May you be a day in heaven before the devil knows you're dead.

Five days in Ireland, and I'm toasting with a Guinness like Joyce himself.

This is one of the best trips I've ever taken.

I stayed, again, with a stranger, which was excellent. He has four Spanish roommates, which was wholly frustrating for me, because there's no excuse for my inability to speak that language, and it makes me want to move to Spain until I learn. Anyway. They were great people, too.

Dublin. Dublin. Where do I start? Is it enough to say it's one of the only European cities I've visited, if not the only, that I could actually see myself choosing to live? It's remarkably diverse -- I don't think I even met any Irish people, aside from the few museum workers I talked with at length, just Spaniards and Italians and Canadians. It's compact, easy to get around. Traffic is terrible, but it's easy to walk everywhere so it's only a bother when you have to wait for ages to cross the street.

And the nightlife is okay, too.











You should know that these people are amazing and wonderful. Also, my hair is very long.

It should never be said that I'm not head-over-feet in love with my life.