Dubliners (IV)

So we strolled. Our pace was not unlike that at Hyde Park, (avid readers will hopefully know of the pace in which I speak, newcomers will need only to scroll on down (question: is it lame to reference oneself in one's own blog? answer (after much deliberation): yes, yes it is.))(A triple parenthetical followed by a single parenthetical? some say it couldn't, and, I daresay, shouldn't be done, well...yeah they're right, it's a bit awkward.) easy, refreshing, and remarkably pretentious. Before our pace could become steady however, there stood over us an obelisk of unfathomable dimensions. As if punishing the grass by withholding Apollo's stare, it cast a great shadow which we could not help but step within and attempt to take arty photos (I thought mine turned out quite nice, to be honest.). After our attempts at po-mo had come to a satisfying conclusion we sauntered further into the unknown. As we really had no map of the park and our only real reference point was this behemoth that surely could be seen from miles around (in actuality after walking oh about 250 meters through the trees the obelisk became nothing more than a memory and a picture to show off), it seemed a good idea to head west into the waning afternoon sun and then attempt to circle back to our starting point thus bringing us back into the Dublin city at around 5 or 6. Well, to save you the suspense (you're welcome Grandma) and to ruin the narrative, that is basically exactly what we did.

The sheer pleasantness of the journey, however, made any inhibitions and worries over suspenseful intrigue, drift angrily away (To clarify, inhibition and worries were angry that pleasantness was overtaking them so thats why they drifted away. Basically it's hints of personification mixed in with metaphysical metaphors. No big deal.).

We walked down and up onto hills littered with football pitches and cricket grounds. The greenery of the fields completely infatuated us. At times we were completely, utterly, surprisingly, terrifyingly, and happily alone. As far as the eye could see over these fields of delight was unfiltered greenery, nothing stood in our view except the beauty of the landscape. Often the sun would slip behind the clouds and let only spots of rays reach down onto the trees and fields below. It was warm and cool, windy and still, haunting and beautiful. It was a forest in a park, a park in a forest. We walked without care, we walked through groves of trees, we walked easily through the long endless fields, sometimes kicking unabashedly at the dandelions that littered the grass, we walked without a thought, we walked, at times, without a word, breathless and speechless with the sheer delight and happiness of the present, we just walked. We felt so alone, so free inside this park, inside this city. It, however, like all things began to wane, and our feet began taking us closer and closer to the city. We walked by the city zoo, which we briefly considered entering and enjoying the funny things animals do, but when we saw it cost 13 euros we decided it was time to head back to the hostel. After a restroom break, our feet moved us through the final bits of the park and back into the roaring business of the city. We did not look back, however, and enjoyed the experience for what was, for soon the park would be but an afterthought of that one afternoon we were alone in the biggest city in Ireland.

We came to the river near that synonym of awesomeness and followed it back to our hostel. It was nearly six o'clock and our thoughts shifted to (let's not dramatize it here) food. We were thinking of food; how we would procure it, in what shape it would be, how much it might cost, and if it needed to be digestible (we were rather picky in that sense). We decided to head to the local supermarket and grab some meat and pasta and sauce. A few agonizing minutes later--where the sights and smells of the kitchen tempted us into almost stealing those chimichangas that were left on the counter, despite their burned exterior and surely frozen interior--and we were silent in our contented eating. After shoveling the pasta into our mouths in most attractive manners we sat back, took a few casual sips from our beer, and enjoyed a Rugby match on TV. This was living. The match reached halftime and the food had settled enough in our stomachs so that we could stand erect without tipping over, we thus decided this was as good a time as any to head out and experience the Dublin nightlife.

We met a man named Scott on the Millennium Bridge, one of many picturesque bridges that line the river, and went mouth first (what I mean to portray by this vagary is that our mouths were thirsting for that tapped mine that flows only in Dublin(I don't believe it is sold anywhere else in the world, to be honest):Guinness) into the Temple Bar district. We found a particularly popular bar and ventured in. It being nearly 6 or 7 hours since our last taste of the black gold we fought tooth and nail to the front of the queue to put our orders in. We sipped gingerly on our sweet success and enjoyed the second half of the Rugby match. This particular pub being rather raucous we decided to move on. We found, on the outskirts of Temple Bar, a charming bistro with patrons enjoying new wave music and lifting cappuccino cups up to their goateed faces all the while pontificating on the erroneous views of unnamed politicians (Ha! Just kidding. It was another pub. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.) With each pub came new faces, new lighting, new smells and sounds, and each one that night had a character that is indefinable. Each was unique, yet they all offered the same friendliness, the same jovial atmosphere, and the same wonderful tasting beer.

The next morning found a few of us alert while others had a bit of a tougher time removing themselves form their bunks. You see, the night before, when four of us called it a night and went back to the hostel, three stayed on to go to something like 6 or 7 more pubs and came back early in the morning. Thus, it was a bit of a slow morning.

I will be brief in discussing our last day in Dublin. Of course there were wonderful and life-altering moments that will go unmentioned, but I have found myself dragging and droning on and on. So for that I apologize and will quickly summarize our last thirty-six hours.

We walked to the beautiful and awe-inspiring Trinity College. Where the old buildings glowed from the sunshine. We strolled the grounds like uncaring school children, naive to the crowds of tourists and skipping from each new sight to the next. Next we found a few parks that livened our senses and brought smile upon our faces. We sat on benches and, thoroughly exhausted, laughed as those do when it is really late at night. Finally, our day coming to a close, we went to the supermarket and again bought a nice meal for us to enjoy over the Rugby Final. The pubs that night glowed red and orange from the lights of the city street. Our exhaustion was evident in the slow means in which we took sips from our pints. We each looked around hopefully, as if to catch that moment that will last forever. Our eyes searched and searched, until we found that once again time had overtaken us and it was that and that alone that would bring an end to our trip.

The next morning we walked placidly to the bus station and, after a bit of confusion boarded a bus to the airport. We were relatively silent that bus ride, lost, I think, in our thoughts....



Again, sorry for the abrupt conclusion to Dubliners, but I realized that I have taken way too long to write this so I am, in a sense, cutting and running. There were certainly moments that were worth whole-hearted comment but, I think in a way it is wise to be withholding.

'Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. '

(Yeah, it's from The Wonder Years)