Well, I was excited anyway.
While I'd sworn after my last two trips to never again spend a night in Madrid's airport, I did realize Thursday morning that I would get to do the next best thing on this little adventure. Having a 10:40 flight doesn't seem too bad at first, but throw in the bus ride to Madrid, the long metro ride to get to the airport, and security, I got the pleasure of setting my alarm for 5:30 a.m. Friday morning. Add in the fact that I had to write a paper that Thursday night to be turned in before I left and it was basically even with spending the night in the airport. All that complaining aside, I will certainly take three hours in a warm, comfortable double bed to five hours on a cold airport tile floor any day. Besides, I was going to Dublin, so how could I really complain?
The journey to the airport was uneventful as usual, though different in that this time I was only traveling with two other people (my friends Maeve and Stephanie) instead of the group of nine or ten I've usually rolled with. Naturally, we got through security and to our gate with a good two hours 'til boarding...yay for planning ahead. We grabbed some food and contemplated what it would be like to be in an English-speaking country.
We arrived and, well, we were confused. It literally took all I had to not walk up to the window to get my passport checked and not say "Hola." Thoroughly shaken, we hopped a bus to University College Dublin where I would be part of an epic reunion. Yeah, I forgot to mention this earlier...the purpose of coming to Dublin this weekend was to do a bit of a belated birthday celebration for my friend Kristin who's studying there. This would involve me, TJ, Charlie, and Emily gathering in Dublin from our respective study abroad sites (Spain, London, and Rome). Yeah, we were excited.
After an hour on the bus we stepped off and I was immediately greeted with two huge hugs from Kristin and Emily (she'd gotten in the night before). After hurried introductions to Maeve and Steph, we headed to Kristin's apartment to drop off our stuff and then went off to kill some time before TJ and Charlie arrived at 5. The first thing we did was to spend 13 Euro apiece on weekend bus passes. This was the first in a series of purchases during which I realized that Spain's relative inexpensiveness is the exception rather than the rule in Europe. Oh well.
Next, we visited UCD's campus where I ran into a bunch of Notre Dame people I didn't know (but who all knew Sean Kickham, for some reason). From there, we did something I'd been meaning to do for a long time...we found an Irish music store. I've kind of had a thing for the stuff since getting to ND, and even more so since a weekend I spent listening to an excellent Irishman sing for two straight nights in a Pittsburgh pub managed by John Kearney. Needless to say, I was happy. I dunno if I was happy enough to justify spending 40 Euro on a total of 8 CDs, but damn it, I didn't care. What can I say? I'm a music whore.
After that and a brief stop for coffee we returned to UCD and met Charlie and TJ at the bus stop. There was lots of hugging, some tears were shed, and I think someone might have briefly fainted, though I could be wrong. Regardless, we were finally reunited and also incredibly hungry, so TJ and Charlie dropped their stuff and we went to find some grub. This search involved us going into and out of two or three authentic pubs before finally settling on an actual restaurant (damn kitchens closing at 7...).
I'll pause here because I'd like to explain to you good people a little goal I'd set for myself before going to Dublin. First of all, for those of you who know me, I really enjoy a good beer. Not as much as some people, to be sure, but I've got my taste. Anyway, when you think of Ireland, you think of beer, and when you think of Irish beer, you think of the glorious measurement of liquid volume that is the pint. From what I'd heard from people who'd studied in Dublin as well as TJ and Charlie in London, pint glasses, apart from being an excellent vessel to hold beer and a fantastic souvenir, are incredibly easy to steal. Yes, it's going where you think it is. My goal on this trip was to steal what I called the Grand Slam of Irish pint glasses: Guinness, Harp, Smithwick's, and Murphy's. I knew I'd be going to the Guinness factory, so that was basically taken care of. My targets were picked, and I was basically prepared (Kristin had promised to have a big purse at all times). Now I think the stage is adequately set...back to the story.
After we were seated at the restaurant, we were asked (as per usual) for our drink orders. I went with a Smithwick's this time, figuring I'd save the Harp for a true pub. Luckily, they had it on tap. When the glass arrived, I could barely contain my glee. Oh yeah, the beer was pretty good too, as was the meal. I'd apologize for foregoing the traditional Shepherd's Pie for a burger, but the thing was just too damn good to merit it. Plus, you folks know how I feel about apologizing. As we got up to leave, my fingers started twitching a little. I felt a twang of guilt...this was a (relatively) classy restaurant, not a dive pub. Luckily, I had the gang there to snap me out of my moralistic ways. Kristin slipped the glass deftly into her purse and we were outta there.
I'll pause (again) to explain another subplot, though one much more interesting this time, I promise. About a week before this trip, I'd been randomly friend-requested by Kristin's older sister Sarah. Turned out she had set up a rather elaborate surprise involving VIP access to a really cool club in Dublin. Our job as the visiting crew was to get Kristin out of the apartment for an hour or so so people could set up. I'd been getting texts throughout dinner I'd had to discreetly respond to (thank you, T9) updating the other group on our status. Luckily, we'd delayed Kristin more like two hours, so we got back to UCD's campus having given them plenty of time to prepare.
I'll admit I was the last one into the room...the lights were already on and "SURPRISE!" had already been shouted, but I'm pretty sure Kristin was quite happy with how everything went down. There was cake, there was cider, there were a lot of people, general merriment was shared by all. Half an hour later (we had to get ready, Kristin had to get over the genuine shock of what had happened) we all left the apartment for this legendary club Sarah had set up for us.
We clearly got there a bit early, because it wasn't quite filled up yet, so we took advantage of our fantastic VIP tables and started the night off with a celebratory beverage. Sadly, they had no pints of Harp or Murphy's available, so I settled for something less filling. We all sat around, got to know each other a little better, took a bunch of pictures (especially the five of us) and for a while it looked like we rhythm-less gentlemen might be in the clear. Then it happened...the inevitable moment where one of the girls in the party decides to scream some variation of "Dance floor, NOW!" This was immediately followed by lots of prodding and pulling on the shirts of the guys, especially TJ, Charlie, and myself (we were a little too late to the pre-gaming). This culminated at one point in Ashley, a dear friend of mine, trying to convince a stone cold sober TJ that he should really get out there. This is one of those immovable-object-unstoppable-force situations. Quite fun to witness, I assure you. Eventually, though, even TJ was guilted out there for a few songs and, while it was fun, I was just too exhausted from the travel day to keep it up too long.
After my requisite three songs were up, I returned to the VIP table to find random people sitting there fooling with Kristin's camera. Emily, who was with me, was not pleased. Eventually they left, but not before insisting on snapping a picture with all of us. Emily was still not pleased (see Kristin's pictures). The rest of the night was kind of a blur (again, I was tired) and at one point I almost fell asleep on the table. Kristin, bless her soul, saw me and decided that she, too, was tired enough to roll out.
The ride home was fun, especially the part when Emily spilled some food in the cab, a spill the cab driver discovered as we got out. He sped off with a rather disgusted look on his face. Emily remained unconcerned. I remained tired, though not tired enough to avoid the still massive amount of chocolate cake left over from earlier. So rich. So decadent. So perfect to fall asleep to...even on the floor of Kristin's apartment under a fleece tiger blanket.
The original plan for the following day was to wake up at 9. If you've been reading this blog at all, you know how I felt about THAT plan. Yeah, I rolled into the kitchen about 10:15. Good thing my friends love me too much to leave me. I downed some cereal (in cold milk, for the first time in a long time), showered, and left with the group. Kristin first led us on a small tour of Dublin's main drag, which included the obligatory stop in Carroll's, Ireland's chain of touristy shops full of great Irish chotchkies (don't know what that means? Get a Yiddish-English dictionary). It's kind of sad, but Ireland (or at least Dublin) has really capitalized on the whole St. Patrick's Day mentality of the US by making outrageous amounts of gifts in all shades of green. I walked out of the place with two 3'x5' flags (one of Ireland, one of Dublin county) and another shot glass for my collection.
Slightly poorer after our various purchases, we set out on a journey of epic proportions. Our goal: the Guinness factory. Seven stories of greatness. More importantly, though, it had Guinness pint glasses. Eyes on the prize as always, I was mentally prepared to lift at least one, possibly more, as were TJ and Charlie. Emily, for some unexplained reason, doubted we could pull it off. Silly, silly Emily.
The tour itself was mediocre at best. I mean, learning a bit about the brewing process was cool. Hearing historical tidbits about Arthur Guinness's general badassery was cooler. Take, for example, that when he signed the lease on the property on which the factory now rests, he agreed to pay 45 pounds a year...for 9,000 years. Yeah, that's foresight for ya. And the factory still pays those 45 pounds of rent. I felt the need to pay homage to such a genius. Still, all told, it wasn't really worth the 8 Euro. Before the gravity bar at the top anyway.
The rest of the factory aside, this place was pretty cool. It's a 360-degree view of Dublin with free pints of Guinness all around. And oh how glorious the Guinness tastes when it comes from the source. For the second time that weekend, tears were nearly shed. It was beautiful. I think what shocked me most, though, was that people would just take three sips and return their glasses to the bar. This is Guinness! From the factory! It's like liquid gold! For shame, random tourists.
The theft of glasses, of course, went off without a hitch (take that, Emily!). Of course, it helped that we had our half-empty bags from Carroll's on our hips that made it an easy final-sip-into-the-bag motion. I was rather impressed with how smooth it all went (that's what she said). I was happier, though, when I started to notice people just leaving empty glasses sitting around. I can't explain what happened next...all I know is I blacked out and ten minutes later I woke up outside with four empty pint glasses hidden in my bag. I can only assume I paid full price for them. Oh well. Two glasses down, two to go.
After leaving the factory, we spent another hour or so wandering rather aimlessly around Dublin and then went to a train station to take the half-hour ride to Howthe, a small fishing village outside Dublin. This would be our opportunity to snap a few nice pictures. Almost immediately after getting off the train, we met a pretty cool dog that ended up following us for a good hour as we did a brief tour of the coastline of Howthe, taking what pictures we could before the sun went down. We soon affectionately nicknamed him Bennett after our friend Chris. It had something to do with a few characteristics they shared...I don't remember exactly which ones, but I think it ended up being a bit of a jab at Bennett. If you're reading this, sorry bud. All in good fun.
Once we were satisfied with our pictures (i.e. we were too hungry to keep going) we walked back toward the train station to see if we could rustle up a little grub. We compared prices and eventually settled on a place called The Bloody Stream (appetizing, no?) where I got some authentic fish 'n' chips. In case you're wondering, no, they didn't serve Harp or Murphy's. Disheartened, I ordered a glass of water. When we finished dinner, we bit Howthe farewell and caught the train back to downtown Dublin.
After the train ride, we stumbled on the statue of Molly Malone (a.k.a. "the tart with the cart") immortalized in a famous Irish drinking song of the same name. We then decided that, despite being tired, we (read: I) wanted to give finding Harp one more try. We picked a pub that, unfortunately, had neither of my remaining glasses, so I figured I'd try Kilkenny. It was fine, but it tasted of failure more than anything else. While we were in this pub, something happened outside that I thought was a phenomenon reserved for the lake-affected climate of South Bend. I wouldn't call it snowing, nor would I call it raining, nor hailing. I think the best word I can come up with is "precipitating." It looked like snow, felt like rain, and landed as slush. I dunno, it was weird, but if nothing else it made for a fun walk to the bus stop.
We passed the rest of the night without much incident; the trip to Howthe and a day of walking around had really tired us out, and we wanted to wake up in time to grab some breakfast before heading to the airport for our 2 p.m. flight, so we hit the hay relatively early. The next morning, we did indeed go to a place that served an authentic Irish breakfast, but I just wasn't in the mood for some reason, so I wussed out and went with a smaller version (sans blood sausage, sadly). With that, Maeve, Steph, and I said our goodbyes and got on our bus to the airport. I found out later that once we'd gone the rest of the crew grabbed another pint in a pub where they served...you guessed it...Harp. *facepalm*
Our flight back was our first experience with RyanAir, including a nice little mini freak-out when we realized they really DO check the size of your bags when you get on. Luckily, our flight attendant was distracted at the gate with a guy who was trying to slam his bag into the container, so we slipped by without incident. The flight was uneventful, but the trumpet track they played at the end was a nice capper to the weekend. I got home in time for dinner and looked forward to a week of midterms.
I'll leave that off for now and include the midterm week in my update of my first weekend in Toledo, which should come fairly quickly after this one. 'til then, peace out.
Griff
So basically I win at moving immovable objects. Score one for me!!!
ReplyDeleteIt was AWESOME having you visit though! Come again if you get the chance. :)