Brian's Puddle-Jumping Adventures, Part One: Dublin
The trip to Dublin was uneventful. After a night of raucous drinking at the Cornmarket (nice bar in town) with Rachel D. and Red Lauren (yes, I have in fact decided that that is her new designation. The other Lauren is Eoghan-Lauren) (a further aside: they had MGD for E2 and Morgan that Rachel bought) I was famously hungover. I had intended to wake up at about 10, get into Limerick City Center at around 11 - 11:30, get to Colbert Station at around noon, and then be in Dublin at around 4. Instead, I was still in Stables grabbing a bite to eat at 11. Thus, I didn’t get to Colbert Station until 12:30, where I was cursed by a gypsy/traveler/tinker/pikey/knacker for not giving her change, and had to wait for the 1:30 bus. The bus trip was tedious but whatever, it wasn’t that bad.
Around 5:30 I got into Dublin and grabbed a cab to the hostel. It was a cheap lift (around E6). I checked into the hostel and was immediately struck by how nice it was. It’s all hardwood and earth tones, and the rooms were rather tidy. The staff were really nice and helpful. After getting situated I went to look around the hostel.
Upon entering the TV room, I met a group of Americans and Canadians who had a Heineken mini-keg on the table. Needless to say, they were a good group of people. After everyone had a few drinks and a bite to eat, we wanted to go catch a parade on O’Connell Street. The hostel is on Mountjoy Street, which is maybe a 15 minute walk from O’Connell Street. Mark, an incredibly drunk man from Minnesota, elected himself leader by way of walking in front. As a result, we missed the parade because he took us in the most circuitous way imaginable. We should have come out at the top of O’Connell Street, a few blocks away from the Spire and the GPO. Instead, we came in from the side by the River Liffey. Yes, we did bring it upon ourselves.
New Rachel decided we should go to a carnival that was taking place in Merrion Park, which is just by the Temple Bar district, the bohemian and artsy center of Dublin, which is just over the Ha’penny Bridge. Somehow, and I’m still not sure how, we found ourselves at the Fusilier’s Arch and had no idea where that was. After we decided that Mark and Rachel were not to have leadership roles, the plan became to go to a club called the Gaiety Theater.
Now, you may be thinking that this is where the night would take a weird turn.
So we went up to the doors of this club and they deny us entrance because we are all very drunk (totally understandable, we had each bought drinks along the way to sustain us for the walk, and when we finished our drinks and still weren’t at our destinations, we bought more. Repeat ad nauseum) (ha! I’m clever). At this point, we became desperate and the group became fractured. The Canadians followed their Johnny Canuck-type leader to some pub and left us in the dust while we were distracted by street musicians.
So I was now left with Mark, who referred to himself as Duffman, and New Rachel, whose two empty wine bottles and 90-lbs frame told more than words ever could. I was reasonably sober, so I decided that just maybe we should head to the hostel and relax. It was 10:45. I cursed that gypsy’s eyes.
So we walk all the way back to the hostel and camp out at the TV room and watch Striptease with Demi Moore. When I got up to change the volume, I noticed that they had both passed out and would not be woken by conventional means. Thus I abandoned them and went in search of adventure.
I found adventure when I walked into the hostel’s kitchen. There was a large group of French women. I don’t know what it is, but I’m apparently fated to find French women wherever I go; Marie in high school, Lauriagne at Rowan, Elodie at UL, and now a gaggle of them in Dublin. Their names, as far as I can recall, were Flo (who was a receptionist at the hostel), Cat (short for something long and impossible to spell or pronounce), and Scary Girl (goth French chicks are weird and also have weird names). The name Brian is very funny for the French, apparently. The way they teach English in French schools is by following the adventures of Brian. So, when I introduced myself, they all had a great laugh. Of the three, Cat was the most attractive and she was totally buying what I was selling. We all sat outside and had some beers and were joined by Vito the Italian Janitor, Sebastien, and Christoph who were also really cool. Around 3:30, we all parted ways to go to sleep. Cat gave me her contact information and a pile of coasters she had lifted from a pub. I will return to Dublin for ultimate justice.
On my way to my room, guess who I found passed out in the stairway. Poor Mark, the guy couldn’t even perceive his surroundings. I tried to wake him up again with a swift kick to the stomach, but he refused to be moved. Off to bed I went.
I woke up and spent the day meandering around Dublin and doing the tourist thing. I got a handful of good pictures and had a good cheap breakfast at some Texas-themed restaurant in Temple Bar. After that I jumped in a cab and went to the airport, where I’m sitting now, waiting for my flight. They don’t start boarding for another hour, which is a bitch and a half. Also, I bought myself a present. It’s an Ireland National rugby jersey, and it was special offer (E40, and it’s a sweet shirt). Now that I think of it, I should call Leo and let him know that I’ll be the jerk in the Irish jersey.
Okay, so maybe the trip to Dublin was eventful.
Around 5:30 I got into Dublin and grabbed a cab to the hostel. It was a cheap lift (around E6). I checked into the hostel and was immediately struck by how nice it was. It’s all hardwood and earth tones, and the rooms were rather tidy. The staff were really nice and helpful. After getting situated I went to look around the hostel.
Upon entering the TV room, I met a group of Americans and Canadians who had a Heineken mini-keg on the table. Needless to say, they were a good group of people. After everyone had a few drinks and a bite to eat, we wanted to go catch a parade on O’Connell Street. The hostel is on Mountjoy Street, which is maybe a 15 minute walk from O’Connell Street. Mark, an incredibly drunk man from Minnesota, elected himself leader by way of walking in front. As a result, we missed the parade because he took us in the most circuitous way imaginable. We should have come out at the top of O’Connell Street, a few blocks away from the Spire and the GPO. Instead, we came in from the side by the River Liffey. Yes, we did bring it upon ourselves.
New Rachel decided we should go to a carnival that was taking place in Merrion Park, which is just by the Temple Bar district, the bohemian and artsy center of Dublin, which is just over the Ha’penny Bridge. Somehow, and I’m still not sure how, we found ourselves at the Fusilier’s Arch and had no idea where that was. After we decided that Mark and Rachel were not to have leadership roles, the plan became to go to a club called the Gaiety Theater.
Now, you may be thinking that this is where the night would take a weird turn.
So we went up to the doors of this club and they deny us entrance because we are all very drunk (totally understandable, we had each bought drinks along the way to sustain us for the walk, and when we finished our drinks and still weren’t at our destinations, we bought more. Repeat ad nauseum) (ha! I’m clever). At this point, we became desperate and the group became fractured. The Canadians followed their Johnny Canuck-type leader to some pub and left us in the dust while we were distracted by street musicians.
So I was now left with Mark, who referred to himself as Duffman, and New Rachel, whose two empty wine bottles and 90-lbs frame told more than words ever could. I was reasonably sober, so I decided that just maybe we should head to the hostel and relax. It was 10:45. I cursed that gypsy’s eyes.
So we walk all the way back to the hostel and camp out at the TV room and watch Striptease with Demi Moore. When I got up to change the volume, I noticed that they had both passed out and would not be woken by conventional means. Thus I abandoned them and went in search of adventure.
I found adventure when I walked into the hostel’s kitchen. There was a large group of French women. I don’t know what it is, but I’m apparently fated to find French women wherever I go; Marie in high school, Lauriagne at Rowan, Elodie at UL, and now a gaggle of them in Dublin. Their names, as far as I can recall, were Flo (who was a receptionist at the hostel), Cat (short for something long and impossible to spell or pronounce), and Scary Girl (goth French chicks are weird and also have weird names). The name Brian is very funny for the French, apparently. The way they teach English in French schools is by following the adventures of Brian. So, when I introduced myself, they all had a great laugh. Of the three, Cat was the most attractive and she was totally buying what I was selling. We all sat outside and had some beers and were joined by Vito the Italian Janitor, Sebastien, and Christoph who were also really cool. Around 3:30, we all parted ways to go to sleep. Cat gave me her contact information and a pile of coasters she had lifted from a pub. I will return to Dublin for ultimate justice.
On my way to my room, guess who I found passed out in the stairway. Poor Mark, the guy couldn’t even perceive his surroundings. I tried to wake him up again with a swift kick to the stomach, but he refused to be moved. Off to bed I went.
I woke up and spent the day meandering around Dublin and doing the tourist thing. I got a handful of good pictures and had a good cheap breakfast at some Texas-themed restaurant in Temple Bar. After that I jumped in a cab and went to the airport, where I’m sitting now, waiting for my flight. They don’t start boarding for another hour, which is a bitch and a half. Also, I bought myself a present. It’s an Ireland National rugby jersey, and it was special offer (E40, and it’s a sweet shirt). Now that I think of it, I should call Leo and let him know that I’ll be the jerk in the Irish jersey.
Okay, so maybe the trip to Dublin was eventful.