Day 21: Temple Bar fiddlin'

Dublin Travel Blog

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NOTE: I've updated the last four days too, so be sure and check them out as well:

Caught a really early bus from Killarney to Dublin, taking care not to awaken my new "dirty old man" 29-yr-old Polish friend.  The journey was long and uneventful.  At the Limerick stop I noticed two fairly good-looking girls, and they were American!  Naturally tan and not fat, unlike these small town Irish girls!  Anyways, with their big-ass shades on, these girls looked like goddesses.  Without them on?  Not so much.

Got into Dublin and took off to try and find Temple Bar and the Barnacles Hostel (again, amazingly located).  After a bit of wandering around (it's quite disorienting at first), I finally got it and found a room full of friendly people talking to each other.  Met Alejandro, the emotional Mexican-American from LA who teaches salsa but got reduced to tears on the ride over by a professional counselor about leaving his girlfriend and life behind on a 3 month trip to Europe.  Met Kenneth, the engineer college grad out of Arizona, self-professed anglophile fresh out of "uni" that launches spontaneously into distant but vaguely relevant diatribes.  Met Emilia, the quirky-dressing theatre student staying in a Dublin hostel for a month looking for the next big gig. 

We all went to Dunnes store from some better breakfast options and some vodka and lemonade.  On the way into the store, a well-dressed lady approached us (apparently we looked like tourists wearing backpacks) and started talking some nonsense about her sick aunt, so I started counting to three before she asked for money.  She never did, so we ignored her and walked in.  And the crazy bitch followed us in!  Then she launched into a heated soliloquy about how America and its music industry had destroyed her life and it was our fault that all her problems blah blah blah--all sorts of crazy shit.  At this point, she was starting to make a scene.  To three American people out innocently getting some groceries!  I stepped forward, looked her right in the eye, and told her, "this conversation is over.  Now you're starting to pester us." 

"It is NOT over!"  She bellowed even louder, speaking all sorts of conspiracy crazy-talk as we waved the security guard down.  As he escorted her out, she screamed something like, "...and it's not my fault that those Americans over there called me a WHORE".  I instantly started laughing.   Us Americans looked at each other, smiled, and shrugged.

Went back to the hostel with the fresh groceries and vodka (shh, don't tell them I snuck it into the alcohol-free rooms), and splayed out on the couch and read.  After a bit, Kenneth convinced me to go to the Abbey Theater to watch a production of Aurthur Scott's The Crucible.  Alas, bank holiday Mondays are sucky days to do anything on.  It's all closed.  Tomorrow, perhaps?

Got ready and headed right next door to The Temple Bar, where this bright female musician was lightin' it up on her fiddle with amazing speed and bravado.  The whole place was full, even though it's deceptively large on the inside.  We only had a pint, talking about our trips (what else is there to talk about with strangers?), our plans, and the like.  Then we all called it a night, with big plans for meeting up the following day and doing some joint sight-seeing.

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photo by: fransglobal