I am once again a member of the ranks of the economically-viable; I walked two blocks in a different direction and successfully located an ATM. This allowed me, five minutes later, to successfully purchase my first greasy bag of fish and chips. I brought said greasy bag back to my apartment with me, where I proceeded to enjoy the delectable goodness of deep-friedness (although, alas, it is not the same as Long John Silvers). Clearly I will need to invest in a bottle of Heinz ketchup, since the ketchup that they gave me was the same miserable, too-sweet stuff that is always to be found in Europe, but all in all I was quite pleased. Better yet, the fish and chips place is open until like one a.m., which will be quite useful for me as I begin to work even more on the stuff that I have going on in Dublin. It already stays light so unbelievably late (until after eight, and we just passed the spring equinox), and by the time the solstice hits in June, it will stay light until eleven p.m. This is perfect for me--as my workload increases, the sunshine will too, so I can work a few minutes later every day and still manage to catch half an hour of sunlight at the end of it. Awesome!
I'm quite excited about the weekend, and now that I have cash I may be able to actually go someplace and do something that doesn't involve wandering within two blocks of my apartment. I need to go out Saturday morning anyway, so afterward I will probably wander around, do some shopping, perhaps buy a cellphone, and generally scope out my environs. Sunday will probably be more of the same, unless I decide to catch up on sleep and work, but I'm trying to set goals of not having to work on the weekends, and I might as well start now.
Regardless, Dublin in really cool. Even the two blocks around my apartment, strange though they are because they are essentially a quay that has been converted into apartments and office space, and was probably rather seedy a few years ago, are really cool. There are all of these cute terraced houses, with either a little tiny lawn or a one-car parking space in front, all closed off by neat little iron railings. In the two-block walk to the convenience store I have been frequenting, I pass directly by three pubs, and I'm sure there are more within a stone's throw down any of the side streets. I also live by a DART (Dublin area rapid transit--sound familiar?) station, which gets an 'x' for noise but a 'check for convenience, even though it hasn't been quite so convenient during my cash- and time-strapped first few days.
Currently I would pay dearly for a full night's sleep and an end to this pesky sore throat; I thought I was getting sick a week ago, but I've just maintained the same sore throat without experiencing any additional symptoms. If I am lucky, perhaps I'll get consumption (tuberculosis) while I'm here; I didn't pick up bubonic plague in India, but consumption seems so much more romantic and writerly anyway. I think it would be great fun to be wrapped up in a muffler and a comfy sweater, coughing blood into a handkerchief while writing an epic tragedy that will survive the onslaught of time. I have mentioned this fantasy before, however, and I am aware that having consumption is probably not as romantic as it sounds. This is particularly true since a) most consumption is now caught from spending large quantities of time around homeless people, and b) the treatment requires a significant amount of rather unpleasant drugs. The treatment used to involve taking a vacation at a seaside resort, which is pretty appealling--but I guess the treatment also used to be completely ineffective, so you sort of have to pick your battles.
Regardless, Dublin has some amazing literary history, and I'm looking forward to exploring it more over the next few months. There's a big festival here soon to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Samuel Beckett's birth, and I'm going to have to see if I can get tickets to see a performance of 'Waiting for Godot.' Not that I really have much knowledge of Beckett, nor have I read the play, which I guess makes me an elitist poser, but I've always loved the title and I might as well see it in Dublin, right? I shall leave you to debate whether any of this post made sense; it's time for me to go to bed.
3 comments:
WAITING FOR GODOT - LUCKY!!! (ps i'm sad, though, that whenever i come to your blog, the title will have to remind me of Joyce's "Dubliners" - do me a favor and go to his grave and throw a flaming pile of cow turd on it, will you?)
The uncle says, if Tammy is talking about Joyce's grave it is in Switzerland, not Ireland.
According to the guidebooks the DART is supposed to go out to some nice communities with seaside vistas and fresh sea air. LUAS on the other hand doesn't go anywhere and doesn't live up to its name which is "speed" in Irish Gaelic. Perhaps the director of LUAS was an Amtrak employee.
Since it took you so long to find an ATM I'm glad you arrived with a few euro in your pocket.
Counterpoint to Tammy:
A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand:
“Come!”
All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing.
“Come!”
No! No! No! It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.
“Eveline! Evvy!”
He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition.
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