The First Twenty Four Hours

Remember how I mentioned at the end of my last post a feeling of liberation from turning off my cell phone?

Take it back. It is 9:30am, Dublin time, and I am at the airport, waiting for my luggage. It is the first time I’ve been somewhere with virtually no communication and no prospective communication with anyone. I’m relying on the primitive social skills of guess-and-check who might be on my program.

Fail. I’ve already asked two people if they are study abroad students and possibly insulted them since they Dubliners.

I decide to take a taxi on my own, which ended up being a great decision anyway, since I got to have a great conversation with the cab driver. He gave me a map to follow as we drove south toward the city center, and pointed out landmarks along the way to help me get a feel for the city I’d be living in for the next four months.

We get to my apartment. It’s really nice…and really cozy. OK, it’s tiny, especially the bedrooms. But a view out my window across the rooftops of other neighborhood houses and the occasional hum of the LUAS lightrail train that runs literally 100 feet from my room make up for it.

My four roommates and I are taking it all in at this point. We decide to take a stroll around the neighborhood and up to Trinity College, where we will all be taking classes this semester. Within ten minutes of us being outside, the spontaneous and inexplicable weather patterns of Ireland begin (yes, perhaps even more fickle than St. Louis). A two minute catharsis of cool rain, followed by an unveiling of the sun from behind the rain clouds. The air is cool, and a long sleeved shirt is comfortable. Should have packed more of those…

Grafton Street – a cool, swanky shopping district that lies on one route from my apartment to Trinity. It is full of pedestrians, and the curving street is lined with all sorts of shops. Outside the shops there are mimes and ventriloquists and artists dangling marionettes. A particular favorite is the man, clad in some sort of bronze coating, who stands stock still as a statue until someone throws a few Euro cents into a bucket, at which point he becomes fully animated and starts jangling the bells he is holding.

We arrive and Trinity, which on a Saturday afternoon has devolved into a tourist attraction for travelers. We make our way around the group tours, and check out the beautiful grounds, knowing that we will become much more attached to the place in a few days.

It is now our first night out. We head to the district right behind our apartment in search of a restaurant/pub where we can enjoy our first legally ordered drinks. We happen upon a nice one called Smyth’s, but when we inquire about food, discover that the kitchen is already closed. No matter, we walk a few yards and find a nice burger place, where we make friends with the waitress who is glad to giggle off our Irish dining inexperience.

After a great meal, we head back to Smyth’s for drinks. Ethan is just about to order when Jenna points out a sign that reads, “We ID under 21.” What are the chances? Here we are, in Dublin, finally stripped of the American laws and the irresponsibilities that perpetuate it, and we can’t even order a beer.

Good thing we can just walk next door, which is exactly what we did. We ordered our first of many Guinnesses, and toasted to not having officially started our junior year at Wash U, and to not coming home from abroad as seniors (suck it spring abroaders).

After some time there, we head home, our biological clocks still a little off whack. We are meeting IES representatives tomorrow morning, so we call it in a little early.

I wake up at 4am, and not being able to get back to sleep, decide to conclude this entry about my first 24 hours.

Overriding all my feelings is a general sense of excitement—for things unexpected, for the feeling of newness. This is my first time in Europe, and I am ready to step out of the written experiences of others and step into the actual scene. I want to internalize the culture, from interacting with locals on a regular basis to telling the temperature in Celsius instead of Fahrenheit. Yet amidst this excitement, I am aware of a self-consciousness I have about being distinctly foreign. I talk differently, I walk on the wrong side of the street by accident, when I purchase something I take twice as long to count out the new currency. Some of these differences will hopefully be alleviated within the first month. But I do sincerely hope that I embrace my distinction as an American, and that I responsibly represent my culture to the Irish in a way that cultivates mutual respect and understanding.