This week in Dublin, it was rainy in spots, reflective in others, and unexpectedly grateful. Our group extended a day trip out from the city to the stunning coastal path at the Howth Cliff Walk. I’d normally describe it as a serene getaway, but we ventured out on the only rainy day on which the path had been transformed into a veritable mudslide. The scenery was stunning—cliffs dropped dramatically into the sea, large waves crashing, and skidding and splashing in flooded shoes more than once made concentrating on much other than remaining on one’s feet an irksome task. I wish the program had warned us better about just how slippery the path was on rainy days. That said, the beachfront seafood lunch afterwards made up for it. There is something delicious about munching on freshly caught sea creatures after a rainy, long slog; it makes the whole shebang in some way worthwhile.
The week had its bumps, too. A flu wave went through my building complex, and I was not exempt. Not life-threatening, but enough to have me off my feet for a day or two. Reminded me how much my body still has a hard time adjusting when in a new environment—especially in foreign lands. A healthy dose of humility that travel is fun but fatiguing. I’m happy I was back on my feet, though soon enough, and we’re all in a building where we watch out for one another. One positive observation from the week was finding the hot spot in the city now: Market Bar. Set into a ginormous open space with glittery lights and upbeat music, it was my night spot from the beginning. All the vibes felt correct—fun but not too crowded, chatty but not too rowdy. Tapas were decent, but it was more the vibes that won me over. There was this implicit aura that it was sort of a gem nobody told the public about.
Now at seven weeks in, I can truly say Dublin does feel like home. I’ve truly made friendships here—friends I did not know a few weeks ago, who now form a little bit of a selective family. That the harsh reality is we need to go is dawning on us. There’s this bittersweet emotion getting in the way: “I’m going to miss this.” It’s making me more set on taking in the very last little bit—every pub night, every Grafton Street prowl, every serendipitous chat.
This week was imperfect, but it was real—and in reality, it was depth.
