The Irish Chronicles - Right Road to Dubland
After the lonely closed down bustop in Althone we struck east across the countryside. 10:30pm and still light out, the days here are the longest I've ever seen. Corey was nose deep in Pirsig's Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and the differences between classical and romantic thought. I left my copy of The Inferno--ex libris Chris Gyngell written inside the cover in blue ink--purposefully on the shelf next to the statue of Dante at the Old Monastery in Connemara. All of the purposeful mechanizations and devices of that book that had filled my thoughts beforehand had left me. I was bored. I watched the television screen at the front of the bus. A feed from a camera attached to the front of the bus flashed images of the road ahead. Lights blinked on and off outside, cars passed, signs were rendered illegible by the tiny screen and through the filter of the camera it seemed like I was watching an old home video. The kind you would make when you were a child and just the sheer act of driving is fascinating enough to put three hours of it to tape.
Arrived in Dublin at 23:30. Walked to Issac's Hostel to book a room. The big shave-head meatstick of a Russian guy behind the counter greeted us warmly and politely. We had no reservations and he booked us beds that were already occupied. After two or three minutes of confusion. He offered to let us sleep in the common room of the hostel for free.
Now for a traveler on budget, the word free is appealing. The €15-20 that you save means one more day or four more drinks or a meal finally that isn't brown bread or a plate of pasta cooked by yourself. The word free is an unexpected blessing and so, we took it.
Starved though--and for myself severely frustrated by the five hour bus ride and hostel crisis--we set out for a late night dinner. I noticed in Galway leaving the bars that massive cues would form up around Chinese shops late at night, kids munching dumplings to race against vomiting or a hangover. So we struck out along the wide O'Connell street and found ourselves some food. Chowed on mein while Corey had something spicier with rice. In the silence I gazed at a TV screen watching a Japanese gameshow. Statuesque, superpolite, neon teenagers and twenty-somethings being forced to link arms and butt-bump the opposite team over a line. It's all good. Grin and laugh while you watch yourself be silly on instant replay.
The night though was unfortunate. The common room was a clean basement and converted 200 year old wine cellar
Arrived in Dublin at 23:30. Walked to Issac's Hostel to book a room. The big shave-head meatstick of a Russian guy behind the counter greeted us warmly and politely. We had no reservations and he booked us beds that were already occupied. After two or three minutes of confusion. He offered to let us sleep in the common room of the hostel for free.
Now for a traveler on budget, the word free is appealing. The €15-20 that you save means one more day or four more drinks or a meal finally that isn't brown bread or a plate of pasta cooked by yourself. The word free is an unexpected blessing and so, we took it.
Starved though--and for myself severely frustrated by the five hour bus ride and hostel crisis--we set out for a late night dinner. I noticed in Galway leaving the bars that massive cues would form up around Chinese shops late at night, kids munching dumplings to race against vomiting or a hangover. So we struck out along the wide O'Connell street and found ourselves some food. Chowed on mein while Corey had something spicier with rice. In the silence I gazed at a TV screen watching a Japanese gameshow. Statuesque, superpolite, neon teenagers and twenty-somethings being forced to link arms and butt-bump the opposite team over a line. It's all good. Grin and laugh while you watch yourself be silly on instant replay.
The night though was unfortunate. The common room was a clean basement and converted 200 year old wine cellar