I'm totally in Dublin right now. It's already been a jolly old time. I arrived at about 8:15 this morning. I found out that it is a holiday weekend in Ireland, so the hostels are all booked up. That kind of freaked me out because I only had plan A and plan B. Plan A was to ask a stranger if I could stay with them. Plan B was to stay in a hostel. Seeing that plan B is the "realistic" plan A, I really have no plan now. Live and learn I guess.
I went to a couple hostels from the Lonely Planet book Paul gave me and sure enough they were all booked up this weekend. So I wandered down one of the main avenues looking for other places to stay and I found one advertising relatively good prices. They had an open bed in one of their 10-bed rooms tonight, so I paid the 15 euro and signed up. The place absolutely reeks, they don't wash the bedding (I'm sure of it), and there is one dim light lighting the whole room. As I walked out of the hostel, I almost stepped in a puddle of vomit. We should definitely try to figure something different out for tomorrow night.
Other than the hostel, though, Dublin is sweet. It's in the 50's, the sky is cloudy, and it's drizzled a little today, but the people are freakin sweet. I talked to a bunch of locals and they're all so jolly and happy to talk to you. I talked to a newspaper stand guy and a bunch of his friends on a street corner. I wanted to know if there was any rugby being played in Dublin this weekend cause I'd really like to watch a math. They told me that they don't like rugby because they always kick the ball off the pitch. It was fun to talk to them. I also met a Andy and John, a couple of gardeners who were working in an elderly woman's Dalia garden. They really liked my accent, and I really liked theirs.
The coolest experience I had today, bar none, was meeting a fellow by the name of Jerry Sloey He's a folk singer/12 string guitarist who was busking down on Grafton Street. I sat there and listened to his deep smoke-scared voice and melodic strumming as I ran my tape recorder. When he was done with his first number, which was quite a dramatic song I might add, he explained to me the meaning of it. It was about the Irish workers who went over to England to dig a tunnel under the Thames and died. He then played another couple songs that he sang from the bottom of his heart. This guy had his teeth half rotten, his long hair pulled back in a pony tail and kept a half-smile the whole time he performed. I'm going to make a podcast called "This Irish Life" based on this experience.
A touching side-note to this story is the homeless kid (probably 25) who came up to Jerry and requested an old Irish song. You could tell that he loved the music that Jerry played. Before Jerry began to play, the homeless kid said, "I'm sorry, I'm homeless and I don't have any money." Jerry said, "Me too, I can't help you, sorry mate." Then the kid, surprised, responded, "No, I just don't have any money to spare that I can put in your guitar case." Jerry then looked at the kid and said, "Don't worry lad, we don't take from our own." Then Jerry played on. I could tell that for the first part of the song, the homeless kid was disturbed that he was listening without contributing to the artist. He pulled a couple 20 cent coins out of his pocket, took one, and threw it in to Jerry's box. For the rest of the song he sang to the choruses. I even joined in for the last few lines (which by that time had been sung about 5 times). It was moving.
I went to a couple hostels from the Lonely Planet book Paul gave me and sure enough they were all booked up this weekend. So I wandered down one of the main avenues looking for other places to stay and I found one advertising relatively good prices. They had an open bed in one of their 10-bed rooms tonight, so I paid the 15 euro and signed up. The place absolutely reeks, they don't wash the bedding (I'm sure of it), and there is one dim light lighting the whole room. As I walked out of the hostel, I almost stepped in a puddle of vomit. We should definitely try to figure something different out for tomorrow night.
Other than the hostel, though, Dublin is sweet. It's in the 50's, the sky is cloudy, and it's drizzled a little today, but the people are freakin sweet. I talked to a bunch of locals and they're all so jolly and happy to talk to you. I talked to a newspaper stand guy and a bunch of his friends on a street corner. I wanted to know if there was any rugby being played in Dublin this weekend cause I'd really like to watch a math. They told me that they don't like rugby because they always kick the ball off the pitch. It was fun to talk to them. I also met a Andy and John, a couple of gardeners who were working in an elderly woman's Dalia garden. They really liked my accent, and I really liked theirs.
The coolest experience I had today, bar none, was meeting a fellow by the name of Jerry Sloey He's a folk singer/12 string guitarist who was busking down on Grafton Street. I sat there and listened to his deep smoke-scared voice and melodic strumming as I ran my tape recorder. When he was done with his first number, which was quite a dramatic song I might add, he explained to me the meaning of it. It was about the Irish workers who went over to England to dig a tunnel under the Thames and died. He then played another couple songs that he sang from the bottom of his heart. This guy had his teeth half rotten, his long hair pulled back in a pony tail and kept a half-smile the whole time he performed. I'm going to make a podcast called "This Irish Life" based on this experience.
A touching side-note to this story is the homeless kid (probably 25) who came up to Jerry and requested an old Irish song. You could tell that he loved the music that Jerry played. Before Jerry began to play, the homeless kid said, "I'm sorry, I'm homeless and I don't have any money." Jerry said, "Me too, I can't help you, sorry mate." Then the kid, surprised, responded, "No, I just don't have any money to spare that I can put in your guitar case." Jerry then looked at the kid and said, "Don't worry lad, we don't take from our own." Then Jerry played on. I could tell that for the first part of the song, the homeless kid was disturbed that he was listening without contributing to the artist. He pulled a couple 20 cent coins out of his pocket, took one, and threw it in to Jerry's box. For the rest of the song he sang to the choruses. I even joined in for the last few lines (which by that time had been sung about 5 times). It was moving.
i hope you're taking pictures
ReplyDeleteDon't forget you owe me for throwing away my leftovers!
ReplyDelete