Baby You Must Be Irish...

cause my richard* is Dublin!

So what is a simple ex-pat to do when they are looking to get away for the weekend, to find a place where it is acceptable to act a fool a bit and not be an oddity in the crowd?  Why Dublin of course!  At least this is the idea that my good friend (Kapil) and I had back in January of 2012 (plus you can't beat a EUR 99 flight).  So it was settled two gents on the town for a weekend of drink and maybe some sightseeing along the way.  So Friday and time to jet, I meet up with Kapil to catch the train to the airport and as we got to the airport we were provided a little bit of foreshadowing as to what the weekend would have in store.  After throwing an elbow or two to disperse the crowd** we make our way to the escalator to the terminal.  So in front of us is a German guy and he must have heard us speaking English or something because out of nowhere this guy looks at us and exclaims, "George Bush is zee BEST! Fuck zee rest!"  Needless to say were a bit taken aback by this and quite frankly we both realized after the fact that it was massive fail on our part to not chase him down and get this on film...pretty sure we would have become YouTube millionaires or something.

Now in the planning phases of the trip our other friend (Mark) said that he was contemplating joining us but it would be a last minute add.  As he worked for the airline finding a last minute deal wouldn't be such the issue for him, but as we were entering the airport Mark hadn't contacted either of us to provide the thumbs up or down on if he would be joining, so a friendly bet of the first Guinness was waged and I am happy to say I won as we rounded the corner to the gate and saw Mark waiting for us.  So now it was three gents on the town for a weekend of drink and sightseeing...maybe.

So upon landing in Dublin and checking into the hostel (yes I said hostel, and yes I know I am 32) we were off to figure out what to do on a Friday night in Dublin.  Well it just so happens that the top 10 hostlels in Dublin (not sure what that criteria is, no bed herpes, maybe?) host a pub crawl on a nightly basis.  What better way to be immersed in the drinking culture of a city then by taking a guided tour of the local watering holes where they feed you free booze on the way into each place (ok...maybe not the best way, but don't knock it they are fun).  So the first few bars weren't that much to write home about, just the three of us having a few beverages and telling jokes, but the 3rd bar now that is were the night started to turn interesting because they had BEER PONG!  So Kapil and I were all in and secured a table and pitchers to play, all we needed were opponents.  So as we were about to try and recruit some opponents, a few American college students asked to join in the fun and it turns out neither of them had played before as they both attended a very religious college and could get kicked out for drinking (not BYU, but some joint in PA).  At any rate it turns out that these two young lasses were studying abroad in Dublin and were basically using their study abroad as an opportunity to rebel against their institution of higher learning (and maybe some other deep rooted issues, who knows).  So making it a fair match we both teamed up with one of the young bucks and played a few games of pong.  I should mention that my team won all three games played as I was supposedly sandbagging my skills per Kapil (seriously though I suck at beer pong and happened to catch fire this night).

Mark and his we need more drinks face at closing time

The next few bars on the tour weren't all that eventful either, just progressively aiding these students in their rebellious drinking.  Maybe a more reasonable person would have told them not to give in to the drink, but some of the greatest people were complete drunkards and possible even on a more nasty trip. Also, when in Rome.  Soon enough we were on to the final bar of the evening which was this dance club place (we got free admission, so no harm done).  Well after a while of being in the place and being quite intoxicated ourselves at this point Kapil, Mark and I decided it was time to leave.  So after retrieving our coats we tried to go out the way we came in only to be redirected by the door guy to some other form of an exit that was up by the main bar...whatever.  So in looking for this exit I see a green sign with the running dude to the exit and somehow deduce this must be the way out.  So down a long corridor and past the kitchen (I think) of the club (this probably should have been my first sign of a wrong turn) we came upon a closed door that was clearly an emergency exit...well not any longer, it was just the way out tonight.  So we fling the door open and an alarm starts blaring in our ears (as these things tend to do).  This immediately incites us all start running down the next corridor (of course this wasn't actually the door to the outside), up and down various flights of stairs, running, running, sprinting until finally the alarm became a distance squeal...next door.  Now at this point I was fairly certain that there would be 4 or 5 of Dublin's finest waiting for us outside of this door as we clearly trigger the fire alarm by opening the first door, but no turning back now...only one way to go.  So through the door we went signaling another loud siren...but no cops...yet.  So another dead sprint up the loading dock and down the street, turning here, turning there, can't go there bouncers are sure to be waiting with forearm shivers, this way, down here...in the clear.  Finally, far enough away, walk casual...nothing to see here...alarms at a club...no idea...yes...in the clear.

Now about 10-15 minutes after the fact when I had my wits back about me (and more so now, a few months after the fact) I realize how irrational my thinking was at the time.  Fire alarm?  Please, I know from my years in the restaurant and movie theatre business that these things just make a loud ass noise, no triggering of any alarms...because jackasses like me set them off all the damn time.  We were true fugitives...fugitives of our wild and drunken imaginations.  Alas, we started to head back to the hostel and figured a night cap was in order, so off to another bar...but only to be denied entrance as we had lost track of the time (or were just used to Germany's lax cut off) and it was past the bar hour of 2:30...no room at the inn for our livers.  Just then however there was a ray of hope...ah yes, a Ray's New York Pizza!  Just what the doctor ordered.  Now Ray's and I have a bit of a history, maybe someday I will recap other stories of my life, but this time it was just a friendly transaction.  No shenanigans, just a damn fine slice and a good way to end the evening.

At the St. James Gate

Day 2...ugg...head needs to stop pounding...yes, the all too familiar symptoms of the hangover.  Slow moving for sure, and this definitely put a dent in our ambitious goal to visit both the Guinness Storehouse and the Jamison Distillery in one day...had to cut it to one, so Guinness it was.  After the stroll through Dublin to the Guinness Storehouse we fell upon the glorious site of the St. James Gate...and respects were to be paid in the only way that seemed appropriate...Tebowing!  Ok I realize it was lame now, but it was at the height of the fad and I got carried away...plus I just love the stuff.  So the tour to the Guinness factory is pretty darn cool, even if you don't actually go into the factory and see the magical elixir being made.  It is more of a museum that walks you through the process of Guinness production with a lot of video and interactive type stuff to play with.  After the tour there are supposedly two options you have to cash in on your free pint.  You can either "pour your own" pint where they teach you the proper etiquette/process of pouring a Guinness or you can go up to the bar on the top floor.  However, rules are for bowling...not beer, and when you are traveling with a cheeky Englishman...well all bets are off.  So our cunning companion Mark realized that the credit card receipt they give you is printed on the same stock as the ticket (which is your pass to a free pint), so why not try to pass off the receipt as your ticket.  Well it worked!  While most of the suckers in the place only got one free pint, we were sneaky enough to get 2 (real criminal masterminds...I know)!  To pull this trick off, I think the way to go about it is to use the receipt for the bar upstairs as it was quite crowded and the bartenders were just trying to get everyone a beer and may not be quite as hawkish as the guy who monitored the pour your own line.

So after a quick stop back to the hostel to change, it was off for night 2 on the town...edition Temple Bar.  Now for those of you who haven't been to Dublin, Temple Bar is basically a street one block off of the river that is just a row of bars.  So our goal, start at the top and hop from bar to bar and make our way back down to the hostel and the other end of the road.  With ambition on our side we were off.  Now I can't say there was much going on that turned this into as an eventful of an evening as our Friday and quite frankly I think we all went all in with our chips on Friday.  Still a night was to be had, and as we progressed from bar to bar and beer to beer, we picked up some steam, chatted up a few locals, danced with some crazy Russians to Bruce Springsteen, and wound up right back where we started at the Temple Bar (not to be confused with the street, but this is an actual bar).  In Temple Bar, as I was coming back from the bathroom, I started chatting up a few guys who asked me where I was from, and when I said Ohio the one immediately started in with "Ohhhhh....we don't give a damn about the whole state of M*ch*g*n."  I had a new friend.  Apparently, this guy had spent some time in Ohio during his studies and thought the whole rivalry was fantastic.  I couldn't agree more, but after a few drinks I need to go an locate Mark and Kapil.  Once meeting back up, it was quickly bar time again and we were back on the street with our thirst and no place to go.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention a bit more about my friend Mark at this point.  Now as I have stated, Mark is an Englishman who is easily one of the funniest people I have come across in my time here in Germany, and some of his one liners and stories were easily the highlight of this trip.  Unfortunately, I cannot remember how some of them came up, but a few of his gems were 1) describing how one girls outfit make her look like a bloody Christmas ham, 2) telling a tale about a man who was on the telly as the self proclaimed UK wanking champion, and 3) his brief oral history of Oscar Wilde.  

The students at Trinity practice safe sex

Sunday was our leaving day but there was time to kill prior to the flight and Kapil and I were hell bent on seeing the Jedi Library at Trinity College (ok, well just the library that Lucas used to model the Jedi library).  Unfortunately, we were unable to take pictures inside so I could do any sweet lightsaber poses, and yes I had full intention of dorking out like that.  Also we got to see the Book of Kells (a very old text of the four gospels of the New Testament created by Celtic monks around 800, so basically one of the oldest books out there) which is also on display in the Jedi library.  After our trip to Trinity we took a walk around the city through St. Stephen's Green and the Merrion district (if you have seen any pictures of the "doors of Dublin" this is where they are).  Then back along the River Liffey for a moment to take in the city and contemplate on life and where I have been over the past 10 months and where my next adventures would take me.  Needless to say after a weekend in Dublin I truly felt like someone with American blood, but an Irish heart.

One last look upon Dublin

See you on the flip.

*wiener (sorry mom...just happen to find that joke hilarious)


** This is something I will not comprehend, but at every crowded train stop the people who are attempting to get on the train never provide a way for you to get off.  I mean it seems like simple logic that I have to leave the train before they can enter the train, but this seems to be a massive fail each and every time...confounding.

Frankfurt...where 5am happens.

So first of all I apologize for the lack of my blogability or something like that over the past few months.  I haven't been a wallflower or anything, just too damn lazy to blog which is disappointing to like the 5 of you who read this.  So sorry my peeps, but I will try to do better, I swear...just yell and badger me and guilt me into posting (Wade Stick excels at this).

So in thinking about what to discuss on this, my glorious return to the blog, I figured giving a little insight into my rambling text messages from the middle of the night may be a good thing...or at least a look into the weird that happens in the early Frankfurt AM.  First let me preface that I was no stranger to closing down bars back in the native land of Cleveland or my adopted home of the hotness that is Atlanta.  However, as all of my fellow friends of the bottle know, the bars close at a somewhat reasonable 2-2:30 AM back in the majority of the USA.  Let me tell you, this is a good thing...seriously.  I know the lot of you who get after it may want the party to go on all night, and some of you who may have experienced NYC or Chicago and the magic of 4am may long to have that ability each and every day of your drinking career.  This is a slippery slope my friends, once you commit yourself to the long haul of a truly dangerous night out where the hallucinations of Jager kick in and the whiskey flows maybe a little too profusely, you may find yourself regretting decisions (the ones you recall at least) for weeks on end.  The loss of motor skill is not uncommon either.  Your legs may just give way to the pavement or you may find yourself wandering the streets in your socks wondering just what the hell is actually happening.  Yes this is the magic of 5am when only the truly hardcore are being removed from a bar and seeking refuge at the 24 hour saloon if only to sober up on beer.

If this is what it looks like when you walk home, you may be drunk

These nights in Frankfurt always seem to start on the same note, usually me stating to one of my fellow revelers that I don't want to make it a long night and will probably take off after the evening's first stop.  Then the rub happens, see in Frankfurt I get everywhere I go via the train system (and a mighty wonderful thing the U-Bahn is).  However, the train system takes a short nap in the early AM from 1 until 4:30, so if you miss that last train you find yourself reasoning with the fact that since you missed that train you might as well continue on until the trains start running again.  Yes Frankfurt has taxi cabs a plenty, but that would ruin the whole point of reasoning with yourself that it is OK to stay out a little while longer, I mean it is only 3 more hours and what is that when you have already been out for 3+ hours.  So then it is decided you have settled in for the long haul and the excitement that awaits for you at then bottom of your next glass of Pils.

The first two hours generally tick by in relatively normal fashion, I mean it is only 3 AM an hour I am accustomed to and at this point, unlike Rob Thomas, I am not lonely.  Nay, I am surrounded by my fellow man.  Hell this is the time when you are making life long connections with people (or so you think).  A 3 AM conversation with your new friends from Ireland (who's names you won't remember in 3 minutes, let alone the next day) regarding tomorrow's rugby match, a perfectly normal thing.  User beware as you may be convinced that you need to now power through the evening and watch rugby with you new friends at 7 AM...(yes this actually happened).  Then you are in, pulling for even the longer haul.  You may still realize that going home is the more acceptable answer at this point, but what fun would that be and you would never wake up in time for this all important rugby match (even if you have never watched the game before).  So there you find yourself, another bar, 4 AM...time ticking down, only 3 more hours to go, but wait where did your new friends go?  You remember something about a 24 hour bar near the train station so in a cab you ride trying to find this dive (and why you don't have them steer you home, it is a lost cause at this point) and by the grace of you cabbies ability to understand slured English you actually find this bar.  5 AM...6 AM...you know a few faces in the bar, but comprehension is not your strongest attribute at this point, you are just buying time and finally, 7 AM.  Luckily the 24 hour bar is around the corner from your rugby spot and somehow the Irish guys are there!  You settle in and watch about 10 minutes of rugby before you realize, you have no idea what is going on in this game and have a snowballs chance in hell of actually figuring it out...so to the cab you go (even though the trains are running...you reason that you just need to get home at this point) and find your way back to your bed to rest up until you can't fight the daylight anymore.

This is just one variation of the story, sometimes you find yourself drinking with a guy in his late 60s from Minnesota named Kurt (ok, so Kurt is probably my favorite person I have met in Frankfurt, he is the dirtiest old man ever).  Maybe you run into someone telling you to trust the alternative media that turns into an argument where you proclaim that the "alternative media" is just some fat kid sitting in his parents basement eating Cheetos.  Other times you are just singing Country Roads at the top of your lungs with the rest of the bar and pouring one out for Jani Lane (people thought I was nuts).  The key to making this all successful at the end of the day is finding people to employ the buddy system of drinking with.  At the end of the day, we all need someone who you can count on to tap you on your shoulder when you really need to go home, or at least is committed enough to see it through to the other side with you.  This is the one unequivocal fact that I have learned in my first 6 months living abroad, and something that is missed from time to time.  It is also a fact that I (along w/ most that I know) take for granted back in the US.  Your friends who are willing to belly up with you and from time to time send you on your way are the most important accessory to a successful night out.

To those of you who have been to this dark side with me I thank you and hope that I have or will return that favor to you in the near future.

See you on the flip.

Authors Note:  I sincerely apologize for quoting Matchbox 20 in this blog post.  I will do better with my pop-culture references next time.