I spent a couple days hanging out in Dublin before going back to Copenhagen. After my bizarre experience in Cork, it was nice to be back at Abbey Court, with its Wi-Fi, pool table, hammock, self-catering kitchen, and central location.
The moment I stepped off the bus, I went to a barbershop and got a badly-needed haircut. After checking in, I took a shower for the first time in a week, and shaved for the first time in two. It felt good. Then I went and bought groceries, planning on cooking my meals in the kitchen for the next couple days. It was my first time eating semi-real food since Galway. While on my way to the grocery store, I saw four of these Irish Air Corps planes flying low overhead.
 |
| The Irish Air Corps is well prepared to defend the island against any 1940s-era military. |
They were probably rehearsing a flyover for Friday's presidential inauguration. Michael D. Higgins (pictured below) won the election (he's Labor Party).
While sitting at the dinner table, I saw William, the Slovakian who had come to Dublin with his girlfriend and was looking for work. I was pleased to discover that he had found a job as the hostel's handyman. I stayed in the same room I had stayed in my first few nights in Dublin. For the first time in two weeks, I actually slept uninterrupted for a full night -- partly because there were only two other people in my room (the Halloween rush was over) and partly because William had fixed the squeaky door.
My favorite part of staying in a hostel is the people that you meet -- everyone has their own story. On Thursday, I went pubbing with Peter, a vacationing Polish database administrator for Hewlett Packard, and Alex, a Brazilian policeman (he is an escort driver for hazardous materials trucks, and he is in Ireland learning English). We went out with Alex's English class, and I met many people from all around the world -- a Venezuelan university graduate, a German girl from Mainz-am Rhein who had just finished high school and was taking a gap year, a Frenchman from sunny Toulouse and his stylish Parisian girlfriend, and two Italian girls from Naples. I was able to practice my German with the high school grad, and I was pleased when the Venezuelan girl informed me that my Spanish was actually pretty intelligible, and that we both shared the same (low) opinion of Hugo Chávez. More evidence that the world is not so large -- Peter ran into a coworker from his office in Poland in the pub, and I met an intern from Alex's school who is from Baltimore and is visiting Copenhagen next week (she knows one of the girls in my kollegium).
Getting home, we talked until four in the morning with Joe, an Irishman, and Ali, a Lebanese immigrant. Joe is from Limerick and is looking for an apartment in Dublin before his fiancee and their children move to the city. Ali was a professional footballer in Lebanon (he was a goalkeeper) until he injured his foot. He received surgery in Ireland, ended up going to school there, and has been in the country ever since.
The following morning, I had breakfast with Peter, Ali, and a Spanish man from Barcelona. I was happy to translate for the Spaniard and to help him with important English phrases like "Where is the fridge?" We were joined by two American girls studying in Scotland. Waking up on little sleep just to get the free breakfast, however, would have dire consequences later...
Peter and I both had 6 a.m. flights the next morning, so we decided to turn in at 8, get a good night's sleep, and leave for the airport bright and early.
Just kidding.
The thought process essentially was: "Well, it is our last night in Ireland, and we have to catch a 3 a.m. bus, so perhaps the most reasonable and mature decision at this point would be to simply stay up and pass the time by partying all night."
So that's what we did. Peter, Alex, the two American girls from Edinburgh, and I all went pubbing on Grafton Street until late at night. One of the American students and I did end up going back early, hanging out in the hammock room, until I unfortunately nodded off.
It turns out that you don't go that long without sleep without being really hard to wake up. So when my alarm failed to rouse me, I was verbally dragged from my hammock by my new American friend. Glancing at my watch, I bolted to my room and gathered my things, and Peter (who had followed me home) and I just made the bus. Before I stepped off at my terminal, Peter gave me a token of friendship -- an XL-sized Polish soccer shirt.
Fortunately, the rest of the trip went without a problem. I stopped in London (which looks beautiful from the sky at dawn) to catch a connecting flight. It had been Remembrance Day in Britain the day before. The day holds a great deal of significance for the British; maybe more than the equivalent Veteran's Day does for Americans. It marks November 11, 1918, when World War I was ended by armistice -- well over a million British (and their colonial and dominion colleagues) died in the conflict, so while America had its own share of war dead, it essentially wiped out an entire generation of Europeans. People lay poppies on graves and monuments, and sell the flowers to raise money for veterans (the poppy takes its significance from "In Flanders Fields," about the eponymous region of Belgium where much of the worst fighting took place in the First World War). That afternoon, I continued to Copenhagen (I spent a little more for a flight from EasyJet, which flies directly into Copenhagen).
There were a few surprises waiting for me in Denmark. Some, I suppose were to be expected -- it was much colder, and at 4 p.m., the sun was already low in the sky. Some surprises were welcome -- the new Night Netto next door was having its grand opening in just a couple days. Some were not so welcome -- I spent some time cleaning an invasion of mold that had sprung up around my room's radiator while I was gone. But, I had a room to myself, and, after going to the Night Netto, I had real food.
So ends my two weeks of vacation, and in the end, I enjoyed all of it -- the fun, the boring, the creepy, and the crazy. It was sad to say goodbye to Ireland, and it will be sad to say goodbye to Denmark, too. I have only five weeks left, and (with the exception of a 3-day weekend), it's all work from now on.
Hooray.
While sitting at the dinner table, I saw William, the Slovakian who had come to Dublin with his girlfriend and was looking for work. I was pleased to discover that he had found a job as the hostel's handyman. I stayed in the same room I had stayed in my first few nights in Dublin. For the first time in two weeks, I actually slept uninterrupted for a full night -- partly because there were only two other people in my room (the Halloween rush was over) and partly because William had fixed the squeaky door.
My favorite part of staying in a hostel is the people that you meet -- everyone has their own story. On Thursday, I went pubbing with Peter, a vacationing Polish database administrator for Hewlett Packard, and Alex, a Brazilian policeman (he is an escort driver for hazardous materials trucks, and he is in Ireland learning English). We went out with Alex's English class, and I met many people from all around the world -- a Venezuelan university graduate, a German girl from Mainz-am Rhein who had just finished high school and was taking a gap year, a Frenchman from sunny Toulouse and his stylish Parisian girlfriend, and two Italian girls from Naples. I was able to practice my German with the high school grad, and I was pleased when the Venezuelan girl informed me that my Spanish was actually pretty intelligible, and that we both shared the same (low) opinion of Hugo Chávez. More evidence that the world is not so large -- Peter ran into a coworker from his office in Poland in the pub, and I met an intern from Alex's school who is from Baltimore and is visiting Copenhagen next week (she knows one of the girls in my kollegium).
Getting home, we talked until four in the morning with Joe, an Irishman, and Ali, a Lebanese immigrant. Joe is from Limerick and is looking for an apartment in Dublin before his fiancee and their children move to the city. Ali was a professional footballer in Lebanon (he was a goalkeeper) until he injured his foot. He received surgery in Ireland, ended up going to school there, and has been in the country ever since.
The following morning, I had breakfast with Peter, Ali, and a Spanish man from Barcelona. I was happy to translate for the Spaniard and to help him with important English phrases like "Where is the fridge?" We were joined by two American girls studying in Scotland. Waking up on little sleep just to get the free breakfast, however, would have dire consequences later...
Peter and I both had 6 a.m. flights the next morning, so we decided to turn in at 8, get a good night's sleep, and leave for the airport bright and early.
Just kidding.
The thought process essentially was: "Well, it is our last night in Ireland, and we have to catch a 3 a.m. bus, so perhaps the most reasonable and mature decision at this point would be to simply stay up and pass the time by partying all night."
So that's what we did. Peter, Alex, the two American girls from Edinburgh, and I all went pubbing on Grafton Street until late at night. One of the American students and I did end up going back early, hanging out in the hammock room, until I unfortunately nodded off.
It turns out that you don't go that long without sleep without being really hard to wake up. So when my alarm failed to rouse me, I was verbally dragged from my hammock by my new American friend. Glancing at my watch, I bolted to my room and gathered my things, and Peter (who had followed me home) and I just made the bus. Before I stepped off at my terminal, Peter gave me a token of friendship -- an XL-sized Polish soccer shirt.
Fortunately, the rest of the trip went without a problem. I stopped in London (which looks beautiful from the sky at dawn) to catch a connecting flight. It had been Remembrance Day in Britain the day before. The day holds a great deal of significance for the British; maybe more than the equivalent Veteran's Day does for Americans. It marks November 11, 1918, when World War I was ended by armistice -- well over a million British (and their colonial and dominion colleagues) died in the conflict, so while America had its own share of war dead, it essentially wiped out an entire generation of Europeans. People lay poppies on graves and monuments, and sell the flowers to raise money for veterans (the poppy takes its significance from "In Flanders Fields," about the eponymous region of Belgium where much of the worst fighting took place in the First World War). That afternoon, I continued to Copenhagen (I spent a little more for a flight from EasyJet, which flies directly into Copenhagen).
There were a few surprises waiting for me in Denmark. Some, I suppose were to be expected -- it was much colder, and at 4 p.m., the sun was already low in the sky. Some surprises were welcome -- the new Night Netto next door was having its grand opening in just a couple days. Some were not so welcome -- I spent some time cleaning an invasion of mold that had sprung up around my room's radiator while I was gone. But, I had a room to myself, and, after going to the Night Netto, I had real food.
So ends my two weeks of vacation, and in the end, I enjoyed all of it -- the fun, the boring, the creepy, and the crazy. It was sad to say goodbye to Ireland, and it will be sad to say goodbye to Denmark, too. I have only five weeks left, and (with the exception of a 3-day weekend), it's all work from now on.
Hooray.
No comments:
Post a Comment