On Sunday I decided to take the bus into town and just see where it took me. From Drumcondra I hopped on the 16 and I rode it until I stopped recognizing where I was. Once I got off, I walked for a little while and realized I was hungry, so I stopped at a little place on a side street called Bliss. (I've since looked up that it's on Montague Street). I took a little photo:
I ate a nice little brunch, and read a supplement to the Tribune. Of particular note, to me, was a section where they interviewed about five or six out of work young people. I have to say it wasn't encouraging. The recession is all over the news here. I feel very little hope of finding work any time soon! But I will do my best, of course.
After brunch, I walked around with really no aim at all, and just window shopped. I had only a couple of errands in mind: to buy Mark's uncle a birthday present, and to get a little gadget for getting online, which, after weeks of research and hemming and hawing, I'd decided was the best and least expensive way to have internet at home. I'd finally decided that it was the way to go, and all I needed to do was go into the store and get it. BUT when I went in, with all kinds of ID and bank info and stuff, it turned out that you need an actual bank *statement* to sign up for a contract. As my account was about a week old, and had only one transaction, so I didn't have a statement, and apparently a letter from the bank wasn't sufficient. So I had to leave the shop empty handed, which disappointed me to no end because I had had my heart set on getting set up online and calling family with Skype (not to mention job hunting of course).
So I got on the bus, rather sad. But speaking of my bus ride home, as I was fixing to get off the bus, my eyes nearly popped out of my head as I noticed THIS bit of graffiti behind the driver's seat:
I didn't even care what anyone thought -- I reached into my bag as quickly as possible and snapped a photo. If you're having trouble making it out, it's a sort of cartoonish depiction of 3 KKK members with those letters written above them. I don't mean this as a commentary on Irish society, but WOW. I mean seriously wow.
Yesterday evening Mark and I went over to his uncle's house to say happy birthday. And on the way I had to take a couple of photos. The first was of a park that is just at the end of our street that I hadn't been to.
We sort of found ourselves biking through it by accident, trying to find a short cut. And this older gentleman was calling at us that there's "No bicycling in the park! No bicycling in the park!" Ah well. I almost felt bad for laughing at him.
The second photo I took was for my friend Egan because I noticed a guesthouse with his name:
I definitely got my exercise today because I went back to the place to get my internet gadget (bank statement in hand) and I realized that while I had the statement, I had forgotten my wallet at home! So I had to bike all the way back home and get it and bike back again! But as I was zipping back and forth, I thought to myself that I was glad that I got my bike training in Boston because if I wasn't used to Boston traffic, I don't think I'd ever have the guts to ride around Dublin. I'm just about used to the left side thing, but sometimes I do get confused. I'm officially messed up because I was watching a documentary where an Englishman goes to the States and drives, and I couldn't figure out where they were.
Tomorrow I will go out in search of a solution to the problem of Gypsy using the leather sofa as a scratching pad....