It is grand, to be sure to be sure, to be in a city that lowers the grills and bolts the doors just because it’s Sunday. After a week in the big apple, the city that doesn’t sleep (probably because there’s always someone setting fire to something and the engines roll out every five minutes-good luck sleeping through that) I’ve managed to add 3kgs to my bags, significantly decrease the sole of my boots, and significantly increase the debt on my credit card. Having decided we’d done enough for the American economy (more than enough said my visa) Princess Morticia and I have headed to Ireland to help fund their’s, well I have anyway. Poor old M had to make a detour to Killadelphia to get a flight. I’ve gone from sipping San Pal on the Upper East Side, carting shopping bags through Soho, and somewhat irritating M with my constant ‘Gossip Girl’ references (she doesn’t watch it… I know right! Bazaaro!) I’m now squarely parked at a cafe in the Temple Bar district of Dublin, trying to get used to new money, old music and more green than the Emerald City. After meeting Hugh, I want one, Jackman in Manhattan I have highly deluded hopes of encountering Liam Neeson somewhere on our loop around Ireland… He is Michael Collins after all.
Having been here all of a Sunday morning, I have this to say for Dublin; stuff is open on a Sunday, but only after a respectable sleep-in to eleven o’clock; it does look like it did in the U2 music videos; the news radio guy sounds exactly like the one in ‘the Devil’s Own’ but I am still waiting to see a Brad Pitt looking political extremist; and it sucks not to be able to drink milk in Ireland-five cafes to find one with soy milk (Crow Street, the cappuccino bar opposite Urban Outfitter if anyone is interested) Oh and Gaelic isn’t a dead language after all, who knew? Fingers crossed will find some fun photo ops this afternoon as I’m heading out to hunt giants (Liam) and leprechauns… Hopefully he’ll grant my wish for a magical hotel room key that allows the bearer to check in and shower prior to meeting anyone describable as cute, hot, Hugh, or Liam.
Note: Actually found a leprechaun. Though he was less lucky charms and more angry dwarf with severely bowed legs carting about a bundle of something that I’m guessing was more likely his clothes than a pot of gold. He also talked to himself a lot and cursed at taxi’s that wouldn’t pick him up… All of whom I’m sure went on the have very bad traffic accidents. Don’t look at me like that, you would have thought it too. The man had a red beard, green vest, and a staff… In Dublin… And only spoke in Gaelic!
