"Six days?" You may be asking yourself. "But Evan, I am such a devoted follower of your travels, that I know you were only in Dublin from Thursday to Monday, and that is five days!" Well, dear reader, to understand certain elements of this multi-day epic, it is necessary to have a prequel of sorts. So consider this entry the "The Hobbit" to the "Lord of the Rings"-esque tale that will unfold over the next several days. Do not worry, though, there will not be any crazy Appendices. And I have not created my own languages, songs, or elaborate mythologies to go along with it. Dublin did all that for me!
So now then, to begin: Wednesday, February 17th.
I woke up early that morning, due to the large to-do list I had laid out the night before. My goal was to finish a paper that was due Monday before I left, so that I would not have to bring my laptop with me, and in-between finishing that, find the time to print my bus and plane tickets, find some shampoo and toothpaste of a carry-on friendly size, pick-up a few things from Jon, do laundry, and pack my bag. It was going to be a full day.
Well, I was intently working on my paper when, after a quick sub of the day break, Jon called me up out of the blue. I was thinking he wanted me to go get my stuff, but instead he told me that his friend Abby had accidentally purchased tickets to see Waiting for Godot on the wrong day, and now she had an extra ticket, and would I like to go with her. So here I was with an opportunity to see a show I'd always wanted to see, starring Sir Ian McKellen no less, on the one day where I'm seriously working under a mildly flexible deadline.
So I thought: Do I go see this show, or do I finish my paper? Then I thought: This show is by Samuel Beckett. He is Irish. We will be hearing about him in Dublin. This would be a wonderful preview to the culture.
And I went.
It was an excellent show. For those of you who know nothing about this show, I suppose a plot summary is in order: Nothing happens. Two men, Vladimir and Estragon, wait for someone named Godot. They instead meet up with a man named Potzo who keeps a man named Lucky tied up on a leash. Potzo and Lucky leave. Godot never comes. This sequence of events is repeated in the second act. So, how could I enjoy such a show? One, it was extremely funny and incredibly tragic. Both at the same time. Also, all four actors gave superb performances. Watching Ian McKellen eat a carrot was the second best actor eating a fruit or vegetable scene I've ever seen. (First place goes to Geoffrey Rush's apple eating at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.) The only way I could have enjoyed it more is if I didn't have the thought of paper-writing itching at the back of my brain. It took all of Ian McKellen's acting prowess to keep me from thinking of George Bailey and Jefferson Smith.
After the show, I grabbed a pizza at ICCO, and settled back into work on the paper. Things were going along nicely when I was interrupted by BBC's incredibly thorough online coverage of the Olympics. Specifically, I was watching the Men's Halfpipe Qualifier. More specifically, I was watching to see New Hampshire's own Scotty Lago. Now, I wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, I knew he was good from everything I'd heard, but I'd never seen footage of him boarding. The only time I'd seen him get air we were jumping out of a plane. Well, I watched him place into the semi-finals, which apparently wasn't shown on the NBC coverage back in the states. (Put that on the list with Bob Costas as a strike against NBC coverage.) Didn't get to watch the semis, though, because I had laundry to do. Well, it was a pleasant surprise when I came back from doing laundry around 2:00 or so to find that he had placed into the finals.
At this point, I was far from done my paper, and had resigned to the fact that I would not be finishing before I left. I would be bringing the laptop with me to Dublin. I also decided that at this point, going to sleep would be a bad idea. You see, I had to catch a 5:30 bus to the airport, and I was afraid I would oversleep and miss it at this point. So I decided I would stay up and fly to Dublin on zero hours of sleep. A good idea? Well, you can judge that on your own when you see how Day 1 goes.
But, a result of my sleepless night: I got to watch every boarder of the Men's Halfpipe Final. (Again, more than the NBC viewers. Love that BBC.) Well, after a quiet, yet elated celebration on Scotty's securing Bronze, followed by an even quieter stunned silence when Shaun White unveiled his new trick, I realized I hadn't really packed. So I tossed some stuff in my backpack, and I was ready to go. After a quick shower to wake myself up, I was out the door to meet Ryan for the walk to Baker Street to catch the EasyBus.
But that's where the line between Day Zero and Day One blurs together, and where I'll draw this post to an end. So, some things to remember:
1. As of the start of Day 1 (5:00 AM) I had not slept for 20 hours.
2. I had just watched Irish playwright Samuel Beckett's most famous work, Waiting for Godot.
3. I was hauling my laptop with me to at some point finish my paper.
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