I can only imagine you have all been sitting on the edge of your desk chairs anxiously anticipating my next riveting entry. And you have probably all but given up on me. Which is fair. I confess, I was not born to blog. But I can’t help but thinking that this will be a great form of documentation, eternally stored in cyberspace, to which I can look back in months, even years after I leave Paris. Thus, I recommence my efforts – feeble as they may be – to document my year abroad.
Where to start?
The weekend after I turned 21, Sam and I went to Dublin. To play, mostly. Stayed in a hostel right in Temple Bar, saw the sights, drank the beer, took a great tour of the Guinness storehouses, and called it a weekend after just three days.
tourists...Lego land? in Ireland? oh no.. wait. that's the castle...
Guinness Storehouse
mm mm gooooood.The Irish are probably the most agreeable people I have encountered thus far in my life. After wandering out of our hostel for the first time, wide eyed and in need of a dark frothy brew, we encountered a young man asking us for any spare change. He promptly informed us he “wasn’t trying to be cheeky, but might you lads have a few pence to spare for a fellow in need.” Now I haven’t brushed up on my Irish lately, but I do believe that next to the word ‘cheeky’ in the dictionary, one might find this guy’s picture – blacked out front teeth and all. Still, cheeky or not, the Irish were wonderful to us, and I can’t wait to go back.
me on the hapenny bridge. there is a picture in my house
of my mom standing in this same spot. but she looks radiant,
and a lot less cold...
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