on antibiotics and not really a beer person, besides) and enjoy my exorbitantly priced and normally-outfitted hotel room.
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