During Travel Post #2

NOTE #1: This post was written on August 20th; typed up and posted today, the 21st.

"Did you find adventure?" Dinadin asked.

"No," the man said grimly. "Nor does anyone else. Adventure is something that happens to someone else. When it's happening to you, it's only trouble."

|You found something better than adventure," Palomides said gravely. "You found wisdom."

-- Gerald Morris; The Tale of Sir Dinadan

Ever built up an event or a holiday in your head? You had the whole thing planned out up there, didn't you? What route you'll take, or who will sit next to who at Thanksgiving dinner. You're imagining the conversations, probably. And it's amazing while it's up there, isn't it? Just perfect.

And then the day comes and -- well, you miss your exit. Your Uncle Rusty and Aunt Francine had a fight in the car on the way over, and their sniping spills over into the meal.

It's not ruined, per se. More like marred.

That's been Dublin for me so far.

Granted, I've only been here for...  about five hours so far, but it's been...

Well, let me try to explain.

If we were personifying cities: Bath would be the stately grandmother, proud of her history and eager to share her stories. London would be the middle-to-upper class older businessman, suit and hat and umbrella, confident and experienced and just a touch arrogant.  Cardiff would be the just out of university twenty-something, with a head full of knowledge that they can't wait to show off, young and confident while old in the same breath.

Dublin's the teenager who could care less about the museum, they just want to hit the gift shop.

Maybe it's because getting in was taxing -- travel tends to be, and missed stops and delayed planes make it worse -- but it's almost like Dublin's fighting its own history. This is the land of Wilde, of Joyce, of Swift, the proverbial literary land of milk and honey. All I see are shops and pubs.

There is an old joke about not being able to walk a block in Dublin without passing a pub. The answer, of course, is to go into every one. Then you haven't passed it.

Of course, my locale is vastly different here than it was in my other stops. London's digs were Te-Tiny (capitals needed)) but remote enough to be almost charming. Bath was a stately B&B. Cardiff was a renovated old house by the river. Here I'm in the Temple Bar district, the city's high street. I'm sure that if I had been in Picadilly or right off the Plass I'd have different opinions.

(I don't think Bath can get down the way the Romans used to do it.)

I think, maybe, it was the build-up. I'm Irish way back, and Eire is the homeland. I expected it to be home so much that when it wasn't, I got disappointed. And, maybe, just a touch homesick.

Tomorrow will be better. Rest and sleep will do wonders.

NOTE #2: As I wrote this, I sat in the Merchant's Arch Bar and Restaurant, eating a delicious Irish lamb stew, drinking a red lemonade and vodka, and listening to a live musician sing classic Irish songs as well as some modern covers. He did "Walkin' in Memphis" and honestly, it was just what I needed to hear.