"In Dublin's fair city
Where girls are so prettyI first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!"
Happy belated Saint Patrick's Day, y'all!
Though I didn't make it to Dublin, as so many others did, Nice had no shortage of leprechaunical festivities. And you know what? There were Irish people there! Loads of them! So, yeah, I didn't go to Ireland. IRELAND CAME TO ME!
Now I didn't actually end up getting to town until 9ish, and unbeknownst to me, and a little to my chagrin, others had been "celebrating" since well before 2 o'clock. But the first bit was really fun. Just hanging out and chatting with friends. That's more my thing.
As the night wore on, one universal truth became very apparent. Namely, looking at photos and recounting stories always make nights out look so glamourous. But the reality of the situation is always quite the opposite.
No matter how the evening starts, happy or sad, grouchy or glad, it always devolves into a mind-numbing wander-fest, in which no one can make a single solitary decision on where to go or what to do because no one has a clue what they're doing anyway.
And everywhere you wander is either too full,
 |
| "That is a terrible line." |
Too expensive,
 |
| "I've just remembered how cheap I am." |
Or too sketchy.
 |
| "This place looks sketched." |
And you soon realize all you really want is club soda and your bed.
So you resolve to continue wandering. Partially in hopes of finding the holy grail of hangouts, partially out of sheer boredom, and partially in search of the friends you keep misplacing because your life is a horror movie and someone is definitely out to get you.
And that's fine. Sure. If you like walking. Lucky for me, I do. So the hour-long trek back to my room was not wholly unsatisfying.
So that was the evening out. And all the evenings out.
Does this sound familiar to you?
My guess is "good lord, yes."
Amitiés :)
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