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In the net of the spider mars 26, 2006

Posted by herraheri in Dublin 06.

Heyho pals,

Time for part three of Fear and Loathing in Dublin.

Tuesday, March 21st

I forgot what happened in the morning; when I regained consciousness, I noticed we were wearing gumboots, yellow raincoats, miner helmets and Wanderers F.C Rugby Club-Scarfs. Whatever. We were hungry, so we ate. That happened at Café en Seine, an unbelievable place. Dimmed lights, enormous plants, huge mirrors, jazz and French Chansons – it was the true 1920-businessman-experience.

Café en Seine

En plus, you could eat traditional Irish food. It was probably the most bizarre experience we made in D to the n. Ok, it sounds a little bit boring, so I will add some spice:

Next to our table, an old, poorly shaved man with an old-fashioned hat and a worn out suit was sitting around, in front of him a gorgonzola sandwich and a glass of red wine. He was wearing sunglasses; additionally, he made use of a spyglass constantly. He covered the whole room with his spyglass-views. From time to time, he made some notes. I started to feel a little uncomfortable when he stared at us for about 10 minutes. He asked for the waitress and told her that somebody was smoking inside the cafe. Then he fetched a revolver out of his suit, whispered "April is the cruellest month.", put the gun into his mouth and fired.

James Joyce

When we had finished eating, we decided that it was time for a good pint of Guinness, so we headed for the Guinness Storehouse. It was awesome. They tried to make you drink all the time ("Oh, hello, fancy a sample of Guinness?"). Unfortunately, we hadn't much time. In the Gravity Bar, the upmost floor of the brewery, we enjoyed our free pint of Guinness and a great view over Dublin.

Gravity Bar Gravity Bar viewsick

By then, it was already time to go to the airport. In the meantime, here are some more great pics from Ireland's pulsing capital:

the hostelsight-seeing 2sight-seeing

All could have been so mellow. But waiting for the airplane, we met some nice Americans in the twenties. They were so cool. One of them was wearing a shirt showing a tricycle: "My other ride is your mom". Great entertainment. If I decided to go to another country, I would surely choose this very t-shirt to gain new friends. His mate, whose idiocy and limited horizon sprang out of his face, was wearing a beret, which made him look even dumber. As if they didn't bother me enough with their look, they started to talk. It was like…like ya know what I mean, like: you wanna like…do something, pal? – man, fuck it, our, like, our plane is like flying soon. – Man, shut the fuck up! – You kidding me?

Totally awesome! I had so much fun, these guys had such a great personality! Thank you X for pimping my ride! Now get the hell outta here!

Enough of these unholy prejudices and this disgusting social criticism. I challenged them to a duel and managed it my way – with swords not words. Hu-ha.

So. I'd like to write something concluding, but I don't no what. Dublin was fucking amazing.

Sun is shining.



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