Random Traveller Hello and welcome to the long discourse on Rhiannon’s Adventures So Far, that I finally made myself sit down and write because of the impending DOOM that is called Manufacturer Default. My little baby is a lovely shiny white Macbook that I’ve decided to name Poodle. This is because its main function is to be pretty. However I will soon have to send it off to some unloving ruffians who will beat it and tell it not to keep randomly shutting down on me.

We arrived in Dublin late at night to discover that, through a combination of a large international intervarsity sporting competition and a football game, every single hostel was fully booked for the next 4 days. As a result we spent the first half of every day walking around looking for accommodation. At one hostel the receptionist asked us if we would like to take a look at the rooms. Usually it’s much of a muchness, but the look she was giving us said “You REALLY want to take a look at the rooms.” So we obliged. Thank God we didn’t have to stay there. The roof was peeling and dripping in places, some of the beds had half collapsed from rust and then there was the smell; some offensive blend of mold and urine. We thanked her as we quickly left. Such a nice lady.

After the first night’s accommodation had been secured we went out in search of our first ever real Irish pub. The one we found was lovely; solid wood interior, let the Guinness stand for ages before you could touch it and two men with guitar and accordion playing Danny Boy. What I did not expect when they moved on to jigs was for four couples to take to the dance floor and perform choreographed Irish dances. There was foot tapping by all. So unbelievably stereotypical, my opinion of ‘What is an Irish Pub’ is now set in stone, never again to be swayed.

We had hoped to get in contact with some people James knew to take us round Dublin, however this fell through for reasons related to vegan farming. I still don’t quite understand. It was late on the second day I eventually remembered I had a friend from Australia who moved to Dublin. Feeling very ashamed for forgetting I now had the task of somehow getting in contact with him. Realising I had no numbers or addresses I thought “Hey, let’s try Google!” and voilà, full contact details. The phone call went a bit like this:

“Oh, hey Andrew! It’s Rhiannon. Umm… what country are you in?”

“Uh, that would be the Republic of Ireland.”

“Sweet, me too! Dublin, until the day after tomorrow. Are you free?”

He took my popping up on the other side of the world with absolutely no warning surprisingly well. I think I might have developed a reputation for this type of behaviour. I generally give friends or family about 3 days notice, or less, before turning up on their doorstep. I’m trying to be better, really. I blame my upbringing, which reminds me of a conversation I had in my kitchen in Brisbane a while back.

Marc walks in:

“Hey Rhiannon. Where’s your Mum?”

“Hmm? Oh, in Wales.”

“Wales?”

“Uh huh … what?” (in reference to the look he is now giving me)

“… I thought you were going to say down the shops.”

Going back to Dublin. We walked around a lot, were confused by the Millennium Spire and went on the Guinness and Jameson’s Whiskey tours. We also saw the Book of Kells and typed our Surname into one of Trinity College’s genealogy computers. Up popped the early family history right back to Saint Kieran. All in all it was a brief, but pleasant, stay. I want to go back with someone who can rent a car and drive around, which was actually part of the original plan before James turned things upside down.