I survived Dublin on St. Patrick’s day. Let me preface this Bridget Jones-style by listing what I ate:
– Bowl of cereal
– Banana
– 1/2 pear
Pretty stupid, eh? My rationale was that Guinness is basically a meal. So I had a lot of meals. Continue reading One by one they were all becoming shades.
Stepping off the ferry, I could almost smell the locals’ hatred for what the rest of the world has done to St. Patrick’s day. Not that they don’t enjoy the holiday, but it isn’t a reason just to get hammered. Even I couldn’t help but cringe at some of the tourist ensembles (most of whom I assume are college students here on break). Continue reading Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
Friday.
I had another pretty unimpressive day, from a tourist perspective. Also from a regular person perspective. I mean, I went to a Starbucks. And a Caffe Nero. Two chain coffee houses in one day (I had a lot of work to do today, so forgive me). Continue reading I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air.
