Spring Break Part 1: Dublin

I would first like to apologize that I have been so off-the-grid, when in fact I have hardly been at all, in terms of internet connectivity. The lengthy pauses between writing just mean that I am off experiencing more things to write about! Since our last meeting, I have been the Dublin, Ireland; Athens, Greece; Paris, France; Normandy, France; Saint Mandrier, France; and Bellagio, Italy. There have also been some new experiences in Milano with my Momma and Daddy!

The first leg of my adventure was a trip to Dublin! I was there from March 19-23, to visit the one an only Bridget Daly. She is studying abroad in Dublin with Boston University at Dublin City College, majoring in sociology. We have been friends since high school, and if you count the time she came to Purdue to mostly see my brother, this is the third time I have seen her since graduation.

It took about the same amount of time to get to the Bergamo airport as it did to get from Milano to Dublin. I took some huge bus to the middle of nowhere and wandered about an airport that was apparently mostly underground. I had plenty of time before boarding so I re-read the first quarter of On The Road for the fourth time. After getting my passport (and permit of stay) checked at every possible checkpoint, I boarded my very first RyanAir flight. I could tell it was super low cost, which was awesome in some ways and not so awesome in others. My suitcase, like the rest of me, was a little too long and had to go in sideways. An old Italian-Irish man helped me with my bag, then offered me an espresso gum when we found out I was seatmates with him and his wife. About halfway through the flight, they gave up on their Sudoku puzzle, and she curled her arms around his and they fell asleep. Not for the first time, I realized how weird it is to be traveling alone.

I was not so lucky, having to constantly regulate the pressure in my poor still-sick skull, and was having a hard time deciding whether to take a cab straight to the air bnb and crash, or go out with Bridget Daly until the wee hours of the morning. It really depended on how easy my place was to get to; I was still operating on Italy terms and was going to hop on and hop off without a 15 euro ticket that the airplane was selling.

Instead of a bus, I decided it was a good choice to drop twenty euro on a taxi cab. The reason being is that I don’t even walk around Purdue’s campus at midnight, let along traverse a foreign city with a suitcase, even if they do semi-speak my language. My cab driver wore puka-beads and sandals even though it was still cold, and I realized a little too late that I should have answered “yes” to his question if I had ever been there before. It didn’t matter; he was gunning it, driving in the bus lane, flying over wide speed bumps. I was happy and tired and free, and he only took visa and amex.

I was dropped off on a quiet street in front of houses that were the very definition of tidy. A light was on in the house I was dropped at, so I happily paid the driver and rolled my suitcase to the door. I knew I was in trouble when a sweet young newly-wed woman stuck her head out the door and said, “I think you have the wrong house, deary.” I must have scared her half to death pulling up in a cab like that. She pointed me down the block and said to let her know if I ran into any other trouble. I apologized and took my obnoxiously loud and orange suitcase four doors down. When I arrived to a wide carpark surrounded by a wrought-iron gate, I recognized the house by the photo on the website. The owner in her email said to “ring” when I arrived, but I was very unfortunately met with a locked gate, three doghouses, and old doorbell with a severed wire. Panic started to rise in my throat, and I tried my best to repeat the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy mantra of “Don’t Panic.” I would figure out a way in; I had to. I had no phone, no money, no place to stay, and absolutely had to get into this house. I reached through the bars and tapped on the doghouses, hoping some barking would wake up whoever was in there; but there was no one home. So, I took advantage of this opportunity, and climbed up and over the wrought-iron fence.

Next problem was getting into the house at midnight. Feeling like the guiltiest cat burglar in the world, I tapped on the door, then each of the windows, getting progressively louder and colder. An annoyed looking scruffy man peeked out the window to see my crying disheveled face, and then disappeared. He came back with a hunched over, bespeckled woman who was wearing perfect winged eyeliner and matching fleece pajamas. “Who are you?! How did you get in?! What do you want?!” she demanded as soon as she opened the door. I tearfully replied that I was so sorry if I had the wrong house but I was a student coming from Milano looking for my boarding house. “Wait right here,” she softly said as she slammed the door in my face. She re-appeared with the owner of the house, Edel, who gently held up her phone and said, “Hi, Samantha, I was waiting for you to ring.” The language barrier is proving ever-vigilant. 

The rest of the trip went much more smoothly. My flat was incredible in all ways. It was close to Bridget Daly's school, had its own kitchenette, wifi, a queen-size bed, and triple security. The first day I was there, I had a morning to kill while Bridget Daly was at work. I went in search for the city center, but with my stellar sense of direction, went the exact opposite direction of the city center and turned around when I was halfway back to the airport. My lesson in if you need help, ask, was driven home very hard. I did make it to the DCU campus, though! It was made up of twenty or so buildings, each representing a different college. They all stood in two handsome lines, with the library at one end and the student center on the other. I tried my best to blend in, but I exuded Italy in my all-black everything, Ray-Bans even though it wasn't sunny, red lipstick, and leather fringed purse. The other kids on campus just looked like regular students in sweatpants and t-shirts. I will have definitely have to prepare myself for re-entry into the U.S.

Bridget Daly had been having a tough week, so to take her mind off it, we went into the city center! We hopped on the bus, but everyone was stopped by the driver before they were allowed to sit down. You had to tell him or her where you were going, and were then told the rate you had to pay based on its zone. They took only coins, and exact change at that. Immediately the socio-economic differences between Ireland and Italy were brought into perspective. Dublin has brand-new, double-decker buses with free wifi, perfect roads, and boatloads of tea. Italy has old rattly trams, bus drivers that hardly stop for passengers, and 0.35 euro vending-machine coffee. You think the Milanese would spend their precious coffee change on the bus? I dont think so.

The City Center from the top deck of the bus!

The city center was bustling with people. The wide-laned streets were always packed with cars that drove on the other side. The Liffey River cut the city in half, with O'Connell Street on one side, and Trinity College on the other. We took the bus to O'Connell street with the intention of getting dinner, then walked across the river into an area called Temple Bar. This area is basically the epitome of all the worst, creepiest, cheapest tourist attractions known to man. The deeper we got into it, the worse it got, so we turned around and headed back to the river. I had the bright idea to pop into a hostel, give the dude behind the desk a big smile, and get some real advice on where to go in the city for some good shepherd's pie, "absolutely not in Temple Bar," we said.

Not actual Guinness; Actual Bridget Daly

We were given directions to O'Neil's Restaurant, a little pub (at the very edge of Temple Bar) across from the golden-breasted statue of Molly Malone. We found a perfect two-person round table in the corner, order Smithwick's from the bar, and split a shepherd's pie. I felt like I could get used to Ireland. The next day, I met up with Bridget Daly and several of her super-cool friends, borrowed a bunch of coins, and we took to bus to Howth, a city on the very edge of Ireland; where Dublin meets to sea. We hiked up, and up, and up, the path narrowing as we squeezed and stole our way along the ledge. An even steeper hillside was to one side, the other, a drop off into the Muir Éireann. My goal of getting back to nature was definitely achieved.

Howth!

That night, I wore my black and white plaid shirt and we went out for a real-life pub crawl. We began  with a smoky and sketchy dive-bar in the upper part of a huge old house. I ordered a Jameson and Ginger for Bridget Daly, and a shot of Jameson, neat, for me. The music wasn't too bad, but the crowds pushed us outside to the terrace. There, Bridget Daly and I met a group of British guys who were there for a stag party. They talked to us about American politics, and I was proud of Bridget Daly and I holding our own as American intellectuals studying abroad and drinking in a pub. I was actually quite proud of us on many things, and realized how far we had both come since high school.

The next bar was mostly for adults; we were the only ones under 35 and they played nothing but motown music. Thank goodness we had a big dude with us. The third one's quality was questionable but at that point in the night, we didnt care. The music was good and we danced and laughed like the young crazy kids in Dublin we were. When the music stopped for good after a rigorous round of Daft Punk/Bruno Mars/The Killers, I looked at my watch. Needless to say, it was time to go home. Bridget Daly and I took a cab home and we crashed. 

"The Spire" - It's huge!!!

Dublin doughnut stall

The next day we played off-the-beaten-path tourist, got cheap and melt-in-your-mouth doughnuts, and walked about the city. I was advised to check out the Book of Kells, housed in the Trinity College Library. This book is the oldest-known manuscript of the Four Gospels, elaborately and delicately hand-painted. Matthew 27:38 and Mark 13:32-14:6 were brightly displayed under thick panels of bulletproof glass. The yellowed pages only enhanced the rich orange, blue, red, green, and gold to the pages. No photos were allowed, but more than once I had a chance. I decided against it in the end, though. It is a Bible after all.

Trinity College, The Old Library; Its like being in a whiskey barrel with books.

We did cartwheels on St. Stephen's Green, then went off the search for the Dublin Castle. When the Purdue AAMB went to Dublin two springs ago, they made the Block P on the green of some big castle, and I thought it would be cute if I took a picture on that same lawn. Logic pointed me towards that since they were in Dublin, it was clearly taken at the Dublin Castle. Both my logic and sense of direction did not point me in the right direction, yet again, and after getting a little lost, we found the squat little castle. Although disappointed, and embarrassed, that this was not the castle I had in mind, Bridget Daly and I still had fun visiting it. The back lawn featured a twisted and tangled path of concrete lines, and I immediately induced a game of cat-and-mouse, which was not taken by Bridget Daly at first, but she nabbed me in the end. 

Not the castle the AAMB stood at.

My final day in Dublin was spent entertaining myself in Eason's bookstore. Taking advantage of the English-speaking country (Even though Irish is also a language! And a cool one at that!), I sought books I could read on the trains, planes, and automobiles I would be embarking on for the next two and a half weeks. I spent a lot of the time in the travel section, purusing travel-anthropologies. I have a theory that the more I read, the better writer I will become; I can also check out my competition. I picked out two, used the free wifi, and downloaded them on my kindle. Once I was set, I bought a pot of tea and a scone from the cafe, and sat right behind the Eason's clock. I should have known that I would chime. Would have saved my blouse from being begrudgingly laundered.

Eason's Books yay!

I adored Dublin. The culture and people are as brash, rough, and simultaneously warm as the country itself. The history is rich, and those of Irish descent should truly be proud of it. The morning of my 4 AM taxi cab to the airport, the lady who let me in, Margherite, popped in my flat to say goodbye. She asked me if I enjoyed myself, and when I responded with a resounding yes, she said, good, come back and see us. She blessed me with the luck of the Irish, and set me on my way, after letting me out of the gate.