Some days are like that, even in Ireland

This day really kicked my ass. It’s fitting that I’m writing this kneeing in the kitchen, escaping the rowdy noise of drunken...

...okay, got kicked out of the kitchen cause they were closing it. So now I’m upstairs in my bedroom, as my two Canadian guys-guy room mates pack up their stuff. No privacy whatsoever in this place.

So, yeah, this day kicked my ass. Handing out resumes in the rain this morning sucked. The three other major coffee chains here (Costa Coffee, West Coast and Insomnia) were all pretty hostile to me even leaving my resume with them. Ultimately, it just comes down to bad customer service, cause I’m a lot less likely to go in there no to spend money. The nicest have been the Starbucks people (maybe because I’m part of the club) and one manager told me she would phone around to see if anyone needed a trained barista or would-be shift supervisor.
Then I heard back from this girl whose house I wanted to leave at that they had one more person to meet at noon and then she’d get back to me sometime in the afternoon. Pretty nerve-racking stuff. So I took a nap. Then treated myself to a large Indian lunch (was the only one at the restaurant and the waiter warned me twice that the dish I ordered was very spicy, cause, y’know, I’m white) which my body really needed. I’ll never forget how good the piping hot spicy sauces tasted on such a cold, grey day.

I had been wanting to see the Natural History Museum since back in Toronto because my Lonely Planet book described it as Victorian and whimsical and fun. So after lunch I walked all the way over there (which, although on the other side of downtown, was in truth not that far, as nothing is that far in Dublin) only to find out the museum was closed... forever. When the nice police officer told me that, I asked “Seriously? Or is that just Irish black humour?” to which he laughed out loud. Turns out the old staircase collapsed last year and they shut down the whole place.

When you’re in a foreign city, and already tired and emotional, it’s hilarious what news upsets you. Not getting to see the stuffed extinct animals irrationally upset me. So I wandered around the old Georgian section of the South side (for those who haven’t been, all the houses are attached, brick, four-stories with long windows and imposing, brightly-coloured doors. The aristocrats of Dublin wanted to out-Georgian London, and in their shining moment in the early 19th century they succeeded), discovered one park I couldn’t go into as it was only for the use of the street’s residents (as a New Democrat, I resented this), and another, Iveagh gardens, in which I sat in the rose garden.

I went home and had another nap. Then I got up and checked my emails, but the girl still hadn’t replied, so fearing the worse, I started to email other houses. On a different website (www.draft.ie) I discovered a lot of Georgian apartments actually in my price range, which shocked me. Then my phone rang, which I believe was only the second time it ever had. I didn’t get the room in the house that gave me such warm feelings. Evidently, all the housemates were present to meet the other applicant and therefore all knew that they would gel together, or something. She was really nice about it and apologetic, but I had to stop looking at house ads then. It was all too much.

I ran outside with my cell phone, desperate for some privacy anywhere. I walked down to the Liffey (past a young couple having a very awkward row in public) and hid behind the cement walls of a government buildings wheel chair ramp. Even there I wasn’t completed alone as a little 8 year old boy keep racing up and down the ramp. I didn’t care. I phoned my parents, and had a good cry. I was expecting to. The whole day was leading up to it. Better to get it out then than let it slip out randomly at some point to a shocked Irish bartender, or something. So I cried. That probably freaked out the little boy a bit, but he continued playing anyways.
My parents confirmed for me what I already knew; that it had been only three days; that there are ups and downs; that nobody else worries that I’m wasting my time here. I wiped my eyes and picked myself up. That’s what it’s all about, right?

It’s not just the disappoint though. It’s now the worrying. My reservation at the hostel is only until Monday, and although I could probably extend that if I didn’t mind changing rooms, I need my own place soon. I need to make a little nest if I’m going to start believing this city is my city. But I’m running out of time.

But rather than worrying, I went to see a movie, ‘Night at the Museum 2’. Seeing a movie is actually the best way to momentarily lose yourself when you’re traveling. And I wandered around O’Connell street, which is too wide, horribly tacky and run-down, but was kind of exciting to walk home along after dark.

When you hit a rough patch, you think about giving up. You think about going home. And it’s a good thing you indulge yourself in those thoughts for a moment because then you can sharply realize that no, in fact you do not want to quit. You want to continue, even if you’re not sleeping enough, not eating enough, tired of carrying around your camera, passport and three different keys at all times. You paradoxically want more privacy and solitude at your home space while desperately wanting to run into a friend in the street somewhere to talk and spend the afternoon together. That’s what hurt the most actually about not getting that apartment; I could see those people as my friends, and now I feel alone again.

But if you want the exciting experiences of travel, you need to take the sad times as well.

Things will look better in the morning.