Dublin graffiti invoking Bart Simpson. Photo by Brittany Petersen.
I've been in Dublin for almost 12 hours now. I got in at 8 this morning (2am Chicago time), made it through customs, bought a bus ticket, rode into the city centre, found my hostel, dropped my stuff off, and commenced walking. I showed myself around the city, wandering through the touristy bits until I heard more Irish accents than foreign tongues. I found a park and sat in it and talked to a local about where to find good live blues. I gathered my strength to eat lunch -- a scrumptious selection of Irish meats and cheeses -- and tour the Dublin Writer's Museum (two hands up for James Joyce!), but by 1pm, jet lag reminded me who's boss, and I about passed out on my feet. I gave in and napped.
I've met a few of my fellow hostelers -- it helps to share a bedroom with 11 other people -- but I think my zombie eyes gave them the wrong impression, so the search is still on for travel friends.
Next task: Find a pub that isn't closed on Good Friday.
lol. Good Friday is pretty much the only day pubs close in Ireland. :p
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