Mostly I want this to be a helpful blog, that adds some sort of value to the internet and your life. But partly it’s a record of my traveling, and WOW I do alot of dumb shit.
Take this weekend, for example.
Saturday night, I met up with a friend that I met when I first arrived to Ireland, and who has fast become a constant and lovely companion. We had plans to go go to a show, and met early to grab tickets. Fun linguistic side note: in Ireland, you do things at the weekend instead of on the weekend, and they sell tickets to gigs on the door instead of tickets to shows at the door. I’m prepositionally confused nearly constantly. When and where does anything happen here? I just don’t know.
ANYWAY. We got a bottle of wine to share by the river before the gig (which was at Kaizen Bar, the newly opened venue upstairs at Yamamori Tengu, which is excellent and well worth your time if you’re in Dublin). Post-river-wine, we headed to Wigwam where we inexplicably ordered marginally expensive coffee-flavored shots that were not bad, but did offer a somewhat puzzling bouquet and flavor profile (thankfully I’ve opted not to refine my palate, as it’s less expensive to not give a fuck what you eat or drink). After several unsuccessful cute-girl selfie attempts, we gave up and started for Tengu. The show was a rave-y house music bonanza, with Fish Go Deep absolutely slaying their entire set. Drinks were drunk. Dances were danced. My phone suggests I was practically the official photographer of the evening (see above), and that I have a unique approach to the art that includes moving the camera constantly when shooting to evoke a feeling of perpetual motion and drunkenness in the viewer. We partied like champions, no one slipped us an Ambien (thank you, Jay-Z).
And then somehow we ended up at an after-party. And we were there until 8:30 in the morning. And it was at the apartment of someone who is maybe bordering on too old to not have toilet paper in the apartment. He offered me a tea towel in lieu of toilet paper, and then asked me if I wanted to stay over for the night. I cast around for a polite and lady-like way to make my intentions clear, and settled on ‘uhhhh, I don’t want to have sex with you, so…’ Etiquette level: Julie Andrews. The very next thing he said was ‘why?’ At which point I lost most of the rest of the respect I had for him and also any feeling of security, and then my temper. He didn’t ask again, and was a very pleasant host for the rest of the evening.
9:00am found us (me+my original friend) wandering through the city centre sunrise, marvelling that the world had somehow become light again, and realizing that we needed to sleep. Immediately. So immediately that we booked a hostel on the spot. The reception staff of Abbey Court Hostel is made up of I’m pretty sure actual angels, who took a look at us and apologized that we couldn’t get into our room until 2pm, but if we needed to chill out (we very definitely did), there was a hammock room downstairs that we could use until then. A hammock room is exactly what it sounds like, and it’s where we spend the better part of the next 5 hours, until we rolled gracefully out of our hammocks, elegantly dragged our poor bodies to our (28 bed) room, and tucked ourselves into bed for another few hours.
By 4:30pm on Sunday afternoon, we were brand new women, in that we looked and felt like death warmed over and were starving. We bravely journeyed forth. O’Connell street was a vibrant, frightening, sun-soaked wonderland of people and sounds and smells. We glided through like weird shadowy spectres, directly to McDonald’s because apparently my hangover cravings are exactly the same here as in the US.
And finally, finally, at 6:13pm, we got on the bus for home.
I’d say I’m thriving.
The main takeaways here are this:
- Abbey Court Hostel is actually an excellent place to stay–it’s cheap (we paid 15 Euro per person), it’s clean, it’s on the river, you get breakfast if you book and stay overnight instead of booking to sleep through the day like hungover idiots, and the staff is amazing. I’m not getting paid to say this, it’s just the actual truth.
- Don’t do rave drugs from strangers in Dublin. I’m not saying I did. I’m just saying it’s advice I can give you based on research.