Where was Charles? Dublin

"April vacation was coming up, and I couldn't bear wasting it away at home, so I decided to take a trip... but where? I really wanted to go to Europe, but that wasn't in my budget. I wanted a to go on a road trip again, but gas would've cost an arm and a leg, and a spleen. So I decided on Montreal, it was far, but not too far; a little foreign, but still English speaking. I figured it would be a good opportunity to have experience traveling alone, stay at a hostel, meet new people, commit some social faux pas, and do whatever the fuck I wanted."

Those were my words describing why I went to Montreal this spring. It was a great experience and everything that I hoped for. Traveling to Montreal alone, I learned that I didn't mind adapting to unfamiliar places, being uncomfortable, learning to trust strangers, and living without a plan. Actually, I really enjoyed it. Most importantly, I met other travelers who'd been traveling months, sometimes years, on end. So there was a voice in the back of my head asking me, "Why not me? Why can't I have my own little epic adventure?".

Really there was nothing standing in my way, except for money (but that's what credit cards are for, right?). Having a part-time job, I could disappear anytime I wanted. Being 25 years old, I figured trips like these only get more and more difficult as the years pass by (this is also the last year I qualify for certain youth discounts). Also, the wushu folks were going to China again, so it was a good time to make my great escape. I made up my mind to go... take a break from shitty Connecticut... make up for lost time... learn about other people to hopefully learn something about myself... but where?

Europe... it had to be Europe. The food, art, history, culture, beer, the place where my grandfather got his masters of fine art degree (Rome, bet you didn't know that), the food (it's worth repeating), the photo opportunities, all within reach, it was calling my name. My sisters and I had actually planned on a trip to Europe for a few weeks, but the conflict in the Middle East got in the way. So I decided to go alone. I already knew I was capable. In the few months before August, I did some research in my Let's Go: Europe guidebook, learned a little French, bought a plane ticket and eurail pass, booked a few hostels (to get my feet wet), and registered for some volunteer work (so I wasn't just a tourist).

The night before I left, I was kicking ass in Guitar Hero and eating Hooter's wings with Seth and Rich. I decided to save the packing for the next morning, for there wasn't much to bring: some comfortable clothes, sturdy shoes, sleeping bag, travel size hygiene supplies, photography equipment, and an ipod nano (yes, even the mp3 player has to be small). I had to get used to living minimally, because starting the next day, I was officially going to be... a backpacker.

*cue national geographic theme music

"LEAVING HOME"

After packing my bag, my mom drove me to Union Station in Hartford
on her way to work. Hmm... that morning was the last time I walked
out of a home I've been living in almost for the past 20 years. Strange.

Boston's South Station. I know there's a sign that explicitly says "no photos
allowed", but I'll only take it as a challenge.

At Logan airport waiting for my plane. See that bag at my feet? I was
going to be living out of that for the next few months. Even my sleeping
bag is somewhere in there. I had unstuffed it to make it more compact,
paying for it during really cold nights, but overall, a good decision.

A plane

Hello and goodbye Chicago. I took a flight that connected through the
windy city. I know it's counter-intuitive flying west before flying east, but
it saved me $50 and netted me an extra 800 frequent flyer miles.

The headline and photo on the newspaper cover looks awful at a glimpse.

"FIRST STEPS"

After traveling for a whole day, I finally arrive in Dublin, Ireland. Really,
it took a whole day. I woke up Tuesday morning in Manchester, and
because of long travel times, delays, and layovers, I arrived in Dublin
Wednesday morning. Major jet lag ensued. From the airport, I had to
take a bus to the city center. I was pleasantly surprised that they were
double decker busses.

Hopping off the bus, I was greeted with a sight I had to learn to get
used to, life. Streets filled with pedestrians, merrily going about their day.

Damn, wrong country... should've double checked my ticket.

This is the hostel I stayed at in Dublin. I stayed in a shitty 20 bed dorm,
the cheapest room available. I guess you get what you pay for. It actually
wouldn't have been bad if the people weren't so weird. Like in the bed
next to mine were two butch girls from switzerland who didn't seen to
believe in taking showers. And there was a very round girl in the bunk
above mine who moaned in a sensual way in her sleep. It would've been
okay, but as I said, round. I think my incredible experience in Montreal
raised my expectations a little too high for hostels.

Backpacker Rule #1: DO NOT book 20 bed dorms

But the one great thing about the hostel, the reason besides
price that I booked it, was its location near the center of the city.
Also right near the hostel was "cheap" internet. It's expensive
compared to home, but considering it got up to €8 an hour
in Venice, this was a bargain.

I knew I shouldn't have been surprised, but it surprised
me anyway that Gaelic is still used in Ireland. I honestly
thought they only spoke English with their funny Irish accents.

This is where it's made... the thick black tonic that Irish folk seem to
live and die by.

For lunch, I had southern fried chicken. Southern? Southern what?
They got soul food in Ireland now? The chips were doused with vinegar
and salt, delicious, in a traditional Southern way.

The Guinness Storehouse is Ireland's #1 tourist attraction. I figured I'd
save it for later... didn't want to do something so touristy right off the bat.

Ahh.. shit.

Lies!!!

I like walking the streets and trying to get a sense of what
it's like living in a city. There were a lot of apartments
like these that reminded me of difficult poverty stricken life
in the late 19th century. Though the most tragic thing in
Dublin these days are the probably Burger Kings and McD's.

A company that services castle window... don't see too
many of those at home.

A door store with no doors or windows. I love irony.

This picture almost looks like it's from another century, except that
the guy is using a "little giant" ladder that are sold on infomercials.

Yay, protest. I love protests. Wait, that's the Palestine flag... bad protest.

An American style diner that rips off Johny Rockets. EAT

Run!

You can't walk a few minutes in any direction without walking past a
pub Dublin. That's ALL there is to do in this city at night. The best
pubs were the ones that had live traditional Irish music. It was fun
watching the old folks dancing to the music. Different people were
stepping in and out of the dance, switching partners in unison. The crowd
was singing along having a jolly good time. I just took it all in... all the
music sounded the same to me. I can't be blamed though, I'm a foreigner.
I was sitting with a group of guys from Belfast. They were as unfamilar with
the music and enthralled by the atmosphere as I was, and they're Irish.
You don't have to go far to experience different culture in Europe I guess.

It was fun finding advertisements for stereotypically Irish things. I'm sure
it's not as amusing for the people living there.

This was the breakfast offered at out hostel, just a roll with a small juice
and hot drink. As I said, shitty hostel. But what really sucked about the
hostel was that they only served it until ten, which isn't a problem
except that when the clock hit ten, the staff kicked everyone out of the
breakfast room. Clearing the room as if performing an evacuation
procedure. With no other common area in the hostel, it was difficult to
meet other travelers.. which is usually the cool thing about hostels.

Yay, stereotypical Irish things... except Kenny Rogers. I didn't know
he was still performing.

I was tickled that a convenience store can be named "Spar". What I found
out during my travels though, is that this chain dominates the convenience
store niche in Europe. I don't recall seeing a single 7-11 over there, but there
were Spars in every country I visited. Whoa... SPAR

I headed back to the Guinness Brewery to fully enjoy the Dublin
experience. I mean, if there was a better way to characterize Dublin than
by mentioning the pubs, it's to mention the people's obsession with
Guinness. It's like their national treasure, their prized possession. Dublin
figuratively reeks of Guinness.

Yay for Guinness

Everything you can possibly imagine that's branded with Guinness.
It would've been cool to buy a set of glasses, but... yeah, impractical.

Same strain of yeast from hundreds of years ago? That's
kinda gross.

A very stock photo-like picture of the roasted barley that gives Guinness
the color and coffee-like flavor. They were out for people to sample.
It tasted and crunched like grapenuts cereal. One guy kept on going
back and grabbing handfuls of the stuff... it wasn't THAT good.

A countdown to the next brew.

The Storehouse was built in 1904 to house the fermentation
process, so the giant vats were fun to look at. I agree with
the guidebooks that said the museum had more style than
substance though. It would have been more interesting
if the factory was still in use, or maybe to tour the modern
brewing facilities also.

There were a whole lot of other exhibits concerning
Guinness, but the pot of gold here wasn't at the end
of the rainbow, but on the top floor.

A nice view of the Dublin skyline (if you can call it that).

A bartender pouring free pints of Guinness (though it's not really free
because it cost an exorbitant €12 to enter the museum). They pull a pint
in two stage because the head is so thick... I've seen it done that way at
home, but boy... this froth in the Guinness here took forever to settle
while people were licking their lips with anticipation.

Me with the freshest, purest pint of Guinness I'll ever drink in my life.
It was delicious. The cool creamy sip really hit the spot. People say that
Guinness in Ireland is better than the Guinness you find elsewhere.
Maybe it's psychological, but I absolutely agree.

aww... it was chained up and everything. Must have been the thuggish
Irish kids. Really, they look like they stepped out of the 80's with their
jean jackets and cigarettes. I didn't get any good pictures of them, but
some video clips. Maybe I'll eventually get around to editing a video
of my trip.

I had a bowl of soup here because it was recommended in my guidebook. It wasn't
really good though, then again, can cream of leek soup ever be really good?

Salt beef and onion jam. Mmm, I should come back on a Friday.

More free live music. Free + Backpacker = Good

The wood used for the interior was salvaged from the original vat houses
in the St. James Gate Brewery (Guinness Brewery). I was confused about
what Temple Bar was when I first arrived in Dublin, thinking it was a
famous bar. Everyone was saying "you HAVE to to go to Temple Bar" I later
figured out it was a whole neighborhood with nothing but pubs and inns.
It's mostly frequented by tourists though, so not a really authentic experience.

Streets full of drunk people, or people looking to get drunk. Like in
America, the drunken state is common and not frowned upon in Ireland,
unlike elsewhere in Europe.

A Bed & Breakfast. There are a ton of those in Ireland, far outnumbering
major hotel chains.

Quaint, except that the Liffey looks putrid and polluted up close
and those gulls probably drop toxic shit.

I visited Trinity University because, well, I stumbled upon it while walking.
I joined a tour group, floating around the periphery. It saves me from
having to pay for the tour, and I also don't feel obligated to listen when
it's getting boring.

Backpacker Rule #2: Soundwaves don't know whether you've payed or
not... there's always a free tour.

Some academic building that appears way too small to need columns.

I remember learning about this at an art history class. I didn't feel like
spending €8 just to see a book, so I passed on that one.

Pokeball

Somehow, I managed to miss Grafton Street during my first 2 days in
the city. It's a lively pedestrian area full of shops and street performers.

YES! Street performers. That day was my introduction to street performers
in Europe. They are one of the things I've missed most since returning
home. Free live entertainment.

What a foul sight!

I didn't notice this at all when I was taking the picture.

Ahh... pigeons... I have a lot of fond memories of those sky rats on my trip.

That's horrible. I should've used a thicker marker.

A really entertaining Aussie street performer. Look at the
couple with the bulging guts in the crowd. Blame the Guinness.

He balanced on top of a free standing ladder and asked the Russian girl
to toss a knife up at him. She was reluctant, and the poor guy nervously
balanced himself for a long time before she finally tossed it up.

Wow... so Irish. Aside from the hoardes of Italian tourists in the city,
Dublin seemed to be very ethnically homogenous. Irish people are
without a doubt, Irish... freckles and all.

Speaking of Italians, this is Silvia from Venice. She scooted up next to
me while watching the juggling act, and we hung out for the rest of
the day. She was in Dublin studying English. Even she complained that
she heard too Italian in the streets, and the Dubliners had such thick
accents, they were hard to learn from. Well, I took it upon myself to
teach her a proper American accent. She tried to correct my Italian
pronunciation... "a che hora arriva il treno per Roma". I said it again
and again, but she just laughed. I couldn't figure out what I was
doing wrong then eventually gave up.

Backpacker Rule #3: lone traveler with no plans + lone traveler
with no plans = instant friend

It was a beautiful day and we had lunch at the park.... but as everything
in Europe would become, even buying lunch was an adventure...

This was a really strange incident I witnessed at a SPAR... Silvia was waiting outside, and I was in line to buy a meat pie, homefries, and an orange soda when an arab looking lady cut in front of me. I didn't really mind because I was excited about my meat pie. The cashier scanned the 6 packages of strange cheese one by one, and she took out her money to pay for it. What she handed him was a €200 bill. Now... imagine paying for something at a 7-11 with a $260 bill. That's quite a large bill to break. The cashier, nervous and obviously inexperienced, found enough change in his register anyway, and handed it to her. Suddenly she got really mad, and complained that she was overcharged for the strange cheese. He scanned the items again, and couldn't figure out what to do. There was another arab woman nearby with a baby in her arms, and the baby started to cry. They both yelled at him to refund the difference, and that's when the manager came out. He was a Chinese guy. There were still about $500 worth of cash between the hands of cashier and the woman, and the manager decided to settle this by nullifying the transaction. He pulled the cheese out of the woman's hands and ordered her to hand him the change she was given. She refused to return it and yelled "Why you hate us? I am only customer, You steal! ". He tried to grab the money out of her hand, but she didn't let go. She wanted her €200 back first. "You give money back or I call police!", he told her. "We do nothing wrong! Problem because we are Arab?" It was like a scene out of the movie Crash. I was loving it, and glad that she cut me in line. I was thinking to myself, lady, it's not because you are an Arab, it's because you're paying with a freakin' €200 bill. And I was feeling bad for the cashier, having been a cashier myself, I saw the immense stress in his eyes. After a minute of pulling the cash out of her hands, the Chinese manager eventually won. He quickly counted the money and gave the €200 bill back to the woman. "Leave, we don't want your business!", he commanded, and the women stormed out. When the atmosphere settled a bit, I just looked at the cashier and said, "sorry man".

Those should be lettuce leaves, and the building should be edible.

Irish people attempting breakdancing. They should stick with their jigs.

Some street performers were more entertaining than other.
This wasn't one of them. He's was little scary actually.

Where is Charles?

After the Park and Grafton Street, Silvia and I walked around a bit and toured the
quays and bridges.

While Silvia and I were walking around, we were listening for Italian being
spoken by people passing by. We saw a couple of them on a bridge and
Silvia was coaching me to ask them, "can you take our picture?" in Italian.
They overheard us and decided to get into the picture with us.

Such an outgoing and unreserved culture.

One of the famous bridges spanning the Liffey.

Me next to the Spire of Dublin, the world's largest sculpture
(though people probably argue about the definition of sculpture).
It was built to replace Nelson's Tower which was blown up by
the IRA in 1966.

History aside, the spire was just a useful landmark for me to find my
way back to the hostel after a few drinks at night.

We met up with Silvia's Australian friend, Linda, and had dinner
at a church that was converted into a restaurant. Blasphemous! yesss.

I guess it was as strange for her to meet a Vietnamese American
as it was for me to meet a Vietnamese Australian in Dublin of all places.

After saying farewell to Silvia, I headed back to Temple
Bar for some more touristy Irish pub action.

Irish people aren't particularly big the way Americans are grossly obese.
They just have a beer gut for obvious reasons. But it's just odd to see
otherwise healthy looking people with these bulges at their midsection.

The one thing I collect when I travel are Hard Rock Cafe glasses.
Obviously, it would be impractical for me to travel around with
a bag full of glass. So I wiped the single tear from my eye and
decided that photos will be the only souvenirs I bring home.

A view of the Liffey River at night.

Next morning in Dublin, I met Ludwig (such an awesome name) at the hostel,
we randomly decided to go look for the James Joyce Centre. It was raining
and I had pretty much seen everything I was interested in, so I wasn't in
the mood to put much effort into anything. After walking around a bit,
we finally found it... closed.

However, while walking the streets of Dublin, we noticed a lot of people
wearing Red and White shirts. What could this be? As the morning wore on,
there were more and more of them flooding the streets. Overflowed with
curiosity, I asked them what was going on... "HURLING! GREATEST SPORT
EVER! WOOOoooiieee...", proclaimed a young man who ran off into the
distance in glee. Upon further investigation, I realized it was an Irish sport
that I never heard about, but Irish people are fanatical about it, and there
was a big semi-final game in Dublin. Yes! I can go watch a hurling match.
Unfortunately, it wasn't until the afternoon, and I'd be on a bus heading to
my next destination then.

Ludwig and I (Ludwig is the German guy to my right) got photos with fans of
each team as mementos of the day we discovered hurling. Blue and White were
the colors of Waterford.

The fans from Cork, wearing the colors of red and white, far outnumbered the
Waterford fans. I later learned that Cork won the game against Waterford,
but lost to Kilkenny in the finals a week later... haha... Kilkenny.

Some Falun Gong human rights demonstration... Yeah, it's impossible
to avoid Chinese people anywhere... even Ireland.

After having Burger King with Ludwig and saying bye, I headed to the bus
station. Next destination, Killarney. wait... did I say Burger King? I forgot
to that mention food and beer in Dublin is painfully expensive. A pint
of beer at a pub is €4-€5, even more expensive at clubs. That's $5.50-$7
for a beer. So it was either eat well, or drink well. And considering where
I was, I decided to drink well... and eat, well, poorly.

The bus ride from Dublin to Killarney in southwest Ireland took me
through pastoral countryside dotted with cows, sheep, roundabouts,
and old castles. I think it really started to hit me then, that I was in
Ireland. It could have also been the loud Irish kids and their obnoxious
nanny in the seat behind mine, but either way, a grin came to my face.

This reminds me of Harry Potter. This whole country
was reminding me of Harry Potter actually. There was
something magical about this land, and in the next
week I was going to learn just how awesome this trip
was going to become...

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