I woke up with church bells ringing about 50 yards away from the van, and so did Kolja and Aisling. The day had begun.
I had asked Kolja the day before about a ride to Westport because that is where Melissa was from, and she had gone home for the weekend. She had told me that Westport was worth a day trip, and I figured that if she was still around it would definitely be fun to go. I checked my email and had one from her, telling me to come visit since I was in the area.
Since I didn't have a phone and didn't know if I'd be able to check my email again that day, and since I didn't know the first thing about Westport, I replied "I'll meet you at 4:00 on the front steps of town hall. Assuming Westport has a town hall, and assuming that there are front steps." And that was that.
I went to the Clifden bus station-- more of a bus stand, really-- but there were no buses going straight to Westport. Melissa had taken a 5euro bus from Galway, though, so I figured I might as well just go back to Galway with Aisling and then head to Westport from there. It was a bit out of the way but fine just the same.
Unfortunately, what I hadn't realized was that the 5euro bus is only on Fridays from Galway and Sundays and Monday mornings from Westport. So when Aisling dropped me off in Galway-- and we bid each other a final, tearful, heart-wrentching goodbye-- I dropped 12euro for my third bus ride of Ireland.
(By the way, only one of those adjectives about the goodbye was true. Bet you can't find it.)
I got to Westport at 3:45, which would have put me just in time to meet Melissa, and I stopped into an internet cafe quickly to see if she had responded to my email. She did, but her response said that she would be leaving on a 6:30 bus back to Galway and had to spend the time until then getting ready.
This was bad news for two reasons. One, simply because I had wanted to see Melissa. Two, because I had kinda sorta been banking on her staying in Westport that night-- as she had said she might be doing-- and thus having a place to crash that night.
Now that neither of those were happening, I realized that I hadn't a clue what I was going to do. Actually, what I realized was that I had gone to Westport mostly because I was chasing legendary status, and that four towns in four nights would have been brilliant. Which it was. But since I didn't have any sort of plan other than hoping that Melissa would be around, I hadn't a clue what I was going to do.
Well, what I was going to do was find a bed. There are no universities in Westport, and nearly all the students from Westport go to school in Galway and had already returned, so that wasn't an option. I asked a woman where there was a hostel in town, and she pointed me towards the Octagon, the main square.
When I got to the Octagon, though, I didn't see any hostels-- just nice-looking bed & breakfasts, not exactly the kind of place you can do work for in exchange for a bed for the night. Still, I figured what the hell.
So I went in and told the woman that I was in Westport for a night and going back to Galway in the morning, and I asked her nicely if there was any work that I could do in exchange for nothing more than a bed to sleep in. We talked for a bit, as she was apparently sizing me up, and then she went somewhere and came back with a key. I asked her what work she wanted me to do, and she said none. No work, just the bed. Hell, not a bed-- my own room.
A free room. I'm a legend. I swear, a smile will get you anything.
So I made myself a celebratory cup of tea-- since the room came with a teapot-- and a ham sandwich-- since I had bought a loaf and 40 slices of ham before I left Galway-- and then I went to try to find Melissa. Because even though she had said she was going back to Galway that night, I figured it was worth a shot. You know, on account of having a free room in a bed & breakfast.
I watched three different buses go by before Melissa got to the bus stop at 7:00, and I pulled out my room key and asked if she wanted to stick around for the night. She was very impressed that I had scored such a nice room in the Octogon-- she said the place was "class," and I don't disagree-- but had to get back to Galway that night, so a B&B party was a no-go.
I headed back to the hostel a little disappointed, but fully aware that this meant I was still a free agent.
Because the thing is, I was dealing with a totally different ballgame. I had my own bed in my own room in a bed & breakfast. When you're staying on someone's couch you're entirely dependant on that person. At least, you're tied to that person, since if you get separated you aren't getting home. When you're staying in a hostel, there are certain limitations on what you can do and who you can do it with.
But my own bed in my own room in a bed & breakfast? The sky's the limit. Well, it was a Sunday, so maybe the roof was the limit, but it was still pretty high.
I went back to the B&B for a bit and took a nap for an hour and a half, since it was the nicest bed I had slept on in almost a month, and then I headed out for the night.
The first place I went to was advertising "traditional music," so I popped in to have a looksy. If it was, in fact, traditional Irish music, it was traditional Irish country music. As in, country music from Ireland, not music from the Irish country. It was some good old-fashioned honkey tonk, in an Irish accent. No thanks.
The second pub I saw had a sign for "music tonight," and so I popped into this one too. What I found was, for the music tonight, a single old dude playing an accordian. And for the pub, a bunch of equally old dudes and dudettes sitting around and singing along. I must have been the youngest person in there by 20 years, easily.
It was just what I had been looking for.
This was the pub scene I had envisioned when I got to Ireland, and something I never would have found in Dublin and probably wouldn't have found in Belfast or Galway. So I sat down, got myself a pint of Guinness-- for 3.85, what a steal!-- and listened, while a bunch of drunk old Irish people kept winking at me. Hilariously.
Listened, that is, until the accordian dude started playing "Molly Malone," a throwback to my days in the best collegiate choir in the world. So I started singing boisterously and the accordian dude must have noticed, because when the song ended he asked where a Yank like me had learned a song like that. I told him, and when he nodded in approval I told him that I also knew "Molly Malone." So the accordian dude played the song and told the pub that I would be leading in the singing, and so I did. And when it was over the accordian dude handed me his accordian for all of seven seconds, and I played a single note and handed it back to him.
And that was it. I had finally done Ireland.
When the pub closed at midnight I went to a club, which was the only place still open and also free. It was alright, I guess, although the clientele was a tad on the old side. And included among the clientele was an older woman from the pub who had been one of the main singers.
She recognized me, I guess, and bought me a beer. Not an unwelcomed beer, mind you, but one that meant I was spending some time with her. On the dance floor.
So we danced a bit, and I was trying my best to smile, but I slowly started to drift away. I got pretty far, but then she noticed what I was up to and came over to me, and I swear this next part really happened. She grabbed me by the collar and said to me "Nobody puts baby in the corner."
And I swear to you, the very next song was "The Time of My Life" from Dirty Dancing. I swear to you, this is all true.
I didn't know what to do at this point, since it was almost like she had known what the next song was going to be. Or maybe she had noticed my slinking away for a while and had put in the song request to get me back on the floor. Either way, I had to keep dancing with her.
Except now it wasn't just her. There were three or four similarly-aged women (I'd put it at upper-40s) dancing with or around me, and it was clear that I was the young-American-boy du jour. It was part-terrifying but mostly great fun, because the DJ was playing a constant stream of American 80s music, which I can never get enough of and neither can Irish people, and my older women friends kept plying me with alcohol.
Eventually the music changed to something less fun, and I decided to go back to the B&B before one of my older women friends had to help me there. Because, even though it was a whole new ballgame, I still had a touch of dignity to preserve.
But only a touch.
----------------------------
One other thing, although this is just a thing. On the ride back to Galway from Clifden, Aisling said something along the lines of "Music is my escape."
I was about to respond, I forget with what, but then it occured to me that I was driving along the Irish countryside, a million miles and one large ocean away from home, without a care in the world. And I realized that my escape IS my escape. I went to Ireland, or rather to Europe, to escape. I escaped to escape.
Cool, huh?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
20 September 2008: Clifden, Ireland
Well, this was quite a day.
I woke up at 8:30 but lay in bed until noon, at which point I had tea and toast with Aisling in the back yard. And here is where it begins.
Unknowingly and unwittingly, I walked right into a We Need To Talk talk. You read that right, we had a We Need To Talk talk on the morning after we met. And it all began with a compliment.
I complimented her about something, I couldn't even begin to tell you what, and she asked "do you mean that seriously?" Red flag, red flag.
Let's think about this for a second. It doesn't take a genius to realize you avoid this question on the morning after you've met. There's absolutely nothing you can gain from answering this question in the first 24 hours that you couldn't gain 24 hours later, when you actually know something about the person and have an idea of where this conversation might end up going.
So is there something to lose from answering this question in the first 24 hours? Well, let's see. Because I did answer it. In fact, I went deep.
And this particular We Need To Talk talk came in four phases.
Phase One: THE PLAY
You could call this "the line" if you want, but I think it's more of the play, because she served me up a fat one and I took a swing. A huge swing.
In response to her inquiring if I was serious about the compliment, I said "I think you're the prettiest girl in Ireland but I don't have any foolish ideas about a wanderer coming in here and being with you." I mean, it was a pretty good play, to be perfectly honest.
*****
Phase Two: THE FEED
Her response to that was along the lines of "Do you ever want to just be close friends with someone but also be with that person?" Boy, if that's not a feed, I don't know what is.
Actually, I do know what is. It's when the next thing is simply "I could tell last night it wasn't just a friend thing. You can't hold anything back" and when the thing after that is "I don't want to half-ass anything."
Lord almighty, that was a feed. And I took the bait. "I mean, I'm willing to try."
*****
Phase Three: THE RUG MOMENT
That's a term I just made up, but it's perfect for this situation. It's when someone pulls the rug out from under you, but they pull it so hard and so fast that it's literally a moment unto itself. Not just a thing that happened.
"I just don't think I'm into it that way. I don't want to lead you on, but you're a great person."
This was one of the all-time rug moments. And it only got better.
"You can stay here tonight, but after tomorrow I'm going to Limerick. Are you going to be OK?"
Jesus, how about a little dignity?
"I'm sure you'll find someone in your travels who loves you."
WOW! Really, there?
*****
Phase Four: AAAAAAWKWARD
"I feel so guilty, I just didn't mean for you to feel this way because I gave you a ride."
At this point I really didn't know what to say.
So that was that. The trajectory of this We Need To Talk talk was even more bizarre than the way in which I ended up back at her house in the first place. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't really sure what we had even said, other than that ain't nothing was happening. I guess it was good to know that, as it probably would have come out eventually. Albeit maybe a bit more tactfully.
Anyway, I was a bit shocked by the whole thing and was, I suppose, speechless, and probably to break the silence more than anything else Aisling suggested we drive up to Clifden for the day. Sounds like a plan.
Clifden is a town on the coast about 45 minutes away from Moycullen, and is really a lovely place. Pretty beautiful to walk around and with a nice downtown, where they were in the middle of a week of live music.
After a while we drove to the coast because it was a beautiful day for exploring, and sat outside basking in the glory of the afternoon and doing little else. There was a dude sitting in a van and looking at a map, so I figured he was traveling and went to talk to him.
This dude was a German named Kolja who had driven from Germany and was in the middle of a months-long exploration of Ireland. We talked for a bit and then Aisling came over and joined us. Kolja offered me a beer and just like that we were fast friends. And fast traveling buddies.
I was thinking about going out to Westport the next day and so I asked Kolja if he was heading that way. He said he would be leaving in a couple days, but since I wanted to head out before then it wouldn't work. Still, though, he was staying in Clifden for the night, which meant that if I stuck around too I'd have a head start on my way to Westport in the morning.
Aisling had the idea first about us sticking around for the night, which is where I got the idea about leaving from there in the morning, but she was backing out pretty quickly. I was almost definitely going to stay in Clifden for the night regardless of what Aisling was doing, but it certainly would have been nicer to have her hanging out too. And eventually I convinced her to stick around.
We went up to the City Centre and drank some beer on the main square and had some chips and, truth be told, I was still crazy about Aisling. I don't mean to beat a dead horse-- although an incredibly attractive dead horse-- but let's just say that, considering the talk that morning, it was all pretty worthless.
Eventually we went into a pub, which was pretty lame, and then another one which was better. We sat down and, since I had a beer in my hand and was listening to music, felt like it was an opportune time to write in my notebook about the morning. Since I hadn't by that point.
Aisling asked me what I was writing, and I told her it was about the day so far. She asked if she could read it, which didn't seem to me like a good idea let alone against the very principal of having a travel notebook, but she asked a couple more times and, well, it wasn't like I had written anything too important.
So I told her to read the last three lines I had written, which were "good to know, I guess --> just means Aisling will be a beautiful friend instead of a beautiful more-than-friend --> would rather not lose her as friend". Pretty harmless, I thought, not to mention what a stud move.
But she looked at the page for quite some time and handed it back to me and, when I asked her, she said she read the whole page. Which included such bits as "wow, can I save any dignity yet?" Maybe not quite as good as the other part.
Regardless, though, I went back to writing since there was a lot I didn't want to forget-- although, to be honest, I suppose I forgot a lot. She told me I "need to stop writing," and looked pretty pissed off. Ironic, maybe, because it had been she who asked to read what I wrote.
She then said such things as "I gave you a ride, I shouldn't have to feel guilty." This was sort of a continuation of the rug moment, seeing as I hadn't asked for a ride at all but she had offered. The whole thing was really pretty terrible; I mean, it was over. Whatever point it was at after the We Need To Talk talk, it was over.
What's also interesting, I guess, is that if we had just gone back to Moycullen it would have been fine, and nothing at all would have happened. It's just that since we stayed and were drinking I was liable to tell her "I'm crazy about you" a lot. I mean a lot. And that made her feel more guilty, and that made it even more uncomfortable. It was a disaster.
After some time we went back to the van and Aisling started fiddling. The girl is a lovely fiddler, I mean that, but at this point it was literally impossible for me to keep my eyes open. So I closed them. And, of course, I fell asleep. I mean, really, if there was any one way for me to seal the deal on this one, it was to fall asleep while she was fiddling. Not so much because I fell asleep during her fiddling, but because she and Kolja stayed up talking for a couple hours while I was fast asleep. These things happen.
Anyway, I woke up a bit later, and Aisling went to sleep in her car while Kolja and I pulled out the futon in the van.
And that, my friends, was it.
---------------------------------
Four things about the Aisling Roller-Coaster, of which the third and fourth are most important:
1) This whole thing started because I happened to ask her for directions. That's it. Not because I thought she was cute or because I needed a place to crash and thought I'd ask her. Because I asked her for directions. Insane.
2) In 48 hours with this girl, we had had the Car Decision, the We Need To Talk Talk, and the Clifden Cliff-Dive. The first took us from giving directions to taking me home in about 45 minutes. The second took us from a possible romantic play to an end of discussion in about 30 minutes. And the third took us from still lovely friends to nice to know ya in, well, the course of the early evening. Unbelievable. I'm still dizzy.
3) It may have gotten lost in the sob story, but I hope you caught that Aisling and I went to Clifden for a day trip and ended up spending the night with someone random. "Spending the night with someone random" isn't exactly a news flash for this trip, but we were a German, a Yank, and an Irish fiddler, hanging out at the bar, and then going to sleep in a camoflauge VW van. I doubt I'll spend another night in a van for the rest of my time in Europe, you know, because the situation doesn't usually arise. I could have gone on and on about this part of the day, because of how epic the German, the Yank, and the Irish fiddler was, but I thought the other part of the day was more interesting. No, definitely not more interesting, but there will epic adventures galore while I'm over here, while this was the first true sob story yet. I felt like it needed to be gone into.
4) Here's the main thing. When it comes to this kind of traveling, for 95% of the situations you find yourself, the way I'm doing it is enough. The Brazilian girl in the hostel, the Spanish girl in the hostel, basically anything in a hostel-- one day is perfect, two days is fine, and three days is pushing it. It's just about backpackers looking for backpacking thrills, and that's it. But for the other 5%-- Scarlet Johanson, Aisling, the real Keira Knightly-- three days isn't enough, and a week really isn't even enough either. Something just clicks, and that's sort of when you want to stick around longer than you can. Or longer than you should. Not that it mattered here.
-------------------------------------
And, I promise, no more posts like this one. For my health and yours.
I woke up at 8:30 but lay in bed until noon, at which point I had tea and toast with Aisling in the back yard. And here is where it begins.
Unknowingly and unwittingly, I walked right into a We Need To Talk talk. You read that right, we had a We Need To Talk talk on the morning after we met. And it all began with a compliment.
I complimented her about something, I couldn't even begin to tell you what, and she asked "do you mean that seriously?" Red flag, red flag.
Let's think about this for a second. It doesn't take a genius to realize you avoid this question on the morning after you've met. There's absolutely nothing you can gain from answering this question in the first 24 hours that you couldn't gain 24 hours later, when you actually know something about the person and have an idea of where this conversation might end up going.
So is there something to lose from answering this question in the first 24 hours? Well, let's see. Because I did answer it. In fact, I went deep.
And this particular We Need To Talk talk came in four phases.
Phase One: THE PLAY
You could call this "the line" if you want, but I think it's more of the play, because she served me up a fat one and I took a swing. A huge swing.
In response to her inquiring if I was serious about the compliment, I said "I think you're the prettiest girl in Ireland but I don't have any foolish ideas about a wanderer coming in here and being with you." I mean, it was a pretty good play, to be perfectly honest.
*****
Phase Two: THE FEED
Her response to that was along the lines of "Do you ever want to just be close friends with someone but also be with that person?" Boy, if that's not a feed, I don't know what is.
Actually, I do know what is. It's when the next thing is simply "I could tell last night it wasn't just a friend thing. You can't hold anything back" and when the thing after that is "I don't want to half-ass anything."
Lord almighty, that was a feed. And I took the bait. "I mean, I'm willing to try."
*****
Phase Three: THE RUG MOMENT
That's a term I just made up, but it's perfect for this situation. It's when someone pulls the rug out from under you, but they pull it so hard and so fast that it's literally a moment unto itself. Not just a thing that happened.
"I just don't think I'm into it that way. I don't want to lead you on, but you're a great person."
This was one of the all-time rug moments. And it only got better.
"You can stay here tonight, but after tomorrow I'm going to Limerick. Are you going to be OK?"
Jesus, how about a little dignity?
"I'm sure you'll find someone in your travels who loves you."
WOW! Really, there?
*****
Phase Four: AAAAAAWKWARD
"I feel so guilty, I just didn't mean for you to feel this way because I gave you a ride."
At this point I really didn't know what to say.
So that was that. The trajectory of this We Need To Talk talk was even more bizarre than the way in which I ended up back at her house in the first place. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't really sure what we had even said, other than that ain't nothing was happening. I guess it was good to know that, as it probably would have come out eventually. Albeit maybe a bit more tactfully.
Anyway, I was a bit shocked by the whole thing and was, I suppose, speechless, and probably to break the silence more than anything else Aisling suggested we drive up to Clifden for the day. Sounds like a plan.
Clifden is a town on the coast about 45 minutes away from Moycullen, and is really a lovely place. Pretty beautiful to walk around and with a nice downtown, where they were in the middle of a week of live music.
After a while we drove to the coast because it was a beautiful day for exploring, and sat outside basking in the glory of the afternoon and doing little else. There was a dude sitting in a van and looking at a map, so I figured he was traveling and went to talk to him.
This dude was a German named Kolja who had driven from Germany and was in the middle of a months-long exploration of Ireland. We talked for a bit and then Aisling came over and joined us. Kolja offered me a beer and just like that we were fast friends. And fast traveling buddies.
I was thinking about going out to Westport the next day and so I asked Kolja if he was heading that way. He said he would be leaving in a couple days, but since I wanted to head out before then it wouldn't work. Still, though, he was staying in Clifden for the night, which meant that if I stuck around too I'd have a head start on my way to Westport in the morning.
Aisling had the idea first about us sticking around for the night, which is where I got the idea about leaving from there in the morning, but she was backing out pretty quickly. I was almost definitely going to stay in Clifden for the night regardless of what Aisling was doing, but it certainly would have been nicer to have her hanging out too. And eventually I convinced her to stick around.
We went up to the City Centre and drank some beer on the main square and had some chips and, truth be told, I was still crazy about Aisling. I don't mean to beat a dead horse-- although an incredibly attractive dead horse-- but let's just say that, considering the talk that morning, it was all pretty worthless.
Eventually we went into a pub, which was pretty lame, and then another one which was better. We sat down and, since I had a beer in my hand and was listening to music, felt like it was an opportune time to write in my notebook about the morning. Since I hadn't by that point.
Aisling asked me what I was writing, and I told her it was about the day so far. She asked if she could read it, which didn't seem to me like a good idea let alone against the very principal of having a travel notebook, but she asked a couple more times and, well, it wasn't like I had written anything too important.
So I told her to read the last three lines I had written, which were "good to know, I guess --> just means Aisling will be a beautiful friend instead of a beautiful more-than-friend --> would rather not lose her as friend". Pretty harmless, I thought, not to mention what a stud move.
But she looked at the page for quite some time and handed it back to me and, when I asked her, she said she read the whole page. Which included such bits as "wow, can I save any dignity yet?" Maybe not quite as good as the other part.
Regardless, though, I went back to writing since there was a lot I didn't want to forget-- although, to be honest, I suppose I forgot a lot. She told me I "need to stop writing," and looked pretty pissed off. Ironic, maybe, because it had been she who asked to read what I wrote.
She then said such things as "I gave you a ride, I shouldn't have to feel guilty." This was sort of a continuation of the rug moment, seeing as I hadn't asked for a ride at all but she had offered. The whole thing was really pretty terrible; I mean, it was over. Whatever point it was at after the We Need To Talk talk, it was over.
What's also interesting, I guess, is that if we had just gone back to Moycullen it would have been fine, and nothing at all would have happened. It's just that since we stayed and were drinking I was liable to tell her "I'm crazy about you" a lot. I mean a lot. And that made her feel more guilty, and that made it even more uncomfortable. It was a disaster.
After some time we went back to the van and Aisling started fiddling. The girl is a lovely fiddler, I mean that, but at this point it was literally impossible for me to keep my eyes open. So I closed them. And, of course, I fell asleep. I mean, really, if there was any one way for me to seal the deal on this one, it was to fall asleep while she was fiddling. Not so much because I fell asleep during her fiddling, but because she and Kolja stayed up talking for a couple hours while I was fast asleep. These things happen.
Anyway, I woke up a bit later, and Aisling went to sleep in her car while Kolja and I pulled out the futon in the van.
And that, my friends, was it.
---------------------------------
Four things about the Aisling Roller-Coaster, of which the third and fourth are most important:
1) This whole thing started because I happened to ask her for directions. That's it. Not because I thought she was cute or because I needed a place to crash and thought I'd ask her. Because I asked her for directions. Insane.
2) In 48 hours with this girl, we had had the Car Decision, the We Need To Talk Talk, and the Clifden Cliff-Dive. The first took us from giving directions to taking me home in about 45 minutes. The second took us from a possible romantic play to an end of discussion in about 30 minutes. And the third took us from still lovely friends to nice to know ya in, well, the course of the early evening. Unbelievable. I'm still dizzy.
3) It may have gotten lost in the sob story, but I hope you caught that Aisling and I went to Clifden for a day trip and ended up spending the night with someone random. "Spending the night with someone random" isn't exactly a news flash for this trip, but we were a German, a Yank, and an Irish fiddler, hanging out at the bar, and then going to sleep in a camoflauge VW van. I doubt I'll spend another night in a van for the rest of my time in Europe, you know, because the situation doesn't usually arise. I could have gone on and on about this part of the day, because of how epic the German, the Yank, and the Irish fiddler was, but I thought the other part of the day was more interesting. No, definitely not more interesting, but there will epic adventures galore while I'm over here, while this was the first true sob story yet. I felt like it needed to be gone into.
4) Here's the main thing. When it comes to this kind of traveling, for 95% of the situations you find yourself, the way I'm doing it is enough. The Brazilian girl in the hostel, the Spanish girl in the hostel, basically anything in a hostel-- one day is perfect, two days is fine, and three days is pushing it. It's just about backpackers looking for backpacking thrills, and that's it. But for the other 5%-- Scarlet Johanson, Aisling, the real Keira Knightly-- three days isn't enough, and a week really isn't even enough either. Something just clicks, and that's sort of when you want to stick around longer than you can. Or longer than you should. Not that it mattered here.
-------------------------------------
And, I promise, no more posts like this one. For my health and yours.
19 September 2008: Moycullen, Ireland
When I woke up, Melissa was doing stuff around the place in her pajamas. I'm telling you, there's nothing like a cute girl in PJs to start off your day. Am I right or am I right?
Melissa was lovely and Emma was friendly, but Crona looked like she had had enough of the vagabond in the apartment. I figured it was time to go, which was convenient since they were all leaving to go home for the weekend.
I met Seana, the girl from the previous night in line, at 1:00 outside the union. We walked to City Centre to get lunch, but she checked bus times when we got downtown-- she was going home for the weekend, also, which is what nearly all the students do-- and her bus was leaving in three minutes. No time for lunch with Seana, so I got a loaf of bread and 40 slices of ham and made myself some grub for the day.
After eating I headed back to the NUI library to check my e-mail, but they didn't have any way for outside students to use the internet. NUI must be the only university in the entire world that doesn't let outside students use the internet in the library. Seriously, the only one.
So I walked back to City Centre and used a 90 minute voucher at an internet cafe that was included in a bag I picked up at the Welcome Week event. Then I headed back to campus, asked a kid where most of the student housing was, and set off to find it.
(The reason I mention all this is not because it's interesting but because those three things-- not having lunch with Seana, not using the internet in the library, going back to City Centre for the internet cafe-- all had to happen in order to have the rest of the day happen.)
And what happened the rest of the day is that I met the most beautiful girl I have ever in my life laid eyes on. Ever. Three years ago I prematurely and incorrectly bestowed The Most Beautiful Girl in the History of the World status on a girl in Ann Arbor. I had kept it in the back-burner since then, but I've got to pull it out now.
This was it. This was the one. Although to be honest, I didn't realize it until much later in the day.
For the beginning, though, I was walking down the street on my way to the main place where students lived. Someone had given me directions from campus, but when I asked someone else along the way she contradicted them. I went the way this second person told me to go, but wasn't sure so I asked the next person I saw. This girl.
I asked her for directions, and she said she'd give me a ride. In the car she asked why I was going to Careb Village, and I explained that I was on a European adventure and was in Galway for a little while and needed a place to crash. She thought it was interesting and said that she would let me crash at her place but she lived in a different town and it wouldn't make much sense.
At this point I really hadn't noticed anything about this girl and I said that staying so far away might not be such a good idea but I asked if I could stop by for a shower and maybe leave my stuff there overnight. She said that would be OK, but she was going to her aunt's house at the moment and wouldn't be going back to her place for a while.
Now, from this point on I'm not really sure how it all happened. And I'm pretty confident that if you asked this girl she wouldn't really know either. But, to the best of my knowledge, she drove to her aunt's house and then realized when we got there that I was still in the car. Which was no good. So then she drove to Careb Village and said that I should try to find a couch, but if I had no luck she would come back and pick me up. But when we got there she said that was stupid and I should just come back to her place instead.
I think that's how it went. I almost feel like I was partly blacked out at this point. Either way, I ended up back at her place.
So we're sitting down talking, and I really had no idea how this whole thing happened. I mean, really, I had gone from walking on the street to potentially leaving my stuff at this girl's house to staying at this girl's house in about 15 minutes. I felt like I had just seen a window into a whole new dimension.
Now, this girl. Her name is Aisling, which sounds like Ashling. She graduated from college in Limerick with a fiddle performance degree and was just starting three years of graduate work in a small college outside Galway to learn Alexander technique. Which is a whole nother topic to get into.
Anyway, this girl was sweet as apple pie and, without a shadow of a doubt in my entire mind, the most beautiful girl in all of Ireland. I fell in love for the fourth time of my trip, and this time it wasn't even close.
(The best comparison I can think of for Aisling is Catherine Zeta-Jones, although I admit it's a little iffy. Either way, I think it's funny that Melissa looks like Keira Knightly and Aisling looks like Catherina Zeta-Jones. Not because they both look like beautiful actresses, which is lovely, but because I could say that Melissa is "Keira Knightly with an accent" and Aisling is "Catherine Zeta-Jones with an accent"-- except of course that both of those actresses DO have accents. Maybe that's what it is. The accent.)
Aisling thought that my loaf of bread and super-package of ham was funny, albeit a bit depressing, and so we made dinner. And this time I mean that WE made dinner. Salmon, sweet potato, broccoli and carrots. It was a feast. I did the cutting and she did the cooking.
And afterwards I cleaned up. Major points.
As we were finishing dinner her roommate Tom came down and talked with us for a bit. Tom's a bit of a social eccentric, to put it one way, and is real big on singing karaoke at home. Aisling asked if he would sing a song for us, but he had to go and said he would "sing one next time." Next time? I don't like to count my chickens before they hatch, but...
The thing was, I was just shocked that I was still there. I mean, I had asked this girl for directions, ended up in her car, and somehow ended up at her place. What's more than that is that I had been positive, even after I was conscious of the fact that I was going back to her place in Moycullen, that it was just a fleeting friendship. Or, rather, a fleeting act of kindness. That she would help me out because I was in need, but I didn't think for a second that there was anything more invested. But now a "next time"?
Anyway, after dinner we went into Galway because Aisling wanted to find a trad session, which is a jam session for traditional Irish music. Because Aisling is bad-ass on the fiddle and goes to jam sessions at pubs in town. How sweet is that?
And, not to harp on this or anything, but the girl was wearing a black leather jacket, a red shirt, and black pants. It was as though Aphrodite had come to earth to grace me with her presence in the form of an Irish fiddler. The girl was sexy. No doubt.
(And no, it wasn't really a leather jacket. But it sure as hell could have fooled me.)
The session was pretty sweet, with people joining in and jumping out whenever they wanted, but Aisling didn't join in because she didn't know the tunes. And the bar, despite having authentic music, was about 95% filled with Americans. Aisling wasn't in love with it and I had no complaints about heading out.
So we went back to her place and sat around talking for an hour or so. Just sort of shooting the shit around and then Aisling played some tunes on her fiddle, which was lovely. I was beginning to fall asleep on the couch, but then her neighbors-- mom, daughter, daughter's boyfriend-- knocked on the door, drunk as could be.
They joined us and were, well, a bit of a trip. The boyfriend was a pretty good dude, and the daughter was alright if a bit on the loud side, but the mom was just a mess. She asked me who I was voting for in the presidential election and when I answered she said "I'm not ready for a black man as president of the United States, I just don't like the things that would come with that race." Wow.
I really, really didn't want to get into this conversation, because there was no way it would end well, but I was awfully curious about what would come along with that race. So I asked, as civily as I could, but all she said was that she knows McCain will die within four years but "it's better with two years of Sarah Palin than four years of Obama." I had to stop it right there. I was about to say something disastrous.
Eventually the three neighbors left and Aisling and I went to bed. But damn, that smile of hers.
Melissa was lovely and Emma was friendly, but Crona looked like she had had enough of the vagabond in the apartment. I figured it was time to go, which was convenient since they were all leaving to go home for the weekend.
I met Seana, the girl from the previous night in line, at 1:00 outside the union. We walked to City Centre to get lunch, but she checked bus times when we got downtown-- she was going home for the weekend, also, which is what nearly all the students do-- and her bus was leaving in three minutes. No time for lunch with Seana, so I got a loaf of bread and 40 slices of ham and made myself some grub for the day.
After eating I headed back to the NUI library to check my e-mail, but they didn't have any way for outside students to use the internet. NUI must be the only university in the entire world that doesn't let outside students use the internet in the library. Seriously, the only one.
So I walked back to City Centre and used a 90 minute voucher at an internet cafe that was included in a bag I picked up at the Welcome Week event. Then I headed back to campus, asked a kid where most of the student housing was, and set off to find it.
(The reason I mention all this is not because it's interesting but because those three things-- not having lunch with Seana, not using the internet in the library, going back to City Centre for the internet cafe-- all had to happen in order to have the rest of the day happen.)
And what happened the rest of the day is that I met the most beautiful girl I have ever in my life laid eyes on. Ever. Three years ago I prematurely and incorrectly bestowed The Most Beautiful Girl in the History of the World status on a girl in Ann Arbor. I had kept it in the back-burner since then, but I've got to pull it out now.
This was it. This was the one. Although to be honest, I didn't realize it until much later in the day.
For the beginning, though, I was walking down the street on my way to the main place where students lived. Someone had given me directions from campus, but when I asked someone else along the way she contradicted them. I went the way this second person told me to go, but wasn't sure so I asked the next person I saw. This girl.
I asked her for directions, and she said she'd give me a ride. In the car she asked why I was going to Careb Village, and I explained that I was on a European adventure and was in Galway for a little while and needed a place to crash. She thought it was interesting and said that she would let me crash at her place but she lived in a different town and it wouldn't make much sense.
At this point I really hadn't noticed anything about this girl and I said that staying so far away might not be such a good idea but I asked if I could stop by for a shower and maybe leave my stuff there overnight. She said that would be OK, but she was going to her aunt's house at the moment and wouldn't be going back to her place for a while.
Now, from this point on I'm not really sure how it all happened. And I'm pretty confident that if you asked this girl she wouldn't really know either. But, to the best of my knowledge, she drove to her aunt's house and then realized when we got there that I was still in the car. Which was no good. So then she drove to Careb Village and said that I should try to find a couch, but if I had no luck she would come back and pick me up. But when we got there she said that was stupid and I should just come back to her place instead.
I think that's how it went. I almost feel like I was partly blacked out at this point. Either way, I ended up back at her place.
So we're sitting down talking, and I really had no idea how this whole thing happened. I mean, really, I had gone from walking on the street to potentially leaving my stuff at this girl's house to staying at this girl's house in about 15 minutes. I felt like I had just seen a window into a whole new dimension.
Now, this girl. Her name is Aisling, which sounds like Ashling. She graduated from college in Limerick with a fiddle performance degree and was just starting three years of graduate work in a small college outside Galway to learn Alexander technique. Which is a whole nother topic to get into.
Anyway, this girl was sweet as apple pie and, without a shadow of a doubt in my entire mind, the most beautiful girl in all of Ireland. I fell in love for the fourth time of my trip, and this time it wasn't even close.
(The best comparison I can think of for Aisling is Catherine Zeta-Jones, although I admit it's a little iffy. Either way, I think it's funny that Melissa looks like Keira Knightly and Aisling looks like Catherina Zeta-Jones. Not because they both look like beautiful actresses, which is lovely, but because I could say that Melissa is "Keira Knightly with an accent" and Aisling is "Catherine Zeta-Jones with an accent"-- except of course that both of those actresses DO have accents. Maybe that's what it is. The accent.)
Aisling thought that my loaf of bread and super-package of ham was funny, albeit a bit depressing, and so we made dinner. And this time I mean that WE made dinner. Salmon, sweet potato, broccoli and carrots. It was a feast. I did the cutting and she did the cooking.
And afterwards I cleaned up. Major points.
As we were finishing dinner her roommate Tom came down and talked with us for a bit. Tom's a bit of a social eccentric, to put it one way, and is real big on singing karaoke at home. Aisling asked if he would sing a song for us, but he had to go and said he would "sing one next time." Next time? I don't like to count my chickens before they hatch, but...
The thing was, I was just shocked that I was still there. I mean, I had asked this girl for directions, ended up in her car, and somehow ended up at her place. What's more than that is that I had been positive, even after I was conscious of the fact that I was going back to her place in Moycullen, that it was just a fleeting friendship. Or, rather, a fleeting act of kindness. That she would help me out because I was in need, but I didn't think for a second that there was anything more invested. But now a "next time"?
Anyway, after dinner we went into Galway because Aisling wanted to find a trad session, which is a jam session for traditional Irish music. Because Aisling is bad-ass on the fiddle and goes to jam sessions at pubs in town. How sweet is that?
And, not to harp on this or anything, but the girl was wearing a black leather jacket, a red shirt, and black pants. It was as though Aphrodite had come to earth to grace me with her presence in the form of an Irish fiddler. The girl was sexy. No doubt.
(And no, it wasn't really a leather jacket. But it sure as hell could have fooled me.)
The session was pretty sweet, with people joining in and jumping out whenever they wanted, but Aisling didn't join in because she didn't know the tunes. And the bar, despite having authentic music, was about 95% filled with Americans. Aisling wasn't in love with it and I had no complaints about heading out.
So we went back to her place and sat around talking for an hour or so. Just sort of shooting the shit around and then Aisling played some tunes on her fiddle, which was lovely. I was beginning to fall asleep on the couch, but then her neighbors-- mom, daughter, daughter's boyfriend-- knocked on the door, drunk as could be.
They joined us and were, well, a bit of a trip. The boyfriend was a pretty good dude, and the daughter was alright if a bit on the loud side, but the mom was just a mess. She asked me who I was voting for in the presidential election and when I answered she said "I'm not ready for a black man as president of the United States, I just don't like the things that would come with that race." Wow.
I really, really didn't want to get into this conversation, because there was no way it would end well, but I was awfully curious about what would come along with that race. So I asked, as civily as I could, but all she said was that she knows McCain will die within four years but "it's better with two years of Sarah Palin than four years of Obama." I had to stop it right there. I was about to say something disastrous.
Eventually the three neighbors left and Aisling and I went to bed. But damn, that smile of hers.
18 September 2008: Galway, Ireland
I woke up this morning for an early bus to Galway and I had my cheapest meal to date: four slices of bread from the hostel breakfast and a packet of American cheese slices. Total cost: 68 cents.
I left Dublin at 10:00am and got to Galway at 1:40. To see the early timeline of my first day in Galway, let's set my arrival time at 00:00. The very beginning.
00:00-- arrive in Galway
00:30-- go to Welcome Week event at National University of Ireland
01:00-- meet Melissa
01:30-- rock (band) out to "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" with Melissa
02:00-- walk around City Centre with Melissa
03:00-- go back to Melissa's apartment for dinner
Damn that's good. Even without the Rock Band, I was still a fucking rock star.
I don't want to say anymore about the first three hours because there's so much more to be said for later in the day, but Melissa made pasta with bolognese sauce with garlic bread, and we topped it off with some chocolate ice cream.
It was during dinner that Emma, one of Melissa's roommates, threw down the gauntlet. That night she was going to a Vengaboys concert.
Those Vengaboys.
Yes, THOSE Vengaboys.
The Vengaboys were back in town.
When I heard this, I almost lost my mind. The Vengaboys were having a concert on the NUI campus that very night. As if my happening to show up during Welcome Week, thus going to the event and meeting Melissa, wasn't enough, I had also happened to show up on the very day of a concert of the all-time greatest discoteque band. The absolute all-time greatest discoteque band, and there's no one that even comes close.
To be honest, this was the all-time "now I can die happy" concert. I had to go.
Emma already had a ticket and was going, so I asked Melissa and Crona, the third roommate, if they wanted to go too. Melissa said no, but Crona was thinking about it. So after having a pre-concert dance party to Boom Boom Boom Boom and Vengabus, Emma and I headed to the concert and told Crona that if I couldn't get in we would call her.
The problem was, you see, that not only was I without a ticket I was also without a student ID. As we walked to the concert Emma said that, even if I were to get a ticket, I still wouldn't get in because I didn't have a student ID.
So basically I had two options: Use the international excuse or use the traveler excuse.
If I used the international excuse, it would require that I pretend to be an international student-- and thus haven't registered yet and don't have an ID-- and I would have to hope that the bouncer would let me in without a ticket because of how big a fan I am of the Vengaboys. The fucking Vengaboys.
If I used the traveler excuse, then I would just say that I was traveling and am not a student but heard about the concert and I would have to hope that the bouncer would let me in without a ticket because of how big a fan I am of the Vangaboys. The fucking Vengaboys.
Emma was pretty confident that the international student gig was the way to go because she said that being a student was the most important thing. But I felt like, if I was indeed a student, then I'd have no excuse for not getting a ticket beforehand. Plus, since I'm a student elsewhere, I thought that would be good enough and the bouncer would be willing to let me slip in.
So I told the bouncer that I had been traveling around Ireland and had only happened to be in Galway that night but I was the biggest non-European fan of the Vengaboys and so was there any way I could just sneak on in. Well, maybe Emma was right, because the dude wasn't budging: you MUST be a student.
I was at a stalemate but not ready to give up, and so Emma called Crona and she came to join us. We stood in line with Emma and a girl named Seana, and the bouncer dude was literally asking people who claimed to be international students to show him a passport and papers confirming that they were in fact internation students. And if they didn't have either he made them go to the library to print them out. Again, the dude wasn't budging. So I felt better about not saying I was an international student because that wouldn't have worked any better at all.
Also, by this point the concert was about an hour late because the band's bus was having trouble and hadn't arrived yet.
The Vengabus was broken down.
(You only heard that one about 500 times that night.)
Eventually Emma got through the line and went inside, so Crona and I took our respective alcohol-- a 6-pack for me and a bottle of something mixed for her-- and went into the building connected to the concert venue to think about our next move.
The band had still not arrived but there was a DJ playing so Crona and I drank a bit and had a bit of a dance party. We also had a good chuckle at the girls who were crying because they weren't let in on account of being too young, not having a ticket, not having a student ID, etc. I mean, these girls were literally crying. I couldn't believe it. We invited them to join our dance party and each one refused. Unbelievable. But hey, if they wanted to cry and be miserable, who were we to stop them?
(Crona and I also developed a new ranking system for girls: how much they're dying to get laid. A 1 if the girl is probably a virgin and a 10 if you know she's just DYING to get fucked and nothing is too demeaning to her for it to happen. The fun thing about this ranking system is that, for once, it's entirely plausible for fat chicks to get 10s and hotties to score low. In fact, to be honest, most of the fat chicks DID get at least an 8. It really flipped the switch.)
Finally, the security dudes made Crona and I leave where we were because the band was about to enter through the connected building. It was about fucking time, and we went outside. Except it wasn't about fucking time. It was still almost a half hour from the time we went outside to the time the concert began. People were actually booing. Booing the Vengaboys; that's almost sacreligious.
Eventually the band showed up and led off with Boom Boom Boom Boom, of course. I got up close to the door to see if there was any chance at all that I'd be able to sneak in, but it was looking bleak. It got even bleaker when the bouncer told me to step away from the door because "you're not even a student, I'll have campus security remove you from here." I couldn't believe how big of a dick this guy was being.
Anyway, I stepped back a little and continued to have my dance party, and I watched as people began to trickle out the very second that Boom Boom Boom Boom ended. The first wave of people who left said they had only wanted to hear the one song, but the rest told me that the concert sucked and they were already late for plans because the concert had started so late. Them being late for plans I can understand, but the concert sucked? Please, it's the Vengaboys. What did you expect?
Throughout the concert, these girls kept getting refused at the door. And every single one of them would end up crying. It was the funniest thing, really, and not because I like seeing people cry. It's because they were crying over the Vengaboys. You could hear them just as well outside as you could in, and Emma texted Crona to say that she couldn't even see the band because they were on the top level and only a very small amount of people were let up there. You might as well have a dance party outside, right?
Also, at least the bouncer was fair. You know? I mean, at least he wasn't letting in the cute girls either.
So the Vengaboys played Boom Boom Boom Boom and Vengabus and six other songs. For a grand total of an eight-song set. They were two hours late and then they literally played music for 45 minutes. Unbelievable. They did play an encore, but guess what it was-- Boom Boom Boom Boom. It's always a classy move when a band opens with their most famous song AND encores with it.
To be honest, I didn't know the Vengaboys HAD eight songs at all. Good for them.
After the concert, Emma and Crona and I went to a club which had people outside giving stamps that got you in for free. Unfortunately, Emma and Crona got the stamp for this placed called GPO but I didn't. So Crona paid my $5 cover. How sweet.
The club was pretty good but it's not like I have anything unique to add about it, but at the end this one girl told me to go back to her place with her. Normally you don't have to ask me twice, but I hadn't seen Melissa since we left the apartment and I wanted to go back and see her. Not only because I wanted to go back and see her but because she had been so sweet to me and cooked me dinner. And I wanted to go back and see her.
So I left the girl and asked Crona if I could crash on the couch in the apartment, since it occured to me that the subject had never really come up earlier and I didn't know if I could. Crona said yes, which sealed the deal. I saw the girl again waiting outside but I slipped off with Crona and Emma and headed back to their place.
Melissa was up because she had meant to meet us but her phone died and she didn't know where we were, and I talked with her for a little bit. This girl is unbelievably sweet and, I'm telling you, a dead ringer for Keira Knightly. Absolutey a dead ringer.
You guessed it.
I fell in love for time #3.
I left Dublin at 10:00am and got to Galway at 1:40. To see the early timeline of my first day in Galway, let's set my arrival time at 00:00. The very beginning.
00:00-- arrive in Galway
00:30-- go to Welcome Week event at National University of Ireland
01:00-- meet Melissa
01:30-- rock (band) out to "Should I Stay Or Should I Go" with Melissa
02:00-- walk around City Centre with Melissa
03:00-- go back to Melissa's apartment for dinner
Damn that's good. Even without the Rock Band, I was still a fucking rock star.
I don't want to say anymore about the first three hours because there's so much more to be said for later in the day, but Melissa made pasta with bolognese sauce with garlic bread, and we topped it off with some chocolate ice cream.
It was during dinner that Emma, one of Melissa's roommates, threw down the gauntlet. That night she was going to a Vengaboys concert.
Those Vengaboys.
Yes, THOSE Vengaboys.
The Vengaboys were back in town.
When I heard this, I almost lost my mind. The Vengaboys were having a concert on the NUI campus that very night. As if my happening to show up during Welcome Week, thus going to the event and meeting Melissa, wasn't enough, I had also happened to show up on the very day of a concert of the all-time greatest discoteque band. The absolute all-time greatest discoteque band, and there's no one that even comes close.
To be honest, this was the all-time "now I can die happy" concert. I had to go.
Emma already had a ticket and was going, so I asked Melissa and Crona, the third roommate, if they wanted to go too. Melissa said no, but Crona was thinking about it. So after having a pre-concert dance party to Boom Boom Boom Boom and Vengabus, Emma and I headed to the concert and told Crona that if I couldn't get in we would call her.
The problem was, you see, that not only was I without a ticket I was also without a student ID. As we walked to the concert Emma said that, even if I were to get a ticket, I still wouldn't get in because I didn't have a student ID.
So basically I had two options: Use the international excuse or use the traveler excuse.
If I used the international excuse, it would require that I pretend to be an international student-- and thus haven't registered yet and don't have an ID-- and I would have to hope that the bouncer would let me in without a ticket because of how big a fan I am of the Vengaboys. The fucking Vengaboys.
If I used the traveler excuse, then I would just say that I was traveling and am not a student but heard about the concert and I would have to hope that the bouncer would let me in without a ticket because of how big a fan I am of the Vangaboys. The fucking Vengaboys.
Emma was pretty confident that the international student gig was the way to go because she said that being a student was the most important thing. But I felt like, if I was indeed a student, then I'd have no excuse for not getting a ticket beforehand. Plus, since I'm a student elsewhere, I thought that would be good enough and the bouncer would be willing to let me slip in.
So I told the bouncer that I had been traveling around Ireland and had only happened to be in Galway that night but I was the biggest non-European fan of the Vengaboys and so was there any way I could just sneak on in. Well, maybe Emma was right, because the dude wasn't budging: you MUST be a student.
I was at a stalemate but not ready to give up, and so Emma called Crona and she came to join us. We stood in line with Emma and a girl named Seana, and the bouncer dude was literally asking people who claimed to be international students to show him a passport and papers confirming that they were in fact internation students. And if they didn't have either he made them go to the library to print them out. Again, the dude wasn't budging. So I felt better about not saying I was an international student because that wouldn't have worked any better at all.
Also, by this point the concert was about an hour late because the band's bus was having trouble and hadn't arrived yet.
The Vengabus was broken down.
(You only heard that one about 500 times that night.)
Eventually Emma got through the line and went inside, so Crona and I took our respective alcohol-- a 6-pack for me and a bottle of something mixed for her-- and went into the building connected to the concert venue to think about our next move.
The band had still not arrived but there was a DJ playing so Crona and I drank a bit and had a bit of a dance party. We also had a good chuckle at the girls who were crying because they weren't let in on account of being too young, not having a ticket, not having a student ID, etc. I mean, these girls were literally crying. I couldn't believe it. We invited them to join our dance party and each one refused. Unbelievable. But hey, if they wanted to cry and be miserable, who were we to stop them?
(Crona and I also developed a new ranking system for girls: how much they're dying to get laid. A 1 if the girl is probably a virgin and a 10 if you know she's just DYING to get fucked and nothing is too demeaning to her for it to happen. The fun thing about this ranking system is that, for once, it's entirely plausible for fat chicks to get 10s and hotties to score low. In fact, to be honest, most of the fat chicks DID get at least an 8. It really flipped the switch.)
Finally, the security dudes made Crona and I leave where we were because the band was about to enter through the connected building. It was about fucking time, and we went outside. Except it wasn't about fucking time. It was still almost a half hour from the time we went outside to the time the concert began. People were actually booing. Booing the Vengaboys; that's almost sacreligious.
Eventually the band showed up and led off with Boom Boom Boom Boom, of course. I got up close to the door to see if there was any chance at all that I'd be able to sneak in, but it was looking bleak. It got even bleaker when the bouncer told me to step away from the door because "you're not even a student, I'll have campus security remove you from here." I couldn't believe how big of a dick this guy was being.
Anyway, I stepped back a little and continued to have my dance party, and I watched as people began to trickle out the very second that Boom Boom Boom Boom ended. The first wave of people who left said they had only wanted to hear the one song, but the rest told me that the concert sucked and they were already late for plans because the concert had started so late. Them being late for plans I can understand, but the concert sucked? Please, it's the Vengaboys. What did you expect?
Throughout the concert, these girls kept getting refused at the door. And every single one of them would end up crying. It was the funniest thing, really, and not because I like seeing people cry. It's because they were crying over the Vengaboys. You could hear them just as well outside as you could in, and Emma texted Crona to say that she couldn't even see the band because they were on the top level and only a very small amount of people were let up there. You might as well have a dance party outside, right?
Also, at least the bouncer was fair. You know? I mean, at least he wasn't letting in the cute girls either.
So the Vengaboys played Boom Boom Boom Boom and Vengabus and six other songs. For a grand total of an eight-song set. They were two hours late and then they literally played music for 45 minutes. Unbelievable. They did play an encore, but guess what it was-- Boom Boom Boom Boom. It's always a classy move when a band opens with their most famous song AND encores with it.
To be honest, I didn't know the Vengaboys HAD eight songs at all. Good for them.
After the concert, Emma and Crona and I went to a club which had people outside giving stamps that got you in for free. Unfortunately, Emma and Crona got the stamp for this placed called GPO but I didn't. So Crona paid my $5 cover. How sweet.
The club was pretty good but it's not like I have anything unique to add about it, but at the end this one girl told me to go back to her place with her. Normally you don't have to ask me twice, but I hadn't seen Melissa since we left the apartment and I wanted to go back and see her. Not only because I wanted to go back and see her but because she had been so sweet to me and cooked me dinner. And I wanted to go back and see her.
So I left the girl and asked Crona if I could crash on the couch in the apartment, since it occured to me that the subject had never really come up earlier and I didn't know if I could. Crona said yes, which sealed the deal. I saw the girl again waiting outside but I slipped off with Crona and Emma and headed back to their place.
Melissa was up because she had meant to meet us but her phone died and she didn't know where we were, and I talked with her for a little bit. This girl is unbelievably sweet and, I'm telling you, a dead ringer for Keira Knightly. Absolutey a dead ringer.
You guessed it.
I fell in love for time #3.
17 September 2008: Dublin, Ireland
I woke up to get my stuff from the hostel and left without saying a word to the dudes, who I guess were still awake from the night before. I met Sam at 8:30 and, as I was leaving the UK that afternoon and coins wouldn't do me any good once I left, realized that I had over £5 that I needed to spend. What a feeling. So I spent the first part of the morning drinking tea at Starbucks and the second half of the morning feasting on fish and chips for the first time of the trip. Finally.
I wanted to get back to Dublin sooner rather than later so I could try to get some work at the hostel, and so I had to book it to the bus station because the next bus wasn't for an hour. But I still had £1.15 left and, like I said, there was no sense letting it go to waste. So I ran all over the few blocks on all four sides of the station until I found a store and got a little roll of bread and a can of Coke. And I was clean out of pounds. Waste not want not.
The ride was 2.5 hours and uneventful, and when I got to Browns hostel in Dublin Carl, the dude from the desk the other day, told me that there were only three beds left for that night and so he didn't have any work for me. I told him I only needed one night and would take anything, and he said "Maybe a couch" and let me store my stuff for the day. I took the storage room key, said "thanks, Carl," and when I came back up again said "thanks, Carl" one more time. He just said "cheers, buddy."
And that was when I knew I had him.
I knew his name, and had said it twice, and he didn't know mine. There was no way this dude was going to make me sleep somewhere else. There was no way he was even going to make me sleep on the couch. I had him.
So I went away for a bit and when I came back I asked Carl if he had thought of any work for me to do. He said "No, but here, you can take a bed instead of the couch." I'm good.
That's it. That was really the whole day. I had already walked around Dublin countless times and there wasn't really much else for me to do. Other than walk around more. But nothing really interesting happened during the day.
I also hung out for quite some time in the hostel, but the thing is that spending one night in a hostel is weak as hell. It's not enough time to get into the scene, and the way hostels work if you're in the scene you don't really talk to people out of it. You just stick to the people who have been together for a few days.
So after a while I went upstairs and met a bunch of Spanish kids. They were alright, despite the fact that they didn't understand that five Spanish people talking quickly at the same time is going to be impossible to understand for an American who hasn't studied Spanish since high school. They started playing "ya nunca e," which is the Spanish version of Never Have I Ever. In some weird sort of way, I almost knew it was going to come to this.
I hung out with them for a while but all the talking in Spanish started to get to me really bad. I was exhausted and hadn't planned on doing anything that night, and was already in my pajamas, so I went back down to the people I had been hanging out with originally.
That situation really hadn't changed at all since I left, and there was still not really any point in being there. One of the Spanish girls, who had been clearly into me, came down and said they were going to Temple Bar and I should go to. I said I didn't want to walk as far as Temple Bar and wasn't going to change out of my pajamas, but she said I should go out with her anyway.
I didn't really care at this point, since I was tired as hell but one more night of not sleeping wasn't exactly going to kill me, but as I was heading out this dude presented me with a bowl of pasta and said he couldn't eat it all. Like hell I was going to pass that up.
So I sat down and had some pasta, while the Spanish girl looked bored and annoyed as hell because her friends had already left. I didn't really give a damn. After I had eaten, though, she still wanted to go out, and we left.
The Spanish girl kept asking me what I wanted to do, but I was absolutely and completely impartial as long as it wasn't going all the way to Temple Bar. She kept suggesting we go back to the hostel, which didn't surprise me at all, and I said I really didn't give a damn.
Then she kissed me and led me down an alley. Then I went home and finally went to bed.
Welcome to the hostel.
I wanted to get back to Dublin sooner rather than later so I could try to get some work at the hostel, and so I had to book it to the bus station because the next bus wasn't for an hour. But I still had £1.15 left and, like I said, there was no sense letting it go to waste. So I ran all over the few blocks on all four sides of the station until I found a store and got a little roll of bread and a can of Coke. And I was clean out of pounds. Waste not want not.
The ride was 2.5 hours and uneventful, and when I got to Browns hostel in Dublin Carl, the dude from the desk the other day, told me that there were only three beds left for that night and so he didn't have any work for me. I told him I only needed one night and would take anything, and he said "Maybe a couch" and let me store my stuff for the day. I took the storage room key, said "thanks, Carl," and when I came back up again said "thanks, Carl" one more time. He just said "cheers, buddy."
And that was when I knew I had him.
I knew his name, and had said it twice, and he didn't know mine. There was no way this dude was going to make me sleep somewhere else. There was no way he was even going to make me sleep on the couch. I had him.
So I went away for a bit and when I came back I asked Carl if he had thought of any work for me to do. He said "No, but here, you can take a bed instead of the couch." I'm good.
That's it. That was really the whole day. I had already walked around Dublin countless times and there wasn't really much else for me to do. Other than walk around more. But nothing really interesting happened during the day.
I also hung out for quite some time in the hostel, but the thing is that spending one night in a hostel is weak as hell. It's not enough time to get into the scene, and the way hostels work if you're in the scene you don't really talk to people out of it. You just stick to the people who have been together for a few days.
So after a while I went upstairs and met a bunch of Spanish kids. They were alright, despite the fact that they didn't understand that five Spanish people talking quickly at the same time is going to be impossible to understand for an American who hasn't studied Spanish since high school. They started playing "ya nunca e," which is the Spanish version of Never Have I Ever. In some weird sort of way, I almost knew it was going to come to this.
I hung out with them for a while but all the talking in Spanish started to get to me really bad. I was exhausted and hadn't planned on doing anything that night, and was already in my pajamas, so I went back down to the people I had been hanging out with originally.
That situation really hadn't changed at all since I left, and there was still not really any point in being there. One of the Spanish girls, who had been clearly into me, came down and said they were going to Temple Bar and I should go to. I said I didn't want to walk as far as Temple Bar and wasn't going to change out of my pajamas, but she said I should go out with her anyway.
I didn't really care at this point, since I was tired as hell but one more night of not sleeping wasn't exactly going to kill me, but as I was heading out this dude presented me with a bowl of pasta and said he couldn't eat it all. Like hell I was going to pass that up.
So I sat down and had some pasta, while the Spanish girl looked bored and annoyed as hell because her friends had already left. I didn't really give a damn. After I had eaten, though, she still wanted to go out, and we left.
The Spanish girl kept asking me what I wanted to do, but I was absolutely and completely impartial as long as it wasn't going all the way to Temple Bar. She kept suggesting we go back to the hostel, which didn't surprise me at all, and I said I really didn't give a damn.
Then she kissed me and led me down an alley. Then I went home and finally went to bed.
Welcome to the hostel.
Friday, September 19, 2008
16 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
I had to wake up this morning at 7:00 because Arnie, the owner of the hostel, was working and he would be pissed if he found me sleeping on the couch. Not so much at me, because what could he do other than make me leave, but at Marissa. And I didn't want her to get in trouble.
Unfortunately, the previous night had been without question the best sleep I had gotten so far in Europe. I had fallen asleep within minutes of lying down, and when my alarm went off and I re-set it for 7:30 I was asleep again within seconds. Literally seconds. When it went off a half hour later I was a grumpy dude. I could have slept until 2:00. Easily.
There wasn't anything open at this hour, so I decided to have breakfast/lunch and got some samosas from Tesco for £1 and ate them cold. It was pretty gross. But hey, Indian food!
After breakfast/lunch I went to the Queen's library and went up to the law section. I picked out a challenging-looking book, opened it up on the table, and took a nap old-school style-- mouth open with my head on my arms and my arms on the book. Boy did I look like a weary and studious dude. And there I slept for about an hour.
When I woke up I set off on Sam's walking tour. And, well, now I got it.
Sam directed me mostly through Protestant areas, whereas I had been in the Catholic neighborhood the day before, and it literally could have been a whole nother country, let alone city.
I started down Shankill Road, and the first, obvious difference was the British flags zig-zagging down the entire road, overhead from side to side. To be honest, it was a little unnerving. Sort of like a ghost town, although not for any particular reason. Just the way they were hanging over everything sort of as a remnant of the past. I don't know.
But even more than that, there was just so much pride throughout the neighborhood. Whereas the Catholic side had murals depicting current events, the Shankill murals were all about the Troubles-- either representing their struggle in general or as
memorials to the fallen members of the community, but either way the murals profoundly illustrated the history that's shaped West Belfast.
Besides the murals, though, there were loads of memorials and plaques and statues honoring volunteer soldiers and community members who had died. It was all incredibly moving.
I know that there's a second side to everything, and that in a sense I had seen the second side the day before, but it's really hard to come out of Belfast feeling anything but sympathy for the Protestant side. Part of that is of course the perception of the IRA, but public perception or not the IRA is clearly the villain. Whatever can be said for "independence," and for Northern Ireland attaining it, it's obvious that the Protestants have nothing but pride in the United Kingdom and in being part of it. It's hard to sympathize with the Catholic side when they are the aggressors and the Protestants are, largely, happy if left alone.
Another thing is that, on the Catholic side, there are some memorials, but they are MUCH fewer in number than on the Protestant side, and they don't really recognize an enemy. And when they do it's England. Again, just makes it hard to sympathize with them as far as the Troubles go.
(By the way, this is only my perception from two days in West Belfast and not much more. If I am off-base, that's what it is. Just a perception.)
Another interesting thing about West Belfast is how, even at this point, the divisions are still so obvious. There are "peace lines" everywhere, walls that separate Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods, so named not because they're a result of peace but because, by separating the neighborhoods, there is ideally less interaction and, thus, more peace. Ironically named, in a sense.
Anyway, just to illustrate this point more, there are two gigantic leisure centers in West Belfast. Either of them would be large enough to support all of West Belfast, if not all of Belfast, but there are two. And they are literally 500 yards apart from each other, one in the Catholic neighborhood and one in the Protestant neighborhood. The whole situation is really quite terrible. Or ridiculous.
The final thing I did in West Belfast was walk by the largest remaining part of the original wall separating the Catholic and Protestant sides. People write messages on the wall, usually words of peace or encouragement. I wrote "Go Blue," not only because it's a worth-while thing to say in any situation but because, more importantly, if the University of Michigan can enable men to walk on the moon it can help with peace in West Belfast. Am I wrong here?
I swung by Tesco to pick up two hamburgers for dinner for 92 pence and then took them to the hostel. Marissa wasn't working that night, which meant that Arnie would be around and I wouldn't be able to crash there.
At first glance, this meant that I was back to couch-surfing, but the buses run from Belfast to Dublin every hour 24 hours a day, so I figured I would just stay out until whenever and take an early bus instead.
I snuck into the Ark, which was another hostel in town, and took a shower, and then I went back to my hostel and gave my stuff to Sam, who said he would put it somewhere for the night.
The problem, though, was that I couldn't ask Sam to let me in at 3:00 or whenever I left the bars to get on the bus to Dublin. So I was, essentially, right back in the same dilema.
What I decided was that since I had gotten a shower and could store my stuff and would be able to meet someone at the bar, I would just find a couch later that night and get my stuff from Sam at 8:30 in the morning. Problem solved.
The other problem, though, was that Arnie being at the hostel meant I couldn't hang out there, and nothing is open between the hours of 7:00 and 10:00. At least, nothing that isn't a pub. Not that I would have minded going to a pub at 8:00, but it did seem a touch on the overkill.
I went to the union, where everything goes on in Belfast, and explored. What I found was the Queen's University Gaming Club having their weekly meeting. Meeting? No, gaming session. Whoop de doo, what else would you want for a Tuesday evening?
Figuring, well, why not, I went in. There were three tables of Dungeons and Dragons, one table of Munchkins, and a bunch of video games being played. Not being able to bring myself to sit down with the Dungeons and Dragons, and since the video games would have been, someway somehow, even less social than a card game, I picked the Munchkins.
It also didn't hurt that the only cute girl in the entire room was playing Munchkins. As well as a second girl who was surprisingly attractivish.
For any of you who have never played Munchkins, I can't even begin to explain how it works. Suffice it to say, it involves a lot of charms and items and outbursts of weird noises. I wish I could explain it more, but I only caught the tail-end of it and, well, I wasn't exactly asking questions.
What I did find out without having to ask, though, was that the Gaming Club had been voted "best club" two years running, just narrowly beating out the Law Club this year. Two groups of dudes that have no problem getting dates, I assure you.
One of the dudes, who was clearly the leader and undisputed Gaming King, asked me what games I played, and I told him that I threw a mean slammer back in the day of POGs and that my blue deck in Magic the Gathering struck fear in all my classmates' hearts in fifth grade. I don't think he was amused, and actually think he was offended, but asked if I wanted to play the next game, which was something called Frag. I figured, again, why not, since there were at least the two cute girls. Not to mention nothing else to do in Belfast.
When the game ended I was getting ready to kick some ass in Frag but the girls got up and had to leave. I could not believe it. Impossibly, I had already committed to playing, and I couldn't back out now. That would REALLY have offended these guys and the Gaming King might have killed me.
So I got my mind back in the game and went to work. My character was named Shell Shock, which was good for me although I would have rathered there be a character named Zach Attack. If the creator of Frag is reading this, can we make that happen?
So what I did was roll the dice and then sit back and watch as the Gaming King decided what to do for me. That's it. It was real intense. So I hadn't a thing to do more than roll the dice, and Shell Shock literally died within 45 seconds of the game beginning. I'm not kidding, it's almost like the Frag gods knew that it was my character, not the Gaming King's.
But I came back to life and started kicking ass, and every time I did something good I would shout "pwned!" and the Gaming King would sit there with this self-satisfed grin, not because he had chosen the right move for Shell Shock but because it was like he knew I'd end up being a hard-core gamer. And boy was I.
And that was my Tuesday evening. I'm telling you, the only difference between American nerds and Irish nerds is that when the Irish nerds have nasally voices and use big words and put pauses between their words they do it with Irish accents. That's the only difference.
At one particularly important part of the game, one of the dudes said "I physically cannot pay 8 gold at this moment" in absolute and complete seriousness. Like that was something he would actually say. And the Gaming King? He responded to that comment with "If you had artificial intelligence it wouldn't multiply your intelligence because you have none to begin with." I couldn't get enough of these guys. It was literally like sitting around with the nerds in South Park if only they were Irish.
Now, I had said I'd meet a couple Swedish girls from the hostel at 10:00, but I was in a position to win the game at 9:55 and, well, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to beat the Gaming King-- who, I forgot to mention, actually had his own card in Munchkins with his likeness on it; I'm not making this up. Unfortunately, in the end this other dude's health withstood my speed and accuracy, and he was victorious.
So this other dude won and cheered for himself, and the Gaming King was not pleased. He gave the other dude this absolute don't-fuck-with-me look and said "How many games did YOU win last night?" The dude very quietly said "One," and the Gaming King retorted "And me? Three. That's what I thought." Damn. You don't mess.
So finally I left to meet Julia, who was a cutie-minus, and Tua, who was average-plus. We went to the pub, and as we were walking it occured to me-- although I don't know how it didn't occur to me before-- that if I just stayed with the girls until they went back to the hostel for the night I could go with them and either take a nap for a few hours before Arnie got up or just leave for Dublin right away. That solved everything.
Unfortunately, these girls were alternately dumb and annoying as hell. As we walked to the bar, on the sidewalk, I said something like "So what are you guys studying here?" and Tua pointed to the campus and responded "No, we're studying THERE." I swear to you, she was being serious. Then she said "The US is always starting wars," and I said in my most obviously sarcastic voice "What are you talking about? I can't think of any wars the US has started." She got this bitch voice like I had the audacity to defend America and she said "Um, are you KIDDING me?" Um, yes.
Anyway, we got to the bar, but absolutely nothing was happening and my last night in Belfast was flat-lining quickly. But I had to stay with the girls in order to get my stuff, and so I couldn't leave. I was shit out of luck.
After the bar closed the girls wanted to go to an after-party at this dude's place, and again I had no choice but to go with them. And wouldn't you know, the "after-party" was sitting around and listening to music. A real hootenanny, high-school style.
As if that weren't an underwhelming enough way to finish the night, Julia was beginning to annoy me. Well, she had been annoying most of the night, but now it was getting unbearable. She was bitching and moaning the entire time about how "You can't buy alcohol here after 11:00 and the bars close at 1:00! We have alcohol until 6:00!" and "Our after-parties always have so much alcohol!" and just annoying the hell out of me. I tried to tell her, calmly, "Well, you're in Ireland now, so I guess you better get used to it," and she said "Tua and I will just make people have better parties." This girl was driving me nuts, but I couldn't go anywhere. I was a prisoner because of my bags.
So I closed my eyes for a bit.
And I woke up at 4:30 with one of the dudes asking me where my friends had went. I couldn't believe it. They had gone back to the hostel and left me there. So I went to sleep in one of the spare beds.
Two things about this night, other than simply how annoying the girls were and how there were probably a thousand better ways to go about my last night in Belfast.
1) If the roles were switched, the guy would never in a thousand, million years leave a sleeping girl at a stranger's house. Not that I was in the least concerned or worried, but still.
2) At the bar I had said to Julia something about how I conceivably could die on this trip, all things considered in how I do stuff when I travel, and she said "Americans ALWAYS think they're going to die in Europe! They all think that! Nothing will happen to you!" I just think it's a touch ironic that, after this statement, she left me in a stranger's house. That's all.
Unfortunately, the previous night had been without question the best sleep I had gotten so far in Europe. I had fallen asleep within minutes of lying down, and when my alarm went off and I re-set it for 7:30 I was asleep again within seconds. Literally seconds. When it went off a half hour later I was a grumpy dude. I could have slept until 2:00. Easily.
There wasn't anything open at this hour, so I decided to have breakfast/lunch and got some samosas from Tesco for £1 and ate them cold. It was pretty gross. But hey, Indian food!
After breakfast/lunch I went to the Queen's library and went up to the law section. I picked out a challenging-looking book, opened it up on the table, and took a nap old-school style-- mouth open with my head on my arms and my arms on the book. Boy did I look like a weary and studious dude. And there I slept for about an hour.
When I woke up I set off on Sam's walking tour. And, well, now I got it.
Sam directed me mostly through Protestant areas, whereas I had been in the Catholic neighborhood the day before, and it literally could have been a whole nother country, let alone city.
I started down Shankill Road, and the first, obvious difference was the British flags zig-zagging down the entire road, overhead from side to side. To be honest, it was a little unnerving. Sort of like a ghost town, although not for any particular reason. Just the way they were hanging over everything sort of as a remnant of the past. I don't know.
But even more than that, there was just so much pride throughout the neighborhood. Whereas the Catholic side had murals depicting current events, the Shankill murals were all about the Troubles-- either representing their struggle in general or as
memorials to the fallen members of the community, but either way the murals profoundly illustrated the history that's shaped West Belfast.
Besides the murals, though, there were loads of memorials and plaques and statues honoring volunteer soldiers and community members who had died. It was all incredibly moving.
I know that there's a second side to everything, and that in a sense I had seen the second side the day before, but it's really hard to come out of Belfast feeling anything but sympathy for the Protestant side. Part of that is of course the perception of the IRA, but public perception or not the IRA is clearly the villain. Whatever can be said for "independence," and for Northern Ireland attaining it, it's obvious that the Protestants have nothing but pride in the United Kingdom and in being part of it. It's hard to sympathize with the Catholic side when they are the aggressors and the Protestants are, largely, happy if left alone.
Another thing is that, on the Catholic side, there are some memorials, but they are MUCH fewer in number than on the Protestant side, and they don't really recognize an enemy. And when they do it's England. Again, just makes it hard to sympathize with them as far as the Troubles go.
(By the way, this is only my perception from two days in West Belfast and not much more. If I am off-base, that's what it is. Just a perception.)
Another interesting thing about West Belfast is how, even at this point, the divisions are still so obvious. There are "peace lines" everywhere, walls that separate Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods, so named not because they're a result of peace but because, by separating the neighborhoods, there is ideally less interaction and, thus, more peace. Ironically named, in a sense.
Anyway, just to illustrate this point more, there are two gigantic leisure centers in West Belfast. Either of them would be large enough to support all of West Belfast, if not all of Belfast, but there are two. And they are literally 500 yards apart from each other, one in the Catholic neighborhood and one in the Protestant neighborhood. The whole situation is really quite terrible. Or ridiculous.
The final thing I did in West Belfast was walk by the largest remaining part of the original wall separating the Catholic and Protestant sides. People write messages on the wall, usually words of peace or encouragement. I wrote "Go Blue," not only because it's a worth-while thing to say in any situation but because, more importantly, if the University of Michigan can enable men to walk on the moon it can help with peace in West Belfast. Am I wrong here?
I swung by Tesco to pick up two hamburgers for dinner for 92 pence and then took them to the hostel. Marissa wasn't working that night, which meant that Arnie would be around and I wouldn't be able to crash there.
At first glance, this meant that I was back to couch-surfing, but the buses run from Belfast to Dublin every hour 24 hours a day, so I figured I would just stay out until whenever and take an early bus instead.
I snuck into the Ark, which was another hostel in town, and took a shower, and then I went back to my hostel and gave my stuff to Sam, who said he would put it somewhere for the night.
The problem, though, was that I couldn't ask Sam to let me in at 3:00 or whenever I left the bars to get on the bus to Dublin. So I was, essentially, right back in the same dilema.
What I decided was that since I had gotten a shower and could store my stuff and would be able to meet someone at the bar, I would just find a couch later that night and get my stuff from Sam at 8:30 in the morning. Problem solved.
The other problem, though, was that Arnie being at the hostel meant I couldn't hang out there, and nothing is open between the hours of 7:00 and 10:00. At least, nothing that isn't a pub. Not that I would have minded going to a pub at 8:00, but it did seem a touch on the overkill.
I went to the union, where everything goes on in Belfast, and explored. What I found was the Queen's University Gaming Club having their weekly meeting. Meeting? No, gaming session. Whoop de doo, what else would you want for a Tuesday evening?
Figuring, well, why not, I went in. There were three tables of Dungeons and Dragons, one table of Munchkins, and a bunch of video games being played. Not being able to bring myself to sit down with the Dungeons and Dragons, and since the video games would have been, someway somehow, even less social than a card game, I picked the Munchkins.
It also didn't hurt that the only cute girl in the entire room was playing Munchkins. As well as a second girl who was surprisingly attractivish.
For any of you who have never played Munchkins, I can't even begin to explain how it works. Suffice it to say, it involves a lot of charms and items and outbursts of weird noises. I wish I could explain it more, but I only caught the tail-end of it and, well, I wasn't exactly asking questions.
What I did find out without having to ask, though, was that the Gaming Club had been voted "best club" two years running, just narrowly beating out the Law Club this year. Two groups of dudes that have no problem getting dates, I assure you.
One of the dudes, who was clearly the leader and undisputed Gaming King, asked me what games I played, and I told him that I threw a mean slammer back in the day of POGs and that my blue deck in Magic the Gathering struck fear in all my classmates' hearts in fifth grade. I don't think he was amused, and actually think he was offended, but asked if I wanted to play the next game, which was something called Frag. I figured, again, why not, since there were at least the two cute girls. Not to mention nothing else to do in Belfast.
When the game ended I was getting ready to kick some ass in Frag but the girls got up and had to leave. I could not believe it. Impossibly, I had already committed to playing, and I couldn't back out now. That would REALLY have offended these guys and the Gaming King might have killed me.
So I got my mind back in the game and went to work. My character was named Shell Shock, which was good for me although I would have rathered there be a character named Zach Attack. If the creator of Frag is reading this, can we make that happen?
So what I did was roll the dice and then sit back and watch as the Gaming King decided what to do for me. That's it. It was real intense. So I hadn't a thing to do more than roll the dice, and Shell Shock literally died within 45 seconds of the game beginning. I'm not kidding, it's almost like the Frag gods knew that it was my character, not the Gaming King's.
But I came back to life and started kicking ass, and every time I did something good I would shout "pwned!" and the Gaming King would sit there with this self-satisfed grin, not because he had chosen the right move for Shell Shock but because it was like he knew I'd end up being a hard-core gamer. And boy was I.
And that was my Tuesday evening. I'm telling you, the only difference between American nerds and Irish nerds is that when the Irish nerds have nasally voices and use big words and put pauses between their words they do it with Irish accents. That's the only difference.
At one particularly important part of the game, one of the dudes said "I physically cannot pay 8 gold at this moment" in absolute and complete seriousness. Like that was something he would actually say. And the Gaming King? He responded to that comment with "If you had artificial intelligence it wouldn't multiply your intelligence because you have none to begin with." I couldn't get enough of these guys. It was literally like sitting around with the nerds in South Park if only they were Irish.
Now, I had said I'd meet a couple Swedish girls from the hostel at 10:00, but I was in a position to win the game at 9:55 and, well, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to beat the Gaming King-- who, I forgot to mention, actually had his own card in Munchkins with his likeness on it; I'm not making this up. Unfortunately, in the end this other dude's health withstood my speed and accuracy, and he was victorious.
So this other dude won and cheered for himself, and the Gaming King was not pleased. He gave the other dude this absolute don't-fuck-with-me look and said "How many games did YOU win last night?" The dude very quietly said "One," and the Gaming King retorted "And me? Three. That's what I thought." Damn. You don't mess.
So finally I left to meet Julia, who was a cutie-minus, and Tua, who was average-plus. We went to the pub, and as we were walking it occured to me-- although I don't know how it didn't occur to me before-- that if I just stayed with the girls until they went back to the hostel for the night I could go with them and either take a nap for a few hours before Arnie got up or just leave for Dublin right away. That solved everything.
Unfortunately, these girls were alternately dumb and annoying as hell. As we walked to the bar, on the sidewalk, I said something like "So what are you guys studying here?" and Tua pointed to the campus and responded "No, we're studying THERE." I swear to you, she was being serious. Then she said "The US is always starting wars," and I said in my most obviously sarcastic voice "What are you talking about? I can't think of any wars the US has started." She got this bitch voice like I had the audacity to defend America and she said "Um, are you KIDDING me?" Um, yes.
Anyway, we got to the bar, but absolutely nothing was happening and my last night in Belfast was flat-lining quickly. But I had to stay with the girls in order to get my stuff, and so I couldn't leave. I was shit out of luck.
After the bar closed the girls wanted to go to an after-party at this dude's place, and again I had no choice but to go with them. And wouldn't you know, the "after-party" was sitting around and listening to music. A real hootenanny, high-school style.
As if that weren't an underwhelming enough way to finish the night, Julia was beginning to annoy me. Well, she had been annoying most of the night, but now it was getting unbearable. She was bitching and moaning the entire time about how "You can't buy alcohol here after 11:00 and the bars close at 1:00! We have alcohol until 6:00!" and "Our after-parties always have so much alcohol!" and just annoying the hell out of me. I tried to tell her, calmly, "Well, you're in Ireland now, so I guess you better get used to it," and she said "Tua and I will just make people have better parties." This girl was driving me nuts, but I couldn't go anywhere. I was a prisoner because of my bags.
So I closed my eyes for a bit.
And I woke up at 4:30 with one of the dudes asking me where my friends had went. I couldn't believe it. They had gone back to the hostel and left me there. So I went to sleep in one of the spare beds.
Two things about this night, other than simply how annoying the girls were and how there were probably a thousand better ways to go about my last night in Belfast.
1) If the roles were switched, the guy would never in a thousand, million years leave a sleeping girl at a stranger's house. Not that I was in the least concerned or worried, but still.
2) At the bar I had said to Julia something about how I conceivably could die on this trip, all things considered in how I do stuff when I travel, and she said "Americans ALWAYS think they're going to die in Europe! They all think that! Nothing will happen to you!" I just think it's a touch ironic that, after this statement, she left me in a stranger's house. That's all.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
15 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
I woke up to the noise of people coming in and out, which was expected and totally fine. Nothing like a little commotion to start your day. So I rolled off the couch in my pajamas and made breakfast in my pajamas. One of the perks of hosteling that I had missed out on so far.
And by breakfast, I mean pasta from the "free food" box that people had left behind. There was loads of pasta but no sauce, though, so I threw a chicken broth cube into the pot and then added cajun spice, chili peppers, and another spice that begins with T. The result was pretty good and entirely edible.
Today I decided to go to West Belfast, the main neighborhood that was affected by The Troubles-- the conflict between Protestants and Catholics. There is a big business in Belfast of "black taxis," which basically take you around to all the important points, but it costs £25. Plus, I felt like my two feet could do just as well as a seat.
Knowing only the "main street" to see in West Belfast, I headed over there to see what I could find. I didn't know much more about the Troubles than just the basics and was hoping to see a little bit of history.
I have to say, though, that I was a little bit underwhelmed. I went to the main street in the Catholic area, where there are the famous murals that I had heard illustrated the history of the Troubles. What I saw, though, were about 95% murals showing current events. You know, Iraq and Palestine and lots and lots of George Bush. These were fine and dandy, to be sure, but not what I was interested in.
Although I suppose it's good I saw these now, since in January about half the murals are going to have to be repainted. Unless Bush gets elected to a third term.
There was a memorial garden recognizing the fight against Great Britain, and part of the original wall dividing the Catholic and Protestant sections of town still stands, but it only stands-- there's no marker, it just exists.
There were a few plaques in honor of specific individuals who died at the hands of the British, but none about the Troubles, and the "points of interest" on a map of West Belfast included sections for community arts, environment, culture, and recreation and sport, but only five that were related to the Troubles. And even then they were only cemetaries or churches.
I asked someone on the street why the murals were so current and there were few visible markers of the Troubles, and he said "you're twenty years to late." That didn't really answer my question, and the next person said "it's not a theme park."
So maybe that's it. It just seems like Belfast is trying to put the whole thing behind it. I mean, you could spend a week in town and if you never left City Centre you wouldn't have a clue that there was anything important historically about the place. There's absolutely nothing in City Centre even hinting at Belfast's Troubles, and the Catholic neighborhood didn't do any better. Maybe it's just the the Catholic side is ashamed of the dirty history of the IRA. Who knows. Whatever it is, they just seem to be trying to put it in their past. For good.
Not that I can blame them.
But what I don't get, though, is why Belfast is trying to put the Troubles in the past but won't ever let you forget that the Titanic set sail from the port in Belfast. Doesn't that seem like an even bigger disaster than the Troubles? I mean, at least The Troubles is an interesting development in Belfast's history-- the Titanic thing is just an absolute and total failure of the Belfast ship-builders. But there are at least three different tours related to the Titanic and loads of restaurants/stores/etc. with Titanic themes. Doesn't that seem like Goodyear having a tour of the facilities that enabled the company to produce, and then recall, such a massive, unprecedented, incredible amount of exploding tires that were killing people and crashing cars? I just don't get it.
Anyway, after my self-guided tour I went back to the hostel and made another edition of Pasta Surprise. However, whereas the breakfast version had chicken broth and loads of spices, the dinner version had lentils and dried vegetables. And loads of spices. Boy did it look disgusting. But, again, was pretty good and entirely edible.
After dinner I went over to Colin's to get my camera since he had emailed me to say he was back in town, so sadly I now feel obligated to take pictures. I have some and will put them on here eventually, but it honestly just seems like too much work. I'll probably wait until I leave whatever country I've been in and do one gigantic picture post instead of including them in whichever post I talk about the place.
When I got back to the hostel Marissa was talking to this dude named Sam, and when I told him about how I had been underwhelmed by West Belfast, he asked where I had gone and I told him to the best of my knowledge. He said I hadn't really gone to the authentic, interesting parts, and then showed me on a map where I should have gone to get a real feel for the history of Belfast. So it looked like I was staying one more day in Belfast.
After Marissa got off work, she and Sam and I went to the bar. It was OK but I was exhausted and they were talking largely about romantic-type issues, for lack of a better description, and about things in New Zealand and Australia. Hardly a thrill-a-minute.
So, when we went back to the hostel and I crashed on the couch again, it looked like I was staying one more night in Belfast, too. Just for kicks.
And by breakfast, I mean pasta from the "free food" box that people had left behind. There was loads of pasta but no sauce, though, so I threw a chicken broth cube into the pot and then added cajun spice, chili peppers, and another spice that begins with T. The result was pretty good and entirely edible.
Today I decided to go to West Belfast, the main neighborhood that was affected by The Troubles-- the conflict between Protestants and Catholics. There is a big business in Belfast of "black taxis," which basically take you around to all the important points, but it costs £25. Plus, I felt like my two feet could do just as well as a seat.
Knowing only the "main street" to see in West Belfast, I headed over there to see what I could find. I didn't know much more about the Troubles than just the basics and was hoping to see a little bit of history.
I have to say, though, that I was a little bit underwhelmed. I went to the main street in the Catholic area, where there are the famous murals that I had heard illustrated the history of the Troubles. What I saw, though, were about 95% murals showing current events. You know, Iraq and Palestine and lots and lots of George Bush. These were fine and dandy, to be sure, but not what I was interested in.
Although I suppose it's good I saw these now, since in January about half the murals are going to have to be repainted. Unless Bush gets elected to a third term.
There was a memorial garden recognizing the fight against Great Britain, and part of the original wall dividing the Catholic and Protestant sections of town still stands, but it only stands-- there's no marker, it just exists.
There were a few plaques in honor of specific individuals who died at the hands of the British, but none about the Troubles, and the "points of interest" on a map of West Belfast included sections for community arts, environment, culture, and recreation and sport, but only five that were related to the Troubles. And even then they were only cemetaries or churches.
I asked someone on the street why the murals were so current and there were few visible markers of the Troubles, and he said "you're twenty years to late." That didn't really answer my question, and the next person said "it's not a theme park."
So maybe that's it. It just seems like Belfast is trying to put the whole thing behind it. I mean, you could spend a week in town and if you never left City Centre you wouldn't have a clue that there was anything important historically about the place. There's absolutely nothing in City Centre even hinting at Belfast's Troubles, and the Catholic neighborhood didn't do any better. Maybe it's just the the Catholic side is ashamed of the dirty history of the IRA. Who knows. Whatever it is, they just seem to be trying to put it in their past. For good.
Not that I can blame them.
But what I don't get, though, is why Belfast is trying to put the Troubles in the past but won't ever let you forget that the Titanic set sail from the port in Belfast. Doesn't that seem like an even bigger disaster than the Troubles? I mean, at least The Troubles is an interesting development in Belfast's history-- the Titanic thing is just an absolute and total failure of the Belfast ship-builders. But there are at least three different tours related to the Titanic and loads of restaurants/stores/etc. with Titanic themes. Doesn't that seem like Goodyear having a tour of the facilities that enabled the company to produce, and then recall, such a massive, unprecedented, incredible amount of exploding tires that were killing people and crashing cars? I just don't get it.
Anyway, after my self-guided tour I went back to the hostel and made another edition of Pasta Surprise. However, whereas the breakfast version had chicken broth and loads of spices, the dinner version had lentils and dried vegetables. And loads of spices. Boy did it look disgusting. But, again, was pretty good and entirely edible.
After dinner I went over to Colin's to get my camera since he had emailed me to say he was back in town, so sadly I now feel obligated to take pictures. I have some and will put them on here eventually, but it honestly just seems like too much work. I'll probably wait until I leave whatever country I've been in and do one gigantic picture post instead of including them in whichever post I talk about the place.
When I got back to the hostel Marissa was talking to this dude named Sam, and when I told him about how I had been underwhelmed by West Belfast, he asked where I had gone and I told him to the best of my knowledge. He said I hadn't really gone to the authentic, interesting parts, and then showed me on a map where I should have gone to get a real feel for the history of Belfast. So it looked like I was staying one more day in Belfast.
After Marissa got off work, she and Sam and I went to the bar. It was OK but I was exhausted and they were talking largely about romantic-type issues, for lack of a better description, and about things in New Zealand and Australia. Hardly a thrill-a-minute.
So, when we went back to the hostel and I crashed on the couch again, it looked like I was staying one more night in Belfast, too. Just for kicks.
14 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
When I woke up and checked my watch it was 11:11. I can't think of a single better way to start the day.
You want to know the single best way to ruin the feeling of invincibility that only 11:11 can give you? Looking up at the bed and seeing Salim lying on his back and facing you with one arm under his head and one knee up in the air.
Lord was it weird.
I'm guessing he was actually sleeping, because he stayed that way for a while, but I knew immediately it was time to go. Unfortunately, Salim had said the previous night that he would make lunch and I felt like it was bound to be good, so I mustered up the resolve to stick around until then.
Unfortunately, though, it was a long time coming. He didn't get up until about an hour later, and when he did he just stood next to his bed and started running an afro-pick through his hair. I stood there for like five minutes before saying, as way of motivation, "I think it's time for some lunch," to which he replied "I know." That's all he said. He just kept going on with the afro-pick for another five minutes with me standing there.
Then, still not saying a single freaking word, he put his towel around his waist and went downstairs for a shower. Just walked right by where I had been standing and went down. My God, I could have killed him.
Finally he came back upstairs and got dressed, and then he made us lunch. And, well, it was certainly delicious. Just some rice with steak, onion, and spices, but it was the first hot food I'd had since Carlow. And it was good.
Afterwards I headed to the hostel to drop my stuff off for the day, and Salim came with me. We walked in nearly absolute silence, because this dude was practically mute and I had officially nothing left to say, and when we got to the turn-off for the hostel I asked him what he was going to do. He said "Following you for now."
Boy could he have used some better wording.
And at this I was done. The shower that morning, the walk back to his place the previous day, the fact that he didn't say a word the previous night and hardly ever smiled, the fact that he never offered any input on what to do but always went along with it. I could go on for ages. I had to get away.
So I told him I needed some time alone and that I would call him tomorrow.
I went to the hostel and Marissa, the girl who had been working every day, was there again. Each time I had come to drop off my stuff she was unbelievably nice and let me store my bags for free, and each time I had stayed longer and longer to talk with her. This time we talked even more, and as I was about to leave I asked her if I could use the internet quickly. She said sure, and thus saved me another couple pounds in addition to storing my bags.
I checked my email and then went to RyanAir to see about possible flights out of Dublin. I found one flight to a particular place that was only €25 with all taxes and fees included, which was perfect, but it was on the 24th. That meant that, if I was on that flight, I would have spent only 20 days in Ireland. I wasn't sure if that would be enough, so I talked about it with Marissa and an old dude who was in the room and together we decided that leaving on the 24th was the way to go.
So, inspired by my two conspirators, I booked the flight. Marissa was intrigued by where I was going and actually almost booked the same flight. But she was supposed to be meeting her American lover on the 22nd-- some guy from Alaska who had stayed at the hostel the previous week-- and wasn't sure he'd want to fly again so quickly. So she held off.
Similar to Joel, and completely opposite of Rochelle, I would have been more than happy to go to Budapest with Marissa. I don't know how long I would have been able to stick with a traveling buddy in a new place, but it would have been OK to go together. In fact, I might have even been a little more in favor of going with Marissa than with Joel. Not because I like her more than Joel, since Joel is still the best friend I've made in Ireland, but she is just as interested as I am in traveling alongside working rather than mostly working and traveling only whenever possible. I think we would be a good combination.
Either way, it's now a moot point. But still a point.
When I left the hostel with my bags stored as usual, I walked back to Colin's place because I realized I had left my camera there by accident. To be honest, I dislike taking pictures and don't like that I have to worry about whether or not I'm missing a photo op. But, still, it's a camera, and it had to be retrieved. Except he wasn't there. Oh well.
From Colin's I went downtown again, but to be honest once was enough. Like I said, there isn't really much at all to Belfast's City Centre. In fact, in a sense there's nothing to Belfast's City Centre. The only interesting thing was a dude who claimed to be the #1-ranked chess player in Jamaica and was playing people in speed chess. Guess how quickly it took him to beat me.
Seriously, guess.
27 seconds. I'm not making this up.
Hungry and defeated, and less than captivated by City Hall-- the only thing downtown-- I got a container of potato salad for 71 pence for dinner and then headed back to campus to find a couch for the night.
And just like that I was back in the couch-surfing mentality.
There was hardly anyone walking around campus, so I asked a couple kids where the students lived off-campus. The girl pointed me to the Holy Lands, the neighborhood right below the campus.
When I got to the Holy Lands I asked the first person I saw, a dude named Sean. He almost immediately said it was fine, and we walked to his apartment on Palestine Street-- one of a number of streets that give the neighborhood its name.
We went up to his place and were talking and hanging out for quite some time, and he said he was going to his girlfriend's place and I could come with him because "she has some friends."
You don't have to tell me twice, but my bags were still at the hostel and I needed to shower. I told him I would run and get my stuff and be back in a second, and he assured me he'd still be around. So I went to the hostel and Marissa and this girl Sonja were sitting around.
I got my stuff, from the main room, went into the kitchen to say hi to Marissa, and Sonja said "she's been telling me about you." Well, with an introduction like that, I couldn't possibly just leave. So I sat down with them for a while, and before I left told them that I'd come back that evening and we would go out together.
Then I headed back to Sean's place and knocked, and waited. And waited. And knocked again and waited. And then I gave up. The dude was gone.
I was a bit frustrated but not discouraged, and so I kept asking around. What I found out, though, is that not only had the term not started but most of the students hadn't even moved in yet. So I had no luck finding a couch, although I did pick up £15 along the way by virtue of my winning charm and easy-going smile. Finally I found a shower but not a couch, and figuring that was enough for the night I headed back to the hostel.
I asked Marissa if I could just leave my pack there for the night, since I was confident I'd find a place to sleep at the bar but I wouldn't be able to get into any with my stuff, and she again graciously said yes. I sat down and hung out, and Marissa told me she wouldn't be able to go out until she got off work at 11:00. Sonja backed out of the plan altogether, so I figured I'd just wait around.
It took longer than Marissa thought, though, and she didn't get off until nearly midnight. By this point we were both tired and there didn't seem to be much point in going out, so we just sat around for nearly two hours talking.
Marissa is from Australia and had come to Belfast to work, but she had been working in the hostel for three weeks and needed to leave. She was in a bind, though, because she was the only person working at the hostel besides the owner and she, understandably, didn't want to screw him over and just take off without anyone else to fill her spot.
We talked about traveling and about the poor life of the road, and how this thing that I'm doing and this thing that she's doing is a challenge as much as an adventure or anything else. I had a pretty easy time growing up with a doctor parent in Princeton, New Jersey, and then having most things paid for me at college. Now that I'm traveling, though, I literally have no idea what's going to happen when, but more importantly I don't know HOW I'm going to make it happen. And so, if I have to sleep outside once in a while or not eat for a while, hell, there are worse things in life. What I have now is what I have, and I'll go home before I ask my parents for money. This is just the crazy part.
Anyway, after our long talk Marissa went to bed and I went to sleep on the couch in the common room, which I think had been the unspoken plan all along.
You want to know the single best way to ruin the feeling of invincibility that only 11:11 can give you? Looking up at the bed and seeing Salim lying on his back and facing you with one arm under his head and one knee up in the air.
Lord was it weird.
I'm guessing he was actually sleeping, because he stayed that way for a while, but I knew immediately it was time to go. Unfortunately, Salim had said the previous night that he would make lunch and I felt like it was bound to be good, so I mustered up the resolve to stick around until then.
Unfortunately, though, it was a long time coming. He didn't get up until about an hour later, and when he did he just stood next to his bed and started running an afro-pick through his hair. I stood there for like five minutes before saying, as way of motivation, "I think it's time for some lunch," to which he replied "I know." That's all he said. He just kept going on with the afro-pick for another five minutes with me standing there.
Then, still not saying a single freaking word, he put his towel around his waist and went downstairs for a shower. Just walked right by where I had been standing and went down. My God, I could have killed him.
Finally he came back upstairs and got dressed, and then he made us lunch. And, well, it was certainly delicious. Just some rice with steak, onion, and spices, but it was the first hot food I'd had since Carlow. And it was good.
Afterwards I headed to the hostel to drop my stuff off for the day, and Salim came with me. We walked in nearly absolute silence, because this dude was practically mute and I had officially nothing left to say, and when we got to the turn-off for the hostel I asked him what he was going to do. He said "Following you for now."
Boy could he have used some better wording.
And at this I was done. The shower that morning, the walk back to his place the previous day, the fact that he didn't say a word the previous night and hardly ever smiled, the fact that he never offered any input on what to do but always went along with it. I could go on for ages. I had to get away.
So I told him I needed some time alone and that I would call him tomorrow.
I went to the hostel and Marissa, the girl who had been working every day, was there again. Each time I had come to drop off my stuff she was unbelievably nice and let me store my bags for free, and each time I had stayed longer and longer to talk with her. This time we talked even more, and as I was about to leave I asked her if I could use the internet quickly. She said sure, and thus saved me another couple pounds in addition to storing my bags.
I checked my email and then went to RyanAir to see about possible flights out of Dublin. I found one flight to a particular place that was only €25 with all taxes and fees included, which was perfect, but it was on the 24th. That meant that, if I was on that flight, I would have spent only 20 days in Ireland. I wasn't sure if that would be enough, so I talked about it with Marissa and an old dude who was in the room and together we decided that leaving on the 24th was the way to go.
So, inspired by my two conspirators, I booked the flight. Marissa was intrigued by where I was going and actually almost booked the same flight. But she was supposed to be meeting her American lover on the 22nd-- some guy from Alaska who had stayed at the hostel the previous week-- and wasn't sure he'd want to fly again so quickly. So she held off.
Similar to Joel, and completely opposite of Rochelle, I would have been more than happy to go to Budapest with Marissa. I don't know how long I would have been able to stick with a traveling buddy in a new place, but it would have been OK to go together. In fact, I might have even been a little more in favor of going with Marissa than with Joel. Not because I like her more than Joel, since Joel is still the best friend I've made in Ireland, but she is just as interested as I am in traveling alongside working rather than mostly working and traveling only whenever possible. I think we would be a good combination.
Either way, it's now a moot point. But still a point.
When I left the hostel with my bags stored as usual, I walked back to Colin's place because I realized I had left my camera there by accident. To be honest, I dislike taking pictures and don't like that I have to worry about whether or not I'm missing a photo op. But, still, it's a camera, and it had to be retrieved. Except he wasn't there. Oh well.
From Colin's I went downtown again, but to be honest once was enough. Like I said, there isn't really much at all to Belfast's City Centre. In fact, in a sense there's nothing to Belfast's City Centre. The only interesting thing was a dude who claimed to be the #1-ranked chess player in Jamaica and was playing people in speed chess. Guess how quickly it took him to beat me.
Seriously, guess.
27 seconds. I'm not making this up.
Hungry and defeated, and less than captivated by City Hall-- the only thing downtown-- I got a container of potato salad for 71 pence for dinner and then headed back to campus to find a couch for the night.
And just like that I was back in the couch-surfing mentality.
There was hardly anyone walking around campus, so I asked a couple kids where the students lived off-campus. The girl pointed me to the Holy Lands, the neighborhood right below the campus.
When I got to the Holy Lands I asked the first person I saw, a dude named Sean. He almost immediately said it was fine, and we walked to his apartment on Palestine Street-- one of a number of streets that give the neighborhood its name.
We went up to his place and were talking and hanging out for quite some time, and he said he was going to his girlfriend's place and I could come with him because "she has some friends."
You don't have to tell me twice, but my bags were still at the hostel and I needed to shower. I told him I would run and get my stuff and be back in a second, and he assured me he'd still be around. So I went to the hostel and Marissa and this girl Sonja were sitting around.
I got my stuff, from the main room, went into the kitchen to say hi to Marissa, and Sonja said "she's been telling me about you." Well, with an introduction like that, I couldn't possibly just leave. So I sat down with them for a while, and before I left told them that I'd come back that evening and we would go out together.
Then I headed back to Sean's place and knocked, and waited. And waited. And knocked again and waited. And then I gave up. The dude was gone.
I was a bit frustrated but not discouraged, and so I kept asking around. What I found out, though, is that not only had the term not started but most of the students hadn't even moved in yet. So I had no luck finding a couch, although I did pick up £15 along the way by virtue of my winning charm and easy-going smile. Finally I found a shower but not a couch, and figuring that was enough for the night I headed back to the hostel.
I asked Marissa if I could just leave my pack there for the night, since I was confident I'd find a place to sleep at the bar but I wouldn't be able to get into any with my stuff, and she again graciously said yes. I sat down and hung out, and Marissa told me she wouldn't be able to go out until she got off work at 11:00. Sonja backed out of the plan altogether, so I figured I'd just wait around.
It took longer than Marissa thought, though, and she didn't get off until nearly midnight. By this point we were both tired and there didn't seem to be much point in going out, so we just sat around for nearly two hours talking.
Marissa is from Australia and had come to Belfast to work, but she had been working in the hostel for three weeks and needed to leave. She was in a bind, though, because she was the only person working at the hostel besides the owner and she, understandably, didn't want to screw him over and just take off without anyone else to fill her spot.
We talked about traveling and about the poor life of the road, and how this thing that I'm doing and this thing that she's doing is a challenge as much as an adventure or anything else. I had a pretty easy time growing up with a doctor parent in Princeton, New Jersey, and then having most things paid for me at college. Now that I'm traveling, though, I literally have no idea what's going to happen when, but more importantly I don't know HOW I'm going to make it happen. And so, if I have to sleep outside once in a while or not eat for a while, hell, there are worse things in life. What I have now is what I have, and I'll go home before I ask my parents for money. This is just the crazy part.
Anyway, after our long talk Marissa went to bed and I went to sleep on the couch in the common room, which I think had been the unspoken plan all along.
13 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
I had a pretty easy-going morning at Colin's house, since I was the only one around and was the king of the place. Towards 2:00 I headed to the union to meet Salim, a kid I had met the previous night who was Senegalese-Algerian and, unless I'm mistaken, the only black dude in all of Northern Ireland.
He showed up promptly at 2:00, giving me hope that the phone-free European experiment won't mean I'm completely lonely.
There was a football match between Liverpool and Manchester United going on, so Salim and I headed to a local bar to watch. It was just a regular-season match, but "everyone in Belfast supports either Liverpool or Man U, so this is like the Super Bowl over here."
At first I was going to support Man U because of their classic white jerseys, but I quickly realized it was too much like rooting for Penn State. I felt dirty.
Then it also occured to me that Man U are UNITED and Liverpool is nothing but a port city. So I figured that Liverpool were the chipmunks of this situation and Man U were the squirrels. And you know how I like to support chipmunks.
Unfortunately, the beer at this bar was close to £3 a pint, so even though Salim bought me a round I wasn't exactly able to get drunk and rowdy. Just respectfully rowdy. Not quite the same thing. Liverpool won, 2-1, and have the status of being my "current team."
After the match Salim and I went to check out the botanic gardens and stumbled upon the bocci field. Or, as the Irish call it, bowls. There was a large group of grandpa-types playing and I went down and bowled a round, but was embarassing myself pretty badly. I figured these men deserved a bit more respect than that, and so I thanked them for the round and left. But now I've bowled with grandpas. What a treat.
At 4:00 I bid adieu to Salim and went back to the union to meet Claire, also from the previous night although, shall we say, from a different context than Salim. I wasn't positive that we had planned for 4:00 but seemed to recall it, and I thought it was entirely plausible I would go for the sequential even numbers.
And I was right because, like Salim, she showed up on the dot at 4:00. She suggested we go for tea but, though I like tea, I'm not really too thrilled these days about spending money on things not named food, alcohol or transportation. Read: I haven't spent money on things not named food, alcohol or transportation since the hostel my second night in Dublin.
But we headed to Starbucks and, though I was terrified of what was bound to be overpriced tea, was happy to see it was only £1.55, probably making it the cheapest option in the city. So, even though it was hot and sunny and entirely not tea weather, no one was going to die.
As it turned out, Claire had recently spent three months in Detroit, had spent some time in Ann Arbor, and had just gotten back from a trip to the East Coast. My adopted home and my real home. As it turned out, I had met the closest thing to an American as I would find in Belfast.
(When I told her this last part, she asked "is that a bad thing?" Touche. But no.)
After tea we went to the botanic gardens, for my second time of the afternoon, but pretty soon Claire had to go home to help out with a family crisis-- which was her brother failing out of college. And that was the end of our hot, yet oh so respectable, date.
After walking Claire to the bus station I spent some time in City Centre since it was my first time in the area. It was nice, but not spectacular. At least, there was nothing downtown to really distinguish it from any other Irish city. Other than pork sandwiches at the Tesco, which were only 96 pence and my lunch.
After some good walking-- and a dinner of two unmicrowaved microwavable chicken burgers for 92 pence-- I went back to campus to meet Salim outside the union at 8:00. Along the way, though, a very drunk dude sitting at a table outside a bar told me to sit down, at which point he proceeded to buy me a drink and the very drunk woman he was with started to rub my head. And kept rubbing it for about ten minutes. Boy do I love the Super Bowl.
Salim had said I could crash at his place but was about ten minutes late, at which point I was a touch worried since it was basically his place or bust at this point. When he did show up he said we couldn't go back to his place for an hour, since his roommates wouldn't be too keen on my staying there, so it was back down to City Centre.
I'll tell you, by this point I had very nearly run out of things to say to this Frenchman, and was getting rather tired of saying things and then having to say them again but this time slower. Like Providence, though, there was an orchestra performing downtown, and though we didn't have tickets we sat on a bench nearby-- it was an outside concert-- and were able to hear it. And not talk.
Finally, at 9:15-- which was an hour after I had met him at the union-- he said we could head back to his place. Either what he hadn't accounted for or simply forget, we still had a half hour walk ahead of us. More out of principal than for any time that was lost, I was pretty annoyed by the entire situation.
When we got to his place, he said something about sharing a bed. His bed was tiny. I told him the floor would be just fine by me, and he said he'd think of something. Whatever that meant. I was a bit nervous.
Finally we left for the bars, but the bars near campus were practically empty and the bars downtown all had £10 covers. In other words, food for about four days. Finally, though, we found a decent one that was free.
I got a drink for £2.80 and then tried to go upstairs, where there was dancing, but it cost £5 to go up. So that was the catch. Instead Salim and I just went outside.
Now, Salim is a nice guy, but the dude is an absolute game-killer. Not a cock-block, since he doesn't do anything adverse, but a game-killer because he just doesn't do anything. Any time I'd talk to someone, within five minutes I'd be aware that there was this tall dude sitting next to me and not saying a word. And he never, NEVER, smiled. It was terrible.
I did break through the game-killer, though, with a couple girls, but after fifteen minutes or so with each they told me to come upstairs and dance with them. At which point I showed them my wristband-free wrists and they said "then you'll never see me again." I couldn't believe it. The wristbands and the game-killer, it was atrocious.
After some time a pretty redhead came in-- of which, surprisingly, there were hardly any in Belfast-- and I was about to go over and talk to her when one of the dudes I had met told me that I should try to sneak upstairs. It was pretty obviously too late for the two girls who had gone up before, and I didn't really feel like going up, anyway, but the guy was persistent and so I went. And I did sneak up, but it was more or less terrible. So back down I came.
At which point, 1) the redhead was making out with one of the other dudes I had met, and 2) Salim was nowhere to be found. The first was devastating, but the second was more or less a very very bad thing. Since, again, I had neither phone number nor address.
I was looking around everywhere, and I couldn't find him, and now I was really beginning to freak out. For obvious reasons. But then the redhead threw me the biggest curveball of the night: "Well, you can stay at my place if you want."
Whoa. Hold on there.
Now, internally, it was a choice between all my possessions and going back with the redhead.
All my possessions. Or the redhead.
Luckily I didn't have to make a decision, because Salim came back. Since, to be honest, I was literally weighing both options. And, well, bad decisions might have been made.
Instead, Salim and I walked to his place, and as we were arriving he literally said "you'll be the first person to share my bed." Seriously, dude, no.
I took the floor.
He showed up promptly at 2:00, giving me hope that the phone-free European experiment won't mean I'm completely lonely.
There was a football match between Liverpool and Manchester United going on, so Salim and I headed to a local bar to watch. It was just a regular-season match, but "everyone in Belfast supports either Liverpool or Man U, so this is like the Super Bowl over here."
At first I was going to support Man U because of their classic white jerseys, but I quickly realized it was too much like rooting for Penn State. I felt dirty.
Then it also occured to me that Man U are UNITED and Liverpool is nothing but a port city. So I figured that Liverpool were the chipmunks of this situation and Man U were the squirrels. And you know how I like to support chipmunks.
Unfortunately, the beer at this bar was close to £3 a pint, so even though Salim bought me a round I wasn't exactly able to get drunk and rowdy. Just respectfully rowdy. Not quite the same thing. Liverpool won, 2-1, and have the status of being my "current team."
After the match Salim and I went to check out the botanic gardens and stumbled upon the bocci field. Or, as the Irish call it, bowls. There was a large group of grandpa-types playing and I went down and bowled a round, but was embarassing myself pretty badly. I figured these men deserved a bit more respect than that, and so I thanked them for the round and left. But now I've bowled with grandpas. What a treat.
At 4:00 I bid adieu to Salim and went back to the union to meet Claire, also from the previous night although, shall we say, from a different context than Salim. I wasn't positive that we had planned for 4:00 but seemed to recall it, and I thought it was entirely plausible I would go for the sequential even numbers.
And I was right because, like Salim, she showed up on the dot at 4:00. She suggested we go for tea but, though I like tea, I'm not really too thrilled these days about spending money on things not named food, alcohol or transportation. Read: I haven't spent money on things not named food, alcohol or transportation since the hostel my second night in Dublin.
But we headed to Starbucks and, though I was terrified of what was bound to be overpriced tea, was happy to see it was only £1.55, probably making it the cheapest option in the city. So, even though it was hot and sunny and entirely not tea weather, no one was going to die.
As it turned out, Claire had recently spent three months in Detroit, had spent some time in Ann Arbor, and had just gotten back from a trip to the East Coast. My adopted home and my real home. As it turned out, I had met the closest thing to an American as I would find in Belfast.
(When I told her this last part, she asked "is that a bad thing?" Touche. But no.)
After tea we went to the botanic gardens, for my second time of the afternoon, but pretty soon Claire had to go home to help out with a family crisis-- which was her brother failing out of college. And that was the end of our hot, yet oh so respectable, date.
After walking Claire to the bus station I spent some time in City Centre since it was my first time in the area. It was nice, but not spectacular. At least, there was nothing downtown to really distinguish it from any other Irish city. Other than pork sandwiches at the Tesco, which were only 96 pence and my lunch.
After some good walking-- and a dinner of two unmicrowaved microwavable chicken burgers for 92 pence-- I went back to campus to meet Salim outside the union at 8:00. Along the way, though, a very drunk dude sitting at a table outside a bar told me to sit down, at which point he proceeded to buy me a drink and the very drunk woman he was with started to rub my head. And kept rubbing it for about ten minutes. Boy do I love the Super Bowl.
Salim had said I could crash at his place but was about ten minutes late, at which point I was a touch worried since it was basically his place or bust at this point. When he did show up he said we couldn't go back to his place for an hour, since his roommates wouldn't be too keen on my staying there, so it was back down to City Centre.
I'll tell you, by this point I had very nearly run out of things to say to this Frenchman, and was getting rather tired of saying things and then having to say them again but this time slower. Like Providence, though, there was an orchestra performing downtown, and though we didn't have tickets we sat on a bench nearby-- it was an outside concert-- and were able to hear it. And not talk.
Finally, at 9:15-- which was an hour after I had met him at the union-- he said we could head back to his place. Either what he hadn't accounted for or simply forget, we still had a half hour walk ahead of us. More out of principal than for any time that was lost, I was pretty annoyed by the entire situation.
When we got to his place, he said something about sharing a bed. His bed was tiny. I told him the floor would be just fine by me, and he said he'd think of something. Whatever that meant. I was a bit nervous.
Finally we left for the bars, but the bars near campus were practically empty and the bars downtown all had £10 covers. In other words, food for about four days. Finally, though, we found a decent one that was free.
I got a drink for £2.80 and then tried to go upstairs, where there was dancing, but it cost £5 to go up. So that was the catch. Instead Salim and I just went outside.
Now, Salim is a nice guy, but the dude is an absolute game-killer. Not a cock-block, since he doesn't do anything adverse, but a game-killer because he just doesn't do anything. Any time I'd talk to someone, within five minutes I'd be aware that there was this tall dude sitting next to me and not saying a word. And he never, NEVER, smiled. It was terrible.
I did break through the game-killer, though, with a couple girls, but after fifteen minutes or so with each they told me to come upstairs and dance with them. At which point I showed them my wristband-free wrists and they said "then you'll never see me again." I couldn't believe it. The wristbands and the game-killer, it was atrocious.
After some time a pretty redhead came in-- of which, surprisingly, there were hardly any in Belfast-- and I was about to go over and talk to her when one of the dudes I had met told me that I should try to sneak upstairs. It was pretty obviously too late for the two girls who had gone up before, and I didn't really feel like going up, anyway, but the guy was persistent and so I went. And I did sneak up, but it was more or less terrible. So back down I came.
At which point, 1) the redhead was making out with one of the other dudes I had met, and 2) Salim was nowhere to be found. The first was devastating, but the second was more or less a very very bad thing. Since, again, I had neither phone number nor address.
I was looking around everywhere, and I couldn't find him, and now I was really beginning to freak out. For obvious reasons. But then the redhead threw me the biggest curveball of the night: "Well, you can stay at my place if you want."
Whoa. Hold on there.
Now, internally, it was a choice between all my possessions and going back with the redhead.
All my possessions. Or the redhead.
Luckily I didn't have to make a decision, because Salim came back. Since, to be honest, I was literally weighing both options. And, well, bad decisions might have been made.
Instead, Salim and I walked to his place, and as we were arriving he literally said "you'll be the first person to share my bed." Seriously, dude, no.
I took the floor.
12 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
I woke up this morning to the lovely sound of someone setting off a fire alarm in the apartment building at 9:10. It was literally screeching for five minutes and by the time it stopped there was definitely no way I was going back to sleep.
That actually was convenient, though, because I had made a date to meet someone from the night before at 10:00 at the coffee shop at the union. I hadn't set my alarm but, thanks to some douchebag, it looked like I'd be able to make it anyway.
So I headed to the Union, but when I got there realized there was a bit of a problem. Since it was still open house at Queen's University, there were literally hundreds of people roaming about the union. And, since I couldn't remember anything about the girl other than that she had brown hair, there was no chance in the world that I'd be able to recognize her.
So I sat on a chair outside the coffee shop and waited for ten minutes, hoping she'd recognize me. No luck. And thus I had the first casualty of my phone-free European experiment.
You know what? It'll happen. And I'm OK with that.
At this point I headed to the church down the street for some food. The previous night Clark had mentioned something about them giving out free lunch, although he wasn't sure if it was only during the school year. It turned out that he was right and I was a week early, but I must have looked especially hungry and pathetic because the woman made me two ham sandwiches and threw in a couple bags of salt and vinegar crisps. I'm guessing she had meant it to be both lunch and dinner, and I tried to hold off on the second round, but that wasn't going to happen. I was starving.
Like I said, Queen's University was having it's second open day, but I hadn't shaved that morning and, though it's not like I had a beard after one day, I felt like my "20 year old" identity was precarious enough as is, and going back would only be tempting fate. So I avoided campus for a bit and, unknowingly, tried to walk downtown but went the wrong way.
It took a bit longer than you would have expected for me to realize this, and by that time I felt like I had done enough walking for the day, as I still had my pack with me. So I headed back to the campus and reclaimed my 20-year old traveling self.
There were a bunch of "student leaders" outside the union, and the third one I talked to-- giving him the "been traveling for two years and need a place to crash" bit-- took a keen interest in finding me, indeed, a place to crash. I went inside with him and he started asking some of his friends on my behalf, but no one was biting. Finally, he asked this girl Julia who was walking by, and who also was a student leader.
(Incidentally, during the time that the dude was looking for my couch, I was eating the rest of his corn beef sandwich. Isn't that lovely?)
Julia made a phone call to her friend Colin, who she described as a "crazy guy," and he said it would be fine for me to crash at his place. Queen's University open day comes through.
Colin said he would meet me outside the union in about half an hour, so I went to the library to relax for a bit. At this point I started seriously second-guessing my decision to stay at Colin's place. For one thing, it meant I'd have to pretend to be 20 years old the entire time, and I'd have to maybe seriously talk about my wild and crazy adventures from two years of traveling. More importantly, though, Julia had later described Colin as a "good Christian boy." So, were I to slip up, I'd not merely be exposed a lying conman-- I'd be exposed as a sinner. I was terrified.
So I met him in half an hour, and to make matters even worse it turned out he had just spent the past six months traveling around East Asia and Europe. Good grief.
I don't know the first thing about Asia, and would only have been able to talk about London-- where I had just been-- and Spain-- where I had been earlier in the summer-- so I just kept my mouth shut. I mean, I must have said 300 words the entire afternoon and evening.
When we got back to his place-- which was nice but pretty far away-- he made a frozen pizza and I feasted. I was cleaning up in the food department. Then I went upstairs to take a nap, and when my alarm went off two hours later-- trust me, I needed it-- I could barely get out of bed. It was 9:00 and I was giving serious thought to just sleeping through to the morning. I was a weary dude.
I made myself get up, though, because it was a Friday, and I went downstairs to see if my laundry was done, since I had put in a load before going upstairs. While I was down there I heard the front door open and, figuring it was either Colin or the roommate I had met, called up to them.
However, some dude who I had never seen before came down and, as I was standing there in my boxers and he had no idea who I was, gave me a real good who-the-fuck-are-you glare. And wouldn't you know, I forgot the name of who I was staying with. I just stared at him for ten seconds before remembering I was "a friend of Colin's." Jesus, I was this close to being out the door.
When I left the house I headed to the student union, which I had heard was the place to be on Friday nights. I obviously didn't believe this, but seeing as there HAD been a dance party there the previous afternoon figured it was worth a shot.
Well, what a decision. There was a bar upstairs and a club downstairs, and both places were packed. The bar was alright and had £1.70 pints of beer, which is less than half the price you'd find in Dublin and maybe a pound less than you'd find in the other bars in Belfast. The club downstairs had the same price and I spent most of my time down there.
And this place was going off. I mean, I couldn't believe it but there was a legit party in the student union. I saw the guys from the previous night who said that, as I had been told, everyone went to this place on Fridays. It was out of control.
Now, I did call this place a club as opposed to the discoteque from the previous night, because there was room to breathe, it wasn't just a drunken mess, and people were actually there to dance and have fun rather than accidentally bump into people. But the music was still the same-- still more eurorave discopop. I might as well get used to it, because I don't think this is going to change much regardless of where I go.
Just for fun, I handed the DJ a slip of paper asking him to play any of "Living on a Prayer," "Don't Stop Believing," "Your Love," or "Take Me Home Tonight." Not because those were appropriate for the situation, which they weren't, but because you couldn't possibly go to any single bar in Ann Arbor without hearing all four of them over the course of the night. As expected, the DJ refused to even play one. What a jerk.
So that was the night, although what I learned was that "you're perfect... except you don't have red hair" is neither received well or considered funny by the girl you say it to. Fucking Irish need to lighten up.
And when the night ended I was sufficiently drunk, so I went back to Colin's place. And then I went to town. On a box of Special K.
That actually was convenient, though, because I had made a date to meet someone from the night before at 10:00 at the coffee shop at the union. I hadn't set my alarm but, thanks to some douchebag, it looked like I'd be able to make it anyway.
So I headed to the Union, but when I got there realized there was a bit of a problem. Since it was still open house at Queen's University, there were literally hundreds of people roaming about the union. And, since I couldn't remember anything about the girl other than that she had brown hair, there was no chance in the world that I'd be able to recognize her.
So I sat on a chair outside the coffee shop and waited for ten minutes, hoping she'd recognize me. No luck. And thus I had the first casualty of my phone-free European experiment.
You know what? It'll happen. And I'm OK with that.
At this point I headed to the church down the street for some food. The previous night Clark had mentioned something about them giving out free lunch, although he wasn't sure if it was only during the school year. It turned out that he was right and I was a week early, but I must have looked especially hungry and pathetic because the woman made me two ham sandwiches and threw in a couple bags of salt and vinegar crisps. I'm guessing she had meant it to be both lunch and dinner, and I tried to hold off on the second round, but that wasn't going to happen. I was starving.
Like I said, Queen's University was having it's second open day, but I hadn't shaved that morning and, though it's not like I had a beard after one day, I felt like my "20 year old" identity was precarious enough as is, and going back would only be tempting fate. So I avoided campus for a bit and, unknowingly, tried to walk downtown but went the wrong way.
It took a bit longer than you would have expected for me to realize this, and by that time I felt like I had done enough walking for the day, as I still had my pack with me. So I headed back to the campus and reclaimed my 20-year old traveling self.
There were a bunch of "student leaders" outside the union, and the third one I talked to-- giving him the "been traveling for two years and need a place to crash" bit-- took a keen interest in finding me, indeed, a place to crash. I went inside with him and he started asking some of his friends on my behalf, but no one was biting. Finally, he asked this girl Julia who was walking by, and who also was a student leader.
(Incidentally, during the time that the dude was looking for my couch, I was eating the rest of his corn beef sandwich. Isn't that lovely?)
Julia made a phone call to her friend Colin, who she described as a "crazy guy," and he said it would be fine for me to crash at his place. Queen's University open day comes through.
Colin said he would meet me outside the union in about half an hour, so I went to the library to relax for a bit. At this point I started seriously second-guessing my decision to stay at Colin's place. For one thing, it meant I'd have to pretend to be 20 years old the entire time, and I'd have to maybe seriously talk about my wild and crazy adventures from two years of traveling. More importantly, though, Julia had later described Colin as a "good Christian boy." So, were I to slip up, I'd not merely be exposed a lying conman-- I'd be exposed as a sinner. I was terrified.
So I met him in half an hour, and to make matters even worse it turned out he had just spent the past six months traveling around East Asia and Europe. Good grief.
I don't know the first thing about Asia, and would only have been able to talk about London-- where I had just been-- and Spain-- where I had been earlier in the summer-- so I just kept my mouth shut. I mean, I must have said 300 words the entire afternoon and evening.
When we got back to his place-- which was nice but pretty far away-- he made a frozen pizza and I feasted. I was cleaning up in the food department. Then I went upstairs to take a nap, and when my alarm went off two hours later-- trust me, I needed it-- I could barely get out of bed. It was 9:00 and I was giving serious thought to just sleeping through to the morning. I was a weary dude.
I made myself get up, though, because it was a Friday, and I went downstairs to see if my laundry was done, since I had put in a load before going upstairs. While I was down there I heard the front door open and, figuring it was either Colin or the roommate I had met, called up to them.
However, some dude who I had never seen before came down and, as I was standing there in my boxers and he had no idea who I was, gave me a real good who-the-fuck-are-you glare. And wouldn't you know, I forgot the name of who I was staying with. I just stared at him for ten seconds before remembering I was "a friend of Colin's." Jesus, I was this close to being out the door.
When I left the house I headed to the student union, which I had heard was the place to be on Friday nights. I obviously didn't believe this, but seeing as there HAD been a dance party there the previous afternoon figured it was worth a shot.
Well, what a decision. There was a bar upstairs and a club downstairs, and both places were packed. The bar was alright and had £1.70 pints of beer, which is less than half the price you'd find in Dublin and maybe a pound less than you'd find in the other bars in Belfast. The club downstairs had the same price and I spent most of my time down there.
And this place was going off. I mean, I couldn't believe it but there was a legit party in the student union. I saw the guys from the previous night who said that, as I had been told, everyone went to this place on Fridays. It was out of control.
Now, I did call this place a club as opposed to the discoteque from the previous night, because there was room to breathe, it wasn't just a drunken mess, and people were actually there to dance and have fun rather than accidentally bump into people. But the music was still the same-- still more eurorave discopop. I might as well get used to it, because I don't think this is going to change much regardless of where I go.
Just for fun, I handed the DJ a slip of paper asking him to play any of "Living on a Prayer," "Don't Stop Believing," "Your Love," or "Take Me Home Tonight." Not because those were appropriate for the situation, which they weren't, but because you couldn't possibly go to any single bar in Ann Arbor without hearing all four of them over the course of the night. As expected, the DJ refused to even play one. What a jerk.
So that was the night, although what I learned was that "you're perfect... except you don't have red hair" is neither received well or considered funny by the girl you say it to. Fucking Irish need to lighten up.
And when the night ended I was sufficiently drunk, so I went back to Colin's place. And then I went to town. On a box of Special K.
Friday, September 12, 2008
11 September 2008: Belfast, Ireland
I woke up this morning at 6:00, showered, packed, and said bid adieu to Jiane. And then I was on a bus to Belfast.
I was pretty excited for this next adventure, not only because it was a new place but because, more than that, it was potentially a totally different place. To be perfectly honest, my knowledge of "the two Irelands" was pretty minimal before coming to Dublin, and if you had told me that Ireland was two different countries, I wouldn't have been shocked but it definitely wouldn't have been something I had given much, if any, thought to.
In the days leading up to my departure from the Republic of Ireland to go to Northern Ireland, I had been told that the two were very different. Or, to be more accurate, I had been told that Dublin and Belfast were very different, but not merely in the way any two cities are different. It was more like the two embodied the qualities of their distinct countries.
Anyway, I was excited for the trip, but dreading going back into the UK, since it meant I'd be back on the pound again. That devilish pound.
When I got to the bus station, the very first thing I did was call a bit of an audible on my plans. Because I want to go to both Belfast and Galway, I had originally thought I'd just get a one-way to Belfast for €10, a one-way to Galway for €24, and a one-way back to Dublin for €13. But what I realized when I checked the prices was that a round-trip to Belfast was €22 and a round-trip to Galway was €18. That would save me two day's worth of food and also allow me to come back to Dublin in between for any length of time. It was a done deal.
(And for those of you keeping track, the round-trip to Belfast was more than two one ways because €10 was the special deal on the earliest bus. The regular price was €13, making €22 for a round-trip a saving of €4.)
The bus ride was noteworthy because I fell in love for the first time of this trip with the girl sitting behind me. She's from Vancouver and was on her way to Belfast to see some friends for the day before beginning a year-long missionary thing in the Mediterranean. Except it's on a boat, and she'll basically be helping to sail a sailboat the whole time. Sounds pretty rad, if you ask me.
When we arrived in Belfast I helped the girl, Randi, find an internet cafe, because that's just how chivalrous I am. After I saw her off to the land of cyberspace, I headed to the Queen's University campus, stopping off at a hostel along the way to reserve a bed for the night. Partly as a worst case scenario, but mostly to drop off my small backpack.
Then I put on my game-face and headed to open day at Queen's University.
Like I said before, I think, the open day at Queen's University was the deal-breaker when I was deciding where to go from Dublin. Because it was an open house for prospective students, I had figured there would be loads of free food, on account of QU being a well-to-do school and them trying to impress their well-to-do prospective students. I also figured that, with students milling about to talk to the prospectives, it would be a piece of cake to find a place to crash. All I'd have to do was find the student who looked cool and confide in him or her my true, 23-year old, identity.
Anyway, I got to the campus and, boy, right off the bat you could tell I was going to stick out like a sore thumb. Even before you consider that I'm not exactly 18 years old or a high school senior, bear in mind that 95% of the students there were in their school uniforms: suit and tie for the boys and dress for the girls. I was wearing jeans, t-shirt and hoodie, and was carrying my pack with me. One of these things is not like the other.
And then, of course, there is that 18-years-old-or-a-high-school-senior thing. Of which I'm neither, and not even close. Because I kept my pack with me, I was planning on explaining that I had graduated from high school two years ago and had been traveling the world since then. And now that I've traveled for two years, I'm ready to go to college and don't really feel like going back to America to do it. It just so happened that I was in Dublin as this point in my travels and had by chance found out about the open house. And, since Queen's University was on my list of schools I was considering, it was perfectly convenient for me to come to the open day. And, rather than failing to pass as 18, I was 20. Hopefully.
So that's what I was working with as I entered the main hall. What I also had to work with was some legit-ass planning. I walked up to the information desk and said in my best, most sheepish freshman voice "Hi, I'm pretty out of place here I guess, but I'm thinking about coming to school here. I don't really know where to begin." The woman picked up a program to help me find what departments I was looking for, and BAM! I had already pulled out the slip of paper where I had written two talks I wanted to hear, what time they were at, and where they were being held.
She was definitely impressed at how legit I was.
The woman also asked if I wanted to speak to a British student about the culture shock of going to school in Northern Ireland. Like it could get any easier, I said yes, but because it COULD get easier I asked if I could speak to an American student instead. Because there was no way in hell a fellow ex-patriate would deny me a place to crash for the night.
Unfortunately, she said that there weren't an Americans available to talk to. That part isn't unfortunate. What's unfortunte is that she followed that with "Do you mind speaking to a British student?" Lovely. Now I'm the asshole you doesn't like British people. Awesome.
After setting up a meeting-- with a British student-- I went to my first talk of the day, for the education department. I got there a few minutes early, and now I was still sticking out like a sore thumb, but even better I was sticking out like a sore thumb in a tiny room filled with uniformed school children. The only other people not wearing uniforms were a couple girls, and I went over to talk to them.
They weren't in uniform because they had graduated a year earlier and taken time off to work, and thus weren't with a school. They were real friendly, and at least they were older than the rest, and were looking a little awkwardly out of place too. Which was cool.
We talked for a little bit and I regaled them with tales of my wild adventures from two years traveling throughout South America, East Asia and Europe, and when we went in the three of us sat down together.
The talk was pretty standard, and largely unintelligible because of the professor's accent. My favorite part, though, was when the professor took about five minutes to explain that "there are two different sides of your brain, the left side and the ride side" and "the left side controls creativity and the right side controls order." I mean, he literally spent five minutes to explain this to us. I'm glad he did, too, because I'm retarded.
Anyway, that was the education talk, and after it was over I had to race over to the English talk. You know, because I'm considering attending the Queen's University for my undergraduate education. Becky and Lauren, the two girls, said that they would wait for the English talk to end and then we'd get lunch.
Waiting for the English talk, then, was when I fell in love for the second time of this trip. With a girl in the English department who came in to speak for a little bit. Now, I've got a thing for red heads in general, but this girl was literally the most beautiful girl I think I've ever seen. I'm not exaggerating. Unfortunately, the talk ran long and I was late for meeting Becky and Lauren, and so I had to race out the minute the talk ended. Not like I would have done anything about it, anyway, but you know.
(The cool thing about the English talk, though, is that the professor basically devoted her entire presentation to how enjoyable (read: EASY) the life of an English major is. Not like I didn't already know that, but boy she would have sold me.
When I came out of the talk I headed to the fountain where Becky and Lauren were still waiting, but I realized that my meeting with the British student was literally three minutes away. So I told them I had to run off to this thing and they said they'd wait around until it was over. Because I was an inconsiderate asshole and they were very sweet.
As I was walking up to the meeting, which was in the main hall, a group of girls started giggling as I walked by. They called out "Hi, backpack" and then one of them-- presumably the bold one-- asked if she could take a picture with me of us with our thumbs out, like we were hitch-hiking. I'll tell you, if I were 17 years old I'd have been in heaven.
The talk was, as you shall see, bogus as hell. By the numbers it was a success, as I had six cookies and two cups of tea. But here's the kicker.
Literally less than a minute into our talk, the girl Josie asked me where I was staying for the night. I said I wasn't sure, and she said that she had just moved into her flat for the year and there was an empty bed, and it was OK with her if I crashed there that night but she had to ask her roommate. I figured I was money, and so for the rest of the chit-chat I was charming and sweet as pie to her, and just the prototype of a good dude. I regaled her with tales of my wild adventures from two years traveling throughout South America, East Asia and Europe, and the deal was, for all intent and purpose, sealed.
But then the meeting ended, and she got up and started to race out of the room. I asked her about crashing at her place, and she said "uh, well, I didn't ask my roommate." I asked if I could meet her somewhere later to see if the roommate had said it was OK, and she said "but, you see, I have to ask my roommate." So then, trying to make it simpler, I asked if I could meet her somewhere later if it was a yes, and if she didn't show up it would be a no. She said "yeah, sure" and left. So now I was meeting her later. And had no idea where I would be meeting her. I'm guessing it was a no. Bogus.
On the way back out, the same girls who took a picture with me were still sitting on the steps, apparently waiting to take another picture with me. These girls were literally in love with me. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but seriously, if I were 17 years old my time in Belfast would have been very good. Very very good.
(Also, the problem with the Catholic School Girl bit is that the real thing is hotter. It just is. But the real thing is also actual school girls. So it's a trade off. I suppose it just depends on how much jail time is really worth to you. It's an individual choice, really.)
Anyway, I had had my fill on those six cookies for lunch, but Becky and La were starving. Since they had waited nearly two hours for me I figured it'd be pretty rude to ditch them, and we headed to the student union to get something to eat.
At least, we came for the food. But we stayed for the discoteque.
And this really was the funniest thing of the whole experience. It was 1:30 in the afternoon and this place was absolutely bumping. There was basically a steady stream of kids coming down, with nearly all of them in their fancy uniforms, and then the guys would take off their coats and the girls would go into the bathroom and put on makeup, and then they'd just start bopping around for a bit. And afterwards, when it was time to see more of the campus, they would just go back up and go about their business. I couldn't get enough of it.
Incidentally, and contrary to what I had expected, other than the cookies and tea there wasn't a bite of free food to be found at the open house. Apparently the University administration though an afternoon dance party would be enough. And, to be honest with you, it would have been for me.
Becky and La were still hungry, and the temporary reprieve from my cookies was beginning to wear off, so we headed to town to get some food. Becky really wanted to go to Pizza Hut, which at least would have been better than McDonald's or Burger King-- both to be found here-- except that it cost £5.95 for the lunch buffet. So the two of them got the buffet and I got the pizza they brought back to the table.
(Side story: That price was for the adult buffet, and I said to Becky that I should tell them I was 12 years old in order to get the kid's buffet. She said, and I quote, "Right, you couldn't pass for any younger." Younger than 20? Or younger than how old I actually am? Bam.)
After lunch I said goodbye to the girls, because in the end I still needed a couch and they still lived at home. So I headed back to campus and met four dudes who had come to Belfast for the open days-- actually, they came to Belfast "for all the pussy at open days." Their words, not mine.
They said I could crash on their couch and, maybe against better judgment, I accepted their offer. They were going to the bar, and I still had to get my small backpack from the hostel where I had stored it, so they told me to meet them at a bar called The Giraffe and we parted ways. I picked up my backpack and headed to the bar, and when I arrived they weren't there. I waited a bit, and they still weren't there. I waited a bit more, and they still weren't there.
I got stood up by a bunch of high schoolers. I was beside myself.
So it was back to the union and very little luck since only a few students had moved in yet. This is, of course, on top of the very little luck I had at the open days, which was truly baffling to me. I must have approached about seven different "student leaders"-- so said their shirts-- and told them I had come from America for the open days and needed a place to sleep for the night. I asked if there was any way I could be set up with a student in my expected field of study, and not one of them helped me. It was like they were able to see clear through my juicy, bold-faced lie. How dare they.
Finally I met this dude Alex, who couldn't offer me a place to sleep but instead handed me a £10 note. I could barely lift it.
(Yes, I've used that line about a dozen times since then. I'm a real comedian.)
So Alex gave me £10 (ten POUNDS, get it) and, though I initially refused, realized I shouldn't put up too much of a fight. So I graciously accepted it, thanked him profusely, and walked back to the hostel.
Only about 100 feet away, though, there were a couple dudes, and I figured I'd try one more shot for a couch. And wouldn't you know, this one hit.
It was a couple dudes, Glenn who goes to Queen's and Clark who goes to Cambridge, and they were on their way to get some alcohol. They welcomed me into their house almost immediately, and then even bought me some beer. Hospitable indeed.
We went back to Glenn's place and a couple other friends came over, and we just shot the shit for a little while. These kids were pretty cool. And that's even considering how much they loved boy bands. Especially 5ive. These dudes loved 5ive.
When it was time to head out for the night I asked Clark where we were going, and he said to a place that was "part bar and part dancing." That sounded promising enough.
We ended up at a discoteque.
Now, I have nothing against Belfast is a college town and I would have much rather gone to a college bar.
Here are the main problems with discoteques. Or, at least, this particular one.
1) Everyone is young. That's not entirely true, of course, but everyone who is actually into the thing and flipping out on the dance floor is young. That's a universal truth about discoteques.
2) I don't know any of the music. This is partly a product of #1 and partly because it's in Europe and eurorave discopop isn't exactly what I listen to. And yes, I just made that term up.
3) 75% of contact in discoteques is accidental. Or "accidental." This is the one that really annoys me. In a discoteque, because it's about 1000 people in a 10x10 foot cellar-- and I'm distinguishing from a night club, which is entirely different-- there's no room to purposefully approach someone. And even if you can, that's just not how you do it. So you have to either accidentally get knocked into someone or you have to get real close to someone and wait for someone to "accidentally" knock you into someone else. Nuh uh, not for me.
Not to mention, and this is part of the absurdity of this particular one, it was a discoteque for the indie/hipster crowd. Tight jeans for everyone and a bunch of drunk emo kids freaking out. I had no idea what to do with myself.
So what I DID was what you do everytime you frequent a discoteque. I got really drunk, had the requisite make-out-with-someone-else-who-is-really-drunk, and hated myself. What a time.
I hate to not end this post on that note, since I feel like it's the way to do it, but there is something else that absolutely has to be said. When I asked Glenn and Clark for a couch Glenn agreed on the spot to put me up. That's great and all, but it's pretty easy to be nice and agreeable when someone asks you for a couch during the day. But there is nothing worse or more annoying that someone flaking out after they've agreed to put you up.
(And I don't mean the four kids I met first, since they were punks from the start. Doesn't count.)
As we were leaving the discoteque Clark got into a cab to head home and Glenn was nowhere to be found. The other two guys were about to get a cab too, but since I couldn't find Glenn I asked them to call him. He was with some girl, and I waited about half an hour before he showed up.
Now, I know it seems like I shouldn't be complaining, since I made him leave the girl-- which, under other circumstances, would have been a total dick move-- but the fact is that if he hadn't shown up after that half an hour I would have been completely screwed. Not only because I was supposed to be staying at his place but because all my stuff was there and I didn't know his address. Or his phone number.
And so the thing is, having someone ask if they can crash on your couch is like finding out you're pregnant. If you choose to have an abortion, I don't have a problem with that-- after all, it's your body. But if you choose to go through with the pregnancy, you can't get drunk every night because if you do the child is going to be retarded.
If I ask you if I can crash on your couch and you say no, I don't have a problem with that-- after all, it's your house. But if you choose to let me crash, you can't go ahead and ditch me at 1:00 in the morning because if you do I'm fucked.
It's as simple as that: yes or no. But don't flake out.
I was pretty excited for this next adventure, not only because it was a new place but because, more than that, it was potentially a totally different place. To be perfectly honest, my knowledge of "the two Irelands" was pretty minimal before coming to Dublin, and if you had told me that Ireland was two different countries, I wouldn't have been shocked but it definitely wouldn't have been something I had given much, if any, thought to.
In the days leading up to my departure from the Republic of Ireland to go to Northern Ireland, I had been told that the two were very different. Or, to be more accurate, I had been told that Dublin and Belfast were very different, but not merely in the way any two cities are different. It was more like the two embodied the qualities of their distinct countries.
Anyway, I was excited for the trip, but dreading going back into the UK, since it meant I'd be back on the pound again. That devilish pound.
When I got to the bus station, the very first thing I did was call a bit of an audible on my plans. Because I want to go to both Belfast and Galway, I had originally thought I'd just get a one-way to Belfast for €10, a one-way to Galway for €24, and a one-way back to Dublin for €13. But what I realized when I checked the prices was that a round-trip to Belfast was €22 and a round-trip to Galway was €18. That would save me two day's worth of food and also allow me to come back to Dublin in between for any length of time. It was a done deal.
(And for those of you keeping track, the round-trip to Belfast was more than two one ways because €10 was the special deal on the earliest bus. The regular price was €13, making €22 for a round-trip a saving of €4.)
The bus ride was noteworthy because I fell in love for the first time of this trip with the girl sitting behind me. She's from Vancouver and was on her way to Belfast to see some friends for the day before beginning a year-long missionary thing in the Mediterranean. Except it's on a boat, and she'll basically be helping to sail a sailboat the whole time. Sounds pretty rad, if you ask me.
When we arrived in Belfast I helped the girl, Randi, find an internet cafe, because that's just how chivalrous I am. After I saw her off to the land of cyberspace, I headed to the Queen's University campus, stopping off at a hostel along the way to reserve a bed for the night. Partly as a worst case scenario, but mostly to drop off my small backpack.
Then I put on my game-face and headed to open day at Queen's University.
Like I said before, I think, the open day at Queen's University was the deal-breaker when I was deciding where to go from Dublin. Because it was an open house for prospective students, I had figured there would be loads of free food, on account of QU being a well-to-do school and them trying to impress their well-to-do prospective students. I also figured that, with students milling about to talk to the prospectives, it would be a piece of cake to find a place to crash. All I'd have to do was find the student who looked cool and confide in him or her my true, 23-year old, identity.
Anyway, I got to the campus and, boy, right off the bat you could tell I was going to stick out like a sore thumb. Even before you consider that I'm not exactly 18 years old or a high school senior, bear in mind that 95% of the students there were in their school uniforms: suit and tie for the boys and dress for the girls. I was wearing jeans, t-shirt and hoodie, and was carrying my pack with me. One of these things is not like the other.
And then, of course, there is that 18-years-old-or-a-high-school-senior thing. Of which I'm neither, and not even close. Because I kept my pack with me, I was planning on explaining that I had graduated from high school two years ago and had been traveling the world since then. And now that I've traveled for two years, I'm ready to go to college and don't really feel like going back to America to do it. It just so happened that I was in Dublin as this point in my travels and had by chance found out about the open house. And, since Queen's University was on my list of schools I was considering, it was perfectly convenient for me to come to the open day. And, rather than failing to pass as 18, I was 20. Hopefully.
So that's what I was working with as I entered the main hall. What I also had to work with was some legit-ass planning. I walked up to the information desk and said in my best, most sheepish freshman voice "Hi, I'm pretty out of place here I guess, but I'm thinking about coming to school here. I don't really know where to begin." The woman picked up a program to help me find what departments I was looking for, and BAM! I had already pulled out the slip of paper where I had written two talks I wanted to hear, what time they were at, and where they were being held.
She was definitely impressed at how legit I was.
The woman also asked if I wanted to speak to a British student about the culture shock of going to school in Northern Ireland. Like it could get any easier, I said yes, but because it COULD get easier I asked if I could speak to an American student instead. Because there was no way in hell a fellow ex-patriate would deny me a place to crash for the night.
Unfortunately, she said that there weren't an Americans available to talk to. That part isn't unfortunate. What's unfortunte is that she followed that with "Do you mind speaking to a British student?" Lovely. Now I'm the asshole you doesn't like British people. Awesome.
After setting up a meeting-- with a British student-- I went to my first talk of the day, for the education department. I got there a few minutes early, and now I was still sticking out like a sore thumb, but even better I was sticking out like a sore thumb in a tiny room filled with uniformed school children. The only other people not wearing uniforms were a couple girls, and I went over to talk to them.
They weren't in uniform because they had graduated a year earlier and taken time off to work, and thus weren't with a school. They were real friendly, and at least they were older than the rest, and were looking a little awkwardly out of place too. Which was cool.
We talked for a little bit and I regaled them with tales of my wild adventures from two years traveling throughout South America, East Asia and Europe, and when we went in the three of us sat down together.
The talk was pretty standard, and largely unintelligible because of the professor's accent. My favorite part, though, was when the professor took about five minutes to explain that "there are two different sides of your brain, the left side and the ride side" and "the left side controls creativity and the right side controls order." I mean, he literally spent five minutes to explain this to us. I'm glad he did, too, because I'm retarded.
Anyway, that was the education talk, and after it was over I had to race over to the English talk. You know, because I'm considering attending the Queen's University for my undergraduate education. Becky and Lauren, the two girls, said that they would wait for the English talk to end and then we'd get lunch.
Waiting for the English talk, then, was when I fell in love for the second time of this trip. With a girl in the English department who came in to speak for a little bit. Now, I've got a thing for red heads in general, but this girl was literally the most beautiful girl I think I've ever seen. I'm not exaggerating. Unfortunately, the talk ran long and I was late for meeting Becky and Lauren, and so I had to race out the minute the talk ended. Not like I would have done anything about it, anyway, but you know.
(The cool thing about the English talk, though, is that the professor basically devoted her entire presentation to how enjoyable (read: EASY) the life of an English major is. Not like I didn't already know that, but boy she would have sold me.
When I came out of the talk I headed to the fountain where Becky and Lauren were still waiting, but I realized that my meeting with the British student was literally three minutes away. So I told them I had to run off to this thing and they said they'd wait around until it was over. Because I was an inconsiderate asshole and they were very sweet.
As I was walking up to the meeting, which was in the main hall, a group of girls started giggling as I walked by. They called out "Hi, backpack" and then one of them-- presumably the bold one-- asked if she could take a picture with me of us with our thumbs out, like we were hitch-hiking. I'll tell you, if I were 17 years old I'd have been in heaven.
The talk was, as you shall see, bogus as hell. By the numbers it was a success, as I had six cookies and two cups of tea. But here's the kicker.
Literally less than a minute into our talk, the girl Josie asked me where I was staying for the night. I said I wasn't sure, and she said that she had just moved into her flat for the year and there was an empty bed, and it was OK with her if I crashed there that night but she had to ask her roommate. I figured I was money, and so for the rest of the chit-chat I was charming and sweet as pie to her, and just the prototype of a good dude. I regaled her with tales of my wild adventures from two years traveling throughout South America, East Asia and Europe, and the deal was, for all intent and purpose, sealed.
But then the meeting ended, and she got up and started to race out of the room. I asked her about crashing at her place, and she said "uh, well, I didn't ask my roommate." I asked if I could meet her somewhere later to see if the roommate had said it was OK, and she said "but, you see, I have to ask my roommate." So then, trying to make it simpler, I asked if I could meet her somewhere later if it was a yes, and if she didn't show up it would be a no. She said "yeah, sure" and left. So now I was meeting her later. And had no idea where I would be meeting her. I'm guessing it was a no. Bogus.
On the way back out, the same girls who took a picture with me were still sitting on the steps, apparently waiting to take another picture with me. These girls were literally in love with me. I don't want to toot my own horn or anything, but seriously, if I were 17 years old my time in Belfast would have been very good. Very very good.
(Also, the problem with the Catholic School Girl bit is that the real thing is hotter. It just is. But the real thing is also actual school girls. So it's a trade off. I suppose it just depends on how much jail time is really worth to you. It's an individual choice, really.)
Anyway, I had had my fill on those six cookies for lunch, but Becky and La were starving. Since they had waited nearly two hours for me I figured it'd be pretty rude to ditch them, and we headed to the student union to get something to eat.
At least, we came for the food. But we stayed for the discoteque.
And this really was the funniest thing of the whole experience. It was 1:30 in the afternoon and this place was absolutely bumping. There was basically a steady stream of kids coming down, with nearly all of them in their fancy uniforms, and then the guys would take off their coats and the girls would go into the bathroom and put on makeup, and then they'd just start bopping around for a bit. And afterwards, when it was time to see more of the campus, they would just go back up and go about their business. I couldn't get enough of it.
Incidentally, and contrary to what I had expected, other than the cookies and tea there wasn't a bite of free food to be found at the open house. Apparently the University administration though an afternoon dance party would be enough. And, to be honest with you, it would have been for me.
Becky and La were still hungry, and the temporary reprieve from my cookies was beginning to wear off, so we headed to town to get some food. Becky really wanted to go to Pizza Hut, which at least would have been better than McDonald's or Burger King-- both to be found here-- except that it cost £5.95 for the lunch buffet. So the two of them got the buffet and I got the pizza they brought back to the table.
(Side story: That price was for the adult buffet, and I said to Becky that I should tell them I was 12 years old in order to get the kid's buffet. She said, and I quote, "Right, you couldn't pass for any younger." Younger than 20? Or younger than how old I actually am? Bam.)
After lunch I said goodbye to the girls, because in the end I still needed a couch and they still lived at home. So I headed back to campus and met four dudes who had come to Belfast for the open days-- actually, they came to Belfast "for all the pussy at open days." Their words, not mine.
They said I could crash on their couch and, maybe against better judgment, I accepted their offer. They were going to the bar, and I still had to get my small backpack from the hostel where I had stored it, so they told me to meet them at a bar called The Giraffe and we parted ways. I picked up my backpack and headed to the bar, and when I arrived they weren't there. I waited a bit, and they still weren't there. I waited a bit more, and they still weren't there.
I got stood up by a bunch of high schoolers. I was beside myself.
So it was back to the union and very little luck since only a few students had moved in yet. This is, of course, on top of the very little luck I had at the open days, which was truly baffling to me. I must have approached about seven different "student leaders"-- so said their shirts-- and told them I had come from America for the open days and needed a place to sleep for the night. I asked if there was any way I could be set up with a student in my expected field of study, and not one of them helped me. It was like they were able to see clear through my juicy, bold-faced lie. How dare they.
Finally I met this dude Alex, who couldn't offer me a place to sleep but instead handed me a £10 note. I could barely lift it.
(Yes, I've used that line about a dozen times since then. I'm a real comedian.)
So Alex gave me £10 (ten POUNDS, get it) and, though I initially refused, realized I shouldn't put up too much of a fight. So I graciously accepted it, thanked him profusely, and walked back to the hostel.
Only about 100 feet away, though, there were a couple dudes, and I figured I'd try one more shot for a couch. And wouldn't you know, this one hit.
It was a couple dudes, Glenn who goes to Queen's and Clark who goes to Cambridge, and they were on their way to get some alcohol. They welcomed me into their house almost immediately, and then even bought me some beer. Hospitable indeed.
We went back to Glenn's place and a couple other friends came over, and we just shot the shit for a little while. These kids were pretty cool. And that's even considering how much they loved boy bands. Especially 5ive. These dudes loved 5ive.
When it was time to head out for the night I asked Clark where we were going, and he said to a place that was "part bar and part dancing." That sounded promising enough.
We ended up at a discoteque.
Now, I have nothing against Belfast is a college town and I would have much rather gone to a college bar.
Here are the main problems with discoteques. Or, at least, this particular one.
1) Everyone is young. That's not entirely true, of course, but everyone who is actually into the thing and flipping out on the dance floor is young. That's a universal truth about discoteques.
2) I don't know any of the music. This is partly a product of #1 and partly because it's in Europe and eurorave discopop isn't exactly what I listen to. And yes, I just made that term up.
3) 75% of contact in discoteques is accidental. Or "accidental." This is the one that really annoys me. In a discoteque, because it's about 1000 people in a 10x10 foot cellar-- and I'm distinguishing from a night club, which is entirely different-- there's no room to purposefully approach someone. And even if you can, that's just not how you do it. So you have to either accidentally get knocked into someone or you have to get real close to someone and wait for someone to "accidentally" knock you into someone else. Nuh uh, not for me.
Not to mention, and this is part of the absurdity of this particular one, it was a discoteque for the indie/hipster crowd. Tight jeans for everyone and a bunch of drunk emo kids freaking out. I had no idea what to do with myself.
So what I DID was what you do everytime you frequent a discoteque. I got really drunk, had the requisite make-out-with-someone-else-who-is-really-drunk, and hated myself. What a time.
I hate to not end this post on that note, since I feel like it's the way to do it, but there is something else that absolutely has to be said. When I asked Glenn and Clark for a couch Glenn agreed on the spot to put me up. That's great and all, but it's pretty easy to be nice and agreeable when someone asks you for a couch during the day. But there is nothing worse or more annoying that someone flaking out after they've agreed to put you up.
(And I don't mean the four kids I met first, since they were punks from the start. Doesn't count.)
As we were leaving the discoteque Clark got into a cab to head home and Glenn was nowhere to be found. The other two guys were about to get a cab too, but since I couldn't find Glenn I asked them to call him. He was with some girl, and I waited about half an hour before he showed up.
Now, I know it seems like I shouldn't be complaining, since I made him leave the girl-- which, under other circumstances, would have been a total dick move-- but the fact is that if he hadn't shown up after that half an hour I would have been completely screwed. Not only because I was supposed to be staying at his place but because all my stuff was there and I didn't know his address. Or his phone number.
And so the thing is, having someone ask if they can crash on your couch is like finding out you're pregnant. If you choose to have an abortion, I don't have a problem with that-- after all, it's your body. But if you choose to go through with the pregnancy, you can't get drunk every night because if you do the child is going to be retarded.
If I ask you if I can crash on your couch and you say no, I don't have a problem with that-- after all, it's your house. But if you choose to let me crash, you can't go ahead and ditch me at 1:00 in the morning because if you do I'm fucked.
It's as simple as that: yes or no. But don't flake out.
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