Bruges

Sitting in my hostel room for the evening chatting with my dorm mates, I discover one of the girls is heading to Bruges the next day and I jump in on that action. I tell her I like to sleep in, and if I’m sleeping when she’s ready to just leave without me and don’t feel bad. At 8.30 she asked if I wanted to come or stay sleeping and I said just go, and then as I rolled back over to sleep I think I realised what was actually being asked and jumped up yelling “wait! I can be ready in 10 minutes!”

We jumped on a train to Bruges at 9.30 and arrive shortly before 11. The sky remained a cold, blank grey, clouds indistinguishable from mist, as it was in Brussels. But the weather did not get us down, a full day of exploring planned.

From the Markt, we found Historium which is advertised as a history of Bruges in the golden age but is really more of a short movie divided into seven very strange segments told as a love tale without really any story at all. The end of the tour was interesting and interactive though, and opened onto a balcony above the Markt.

I also visited a couple sites from the movie “In Bruges” which is a favourite for Dad and I. Pictured below is the hotel the characters stayed at in the movie, which also happens to be a picturesque place for tourists.

Another place we visited was the Church of Our Lady which was under partial restoration, and another part cordoned off as part of a museum ticket, so we explored the free area which had old frescos and the outside which appeared to be half built into an old castle of some sort.

I loved Bruges. Walking around it felt comfortable and easy. We left at 5pm or so to come back to our Hostel and as soon as we stepped out in Brussels again I felt the familiar distate it had left from the day before. I scheduled a rest day for Sunday, hoping to cool off and get in some recovery time for my feet before meeting Jess in Venice on Tuesday for what I was sure would be constant exploration and discovery. Thanks, Uber Eats, for facilitating my lazy day.

Regards, Alex

Brussels I

Setting off in my new shoes filled me with so much joy and hope, you wouldn’t believe. I’ve now been walking in them for two days and my heels are actually healing despite all the walking. Bless these Nikes.

Arriving in Brussels was probably one of the silliest encounters I’ve had with myself in Europe. Coming from tiny little NZ, the concept of two airports serving one city seems a bit far-fetched, but I was warned before my first trip and had been checking my flights to make sure all was going well as I booked. However, it would appear I was so at a loss for what to do between meeting Jess and leaving Copenhagen that when flights to Belgium came up for €60, I didn’t question it.

So ensues my nightmare fuel of discovering I’m flying into Charleroi, 1 hour drive south of Brussels on a good day, at 10pm at night once public transport has stopped running. In all my searches, Flibco, a shuttle service that runs from Charleroi to Brussels every half hour, did not come up. I book an airport hotel for the night so I can sleep well and start again the next day, and email my hostel advising I’d be arriving a day late but my mistake. The hotel was supposed to have an airport shuttle but turns out you can only book this once you’ve landed and by placing a call, and there was no flexibility from the hotel when I pleaded my case as a weary traveller with no minutes, and it’s a paid service. Kill me now. The info desk at Charleroi was also unhelpful in offering no assistance or service or even payphone that I could use. Jess to the rescue as she called from Italy for me, and I waited outside in the freezing cold for my paid, non-airport-licensed taxi to pick me up. Thankfully, the hotel didn’t end up charging me when I arrived due to the wait…

Now safely in Brussels, I tried making my way to my hostel. I followed Google maps from the train station to a suite of private rooms right off the main plaza centre which could only be accessed after checking in at the actual hostel on the outskirt of the city. Thank god I hadn’t booked one of the private rooms and had to walk all the way back. When I got to the actual hostel finally, I was ready to put my feet up, find a good cafe, and eat. I check in and double check it’s OK to go up to my room because technically I was supposed to be there yesterday so it’s not really an early check in, just a really late one, and the desk says it’s fine.

Upstairs I go, to a cleaning woman yelling at me about how I can’t be up here which involves the woman at check in coming up to agree with her and lead me back to the common room. I dump my stuff in a locker and leave. What a start to Brussels.

I find a local pub/restaurant and have a traditional dark, sweet beer from a metal mug, eat a burger and frites, and walk around the city a bit.

I stopped at Choco-Story, expecting it to be a bit of a tourist trap and quite cringe, it was cheaper than I expected and surprisingly interesting and entertaining. For the love of chocolate!

On my way home I happened across Mannekin Pis dressed up in a small police uniform, seemingly apt as there appeared to be a police parade on earlier in the day. A few pictures sent off to people waiting for updates of the small child peeing, and home I went to settle in to my strange hostel.

Regards, Alex

Copenhagen III

One of my last days in Copenhagen was a big one. I was adamant to spend a whole day exploring the North East of the city I had yet to try, which included some recommendations from friends. I came across an art museum which kept me occupied for the better part of 2 hours. In which I came across what is now my current favourite painting.

August Strindberg “Storm in the Skerries.”The Flying Dutchman”, Dalaro. 1892

Across the road from this museum was Rosenborg Castle, which holds the Royal treasury underground. Please ask me to see the hilarious ring made for one of the Royal family back in the day, my goodness.

I then went to Christiansborg Castle, which holds the parliament house among other things, and acts as the Royals’ receiving rooms when necessary. I first explored the ruins underground, in which they have preserved a stone proving cats have always been cats, and then was booted up to explore the receiving rooms. Of all the castles I’ve been inside, this one felt the most regal.

From there I carried on to Amalienborg, which is a beautiful roundabout of buildings making up another Palace, which opens onto the Marble Church, and may be the most awe-inspiring Church I’ve visited.

At the end of the day, after walking around in my Docs with my specialist blister plasters on and feeling great, I pulled my shoes off to find new blisters so many layers deep under the old ones that my heels stung with the cold air and were bleeding. It was time for new shoes, and Pete convinced me that going out again to get them now would be much better than seeking for new ones when I finally arrived in Brussel, so I could start my journey comfy. Introducing new shoes, Nike Airs. Bye money. 💸

Regards, Alex

Copenhagen II

The first few days in Copenhagen were delightful. Ignoring the blisters my absolutely wonderful new Doc Martens were giving me (shouldn’t have bothered when I didn’t have time to wear them in), I went exploring on my own. I went to Christiania in Christianshavn on recommendation with no explanation, so dragging a girl from my hostel with me, we set out in search for it.

Christianshavn is an island (technically) off the edge of Copenhagen, however is connected by footbridges and cycle ways so it’s really just like crossing a canal in Amsterdam to get there. The place was a lot quieter than the city, and we chased a beautiful spire for a while until we found the church it belonged to. On our way home we passed Christiania. Do not go into this without a review or a google: it is essentially a bit of a rundown hippie commune from when Danes were imposing strict rules, and they declared themselves independent from the laws governing Denmark. Don’t be fooled though, tread into the heart of the place and you will find a thriving market for weed Street vendors. I’m telling you to do your research because I saw families walking through that and ok.

Did you know Lego was invented in Denmark? I was hoping to go to a Legoland in the mother-country to commemorate such a thing, however the only Legoland in its home is in the middle of nowhere, a few hours west of Copenhagen by train. I settled for the Lego Store, in which I bought a souvenir lego ghost from their discounted Halloween collection. They had the largest collection of Star Wars Lego I’ve ever seen! I can’t wait to build my lil’ ghosty at home.

The Round Tower was recommended a hundred different ways to me, and I now pass on that recommendation to you. The architecture inside is beautiful, and the gradual slope of the ramp makes it a lot nicer on the knees than climbing the stone steps of the many church towers available to you in Europe. The view from the top was typically outstanding, so here’s a picture of the inside instead.

On my way home from one of the days out travelling, I came across an éclair bakery. Having walked past a traditional Danish bakery promising to go back later and not being able to find it again, I wasn’t about to pass on this opportunity. A salted caramel éclair later and I was soaring in heaven.

Regards, Alex

Copenhagen I

Copenhagen, where do I start? Of course, I was expecting it to be cold. I was expecting to see a bit of snow and probably a decent amount of rain. So arriving to the airport I purchased a three day unlimited train pass so I could travel around without getting too soaked. Mum had googled the temperature a week prior and the high one day was 0°. So ready with my new (hopefully trustworthy) snow jacket I braved the metro to my hostel. I arrived at my stop, coming up to… Such bright sun I had to pull out my sunglasses to see where I was going!? So exciting! I love the sun in winter, the days stay cool and crisp so you can walk around forever without feeling hot but its dry!

On my first day, I did the most touristy thing in Denmark and went to Nyhavn. To really get in the spirit of travelling again and, I mean, if this isn’t one of the reasons you’re coming to Copenhagen then what are you doing?

That evening my hostel mate, who had actually already checked out but had made good friends with the dorm so hung around before her evening flight, took me to the centre of the shopping area to see a pretty fountain and a quick wander before she had to go.

It was a lovely first day and sparked so much excitement for being there after so long spent travelling. I settled in for the evening ready to explore the next day.

Regards, Alex

Purgatory

I’m not entirely sure what was going through my mind when I booked Europe 2.0. Literally Europe 2020 (hah). Mostly it was OMG FLIGHTS ARE THAT CHEAP AGAIN?! AND MY FRIEND IS GOING TO BE THERE AT THE SAME TIME!? WELL OKAY.

So I booked my flights sometime late-last year and then just didn’t really think about it again. A little bit of “it’s ages away”, with a lot of “I’ve done it before” thrown in for good measure, meant the weekend before I flew I literally had no idea what I was packing or what coat I would use for the weather.

Thanks to Mum, though I’m sure I would have done this that weekend anyway, I went shopping and found everything I needed at once. Excellent review for Kathmandu gear here, and their sales rack! 😍

My first flight was Wednesday night to Australia, to connect to my main airline carrier Etihad for an Abu Dhabi – Amsterdam itinerary. The flight to Aus was OK, 3 hours, nothing to write home about. I waited in Brisbane airport for just under three hours thanks to my flight being a little delayed. It was the flight to Abu Dhabi that killed me. 14 hours, overnight flight, dark and cold and dry and awful. I attempted to wait the longest amount of time imaginable before checking to see how far we’d gotten, thinking at least 6 hours had passed – it was only 2. Straight tears. The flight itself wasn’t too uncomfortable for how long it felt I’d been there, but by golly.

I met a couple girls at Abu Dhabi airport when we got off the plane and were in customs lines, and discovered we were all heading to Amsterdam on the same connecting flight. Even better, our seats were next to and behind one another! So the (what comparatively felt like the shortest flight in the world) 7 hour flight went by like a breeze as we chatted intermittently and saw some amazing views from the window.

I stayed in an Amsterdam airport hotel for the night, with airport transfers and transport being so, so easy there, to give myself a break from the 33 hours of travelling just for before carrying on to my final destination of Copenhagen. The stay at Ibis was just what I needed to refuel to be ready for Denmark. Even in the cold, dark, Winter…

Regards, Alex

Purgatory, We Meet Again

Stuck in transit hell. Cheap flights come with cheap experiences. A 15 hour layover in Hong Kong, to be exact. And not even an overnight one where I could just book a ridiculously overpriced room! A 6am landing for a 9pm ride home, utter joy.

I managed to spot a NZ passport in the hands of another passenger disembarking, and hope flooded me that maybe he had a lifetime of purgatory waiting ahead of him, too. Alas, he was on an earlier flight to Melbourne, but he helped kill the first four hours.

Then I wandered, looking around for some thing to buy. My pattern for the better part of 3 hours was walking to the end of one terminal, resting my shoulders cause damn my 7KG bag + 1000KG “little handbag” carrying all the actual heavy stuff like magnets and keychains and spoons (don’t ask).

At 1pm, I found a little collection of chairs, hidden at the end of a terminal, behind some potted plants. I say chairs but I mean loungers. I nestled into one, wrapping myself around my bags, and promptly slept for 2 hours.

My nap gave me the refreshment needed to make it to boarding, and I headed out in search of sustenance.

I ended up fawning over a bag that had a really pretty print, but the practicality issues were eating away at me. I tried it in this way and that and looked inside it 100 times, but I just knew that the size wasn’t practical or functional for me, and I’d never end up using it. The girls at the store didn’t seem too disappointed though, they got cuddles with my new Lotso-Huggin-Bear I picked up at the Disney store.

How I managed to refrain from buying 101 Star Wars magnets, pens, plush toys, I’ll never know.

I continued my world of shopping, complaining to mum about my itch to buy something since deciding against The Bag. She suggests some perfume (ehh…) and then a watch. A watch! I’ve been using the same one for years, and it’s gone through a reconstruction and many, many battery replacements, but I love that thing.

So I go on a hunt, remembering a whole isle of watches in the more centralised shopping network of the airport. I end up asking help narrowing down between three, and buy two of the same but in different colours because I couldn’t make up my mind. Thank you aunties and uncle who contributed to this delectable purchase.

With this, I figure it was time to give my flight a check to see if they’d announced the departure gate. Nope, 2 hours to go and no gate.

I depart to get a tea, and wait in line at the overburdened-as-usual-starbucks for about 30 minutes. I get back and there’s still not a gate listed. I make a pact that if it’s not there by 8pm, I’ll go talk to airport information. So far, I had counted 11 earlier delays on the board

Meanwhile, I’m chatting about the whole ordeal with Erica, who tells me she expects a blog update about the tea obsessed departure board goblin, so here it is.

While writing this, a gate has been allocated to my flight, with 7 minutes to spare. So off I go, to the land of departure gate waiting areas, and 11 hours away from home.

See ya soon, folks.

Regards,

Alex

Day Forty-One

Well, it’s been a while since I left home, a while since I posted, and is only a short while before I’m home again.

Day forty-one. Whoozah.

Picking up from where we left off on the previous post, I left Dublin for Amsterdam on the 19th of June. Tash, the mutual friend putting me up, directed me with the help of Google maps to her location once I landed at Amsterdam airport (my third time there this trip) and I was welcomed with open arms.

It almost felt like home. I had my own room, the girls were lovely, and totally didn’t judge me about my lack of need to do anything (well, not when I was around anyway). I quieted my self-made feelings of guilt by telling myself I’ve been non-stop exploring the world for 5 weeks prior, sick days not included, and deserved a little R&R before flying home to dive straight back into being a functioning member of society.

On my first day, I got a shopping itch. It was my last stop, aside from a short trip south to Rotterdam, so I knew how much money was left now more than ever, and my stacks were looking pretty bland: two postcards sent home, 5 posters sent home, a Jameson’s scarf, and some magnets were all I had to my name.

I went out in search of The 9 Streets, which is apparently a good shopping destination comprised of shops and eateries spread out across, coincidentally, 9 streets. When I was supposedly there, I was underwhelmed. Given a revisit with company it may have been a decent excursion, but alone I felt like I was getting continually lost, there was a lot of construction going on, and most of the shops were something I could find in New Zealand.

No matter, I decided to walk home through the Museumplein and check out the Van Gogh Museum and then anything else around it. I meander my way there, hiking over canals and nearly dying at the hand of insane cyclists all the while.

I stumbled across a “Torture Museum” whose poster had a large wooden chair embedded with spikes for sitting criminals onto. It looked interesting, some more medieval stuff, and reminded me of the “Inventions of the Middle Ages” documentaries I used to watch in the weekends. It was awful. There was some rough artwork depicting a lot of torture devices, but none with explanations on how they were actually implemented. The info cards around the place named a device and what someone might have done to earn that punishment, but didn’t point to which device matched the name. There were a few relics, physical pieces in the museum, but again I say few.

I carried on to the Museumplein to discover all tickets to Van Gogh were sold out for the day. I walked around the park a little, having no-one with me to take a photo in from of the I Amsterdam sign, I took a photo of all the other crazy tourists.

I made my way home, and Tash asked if I wanted to go to the ballet. Yes, of course. We bought tickets for the next night.

When I say “we” bought tickets, I mean I gave my card to Tash telling her it was my shout, and she booked the tickets. While we were walking to the event that evening, she was trying to liase with some friends from work and flatmate-Georgia about where to meet. Georgia was telling us to go to a completely different venue than what was printed on our tickets. We research, and Tash has bought us tickets to a contemporary, interpretive dance number entitled Nicht Schlafen or similar. We trudge along to it.

A nightmare. Which maybe is what it was supposed to be, a waking nightmare in which no-one gets any sleep as the title may suggest? I’ve never thought I would be interested in this type of dance, admittedly having never seen any to base this on but kinda really feeling like it’s not my “thing”. Turns out I can trust myself and my gut feelings. I wanted to leave, but we were at the end of a row in which it would be blaringly obvious. We tried to just drink a lot of wine, but you weren’t allowed to take anything into the theatrr. More entertaining than the show was the audience. The venue was actually rather large, and surprisingly full.

I refuse to believe people knew what they were signing up for, but the lady next to me cried during one part as if she had obtained total comprehension and it was a moving piece of beauty, where I had no idea what was going on. I’m obviously just uncultured. The first 30 minutes were 9 people on stage running into each other at high velocity, screaming and ripping each others clothes off. The rest of the show kind of felt like that still. The only thing I know for sure is that at one point, a pair were representing a horse and trainer, and the horse subsequently died after being stabbed (?) to death.

The next day, I went to the Heineken experience first thing to avoid crowds. I had prepaid my ticket, which was an excellent choice, and trudged through the opening history.

The commemerative trowel used to lay the first block that built the brewery.

We walked through an introduction on how beer is made, which I skipped thanks to some lessons at the Jameson’s factory where they indicated at which point in the brewing line refinery is stopped to make beer rather than moving on to create whiskey.

The vats were pretty cool, though.

In towards the interactive part, there was a station where you can personalise the label on your own beer, ride a small 4D ride “where you are the beer” as you follow the brewing process through a factory from the inside. As well as many walls and ceilings made of bottles, with lights glowing out from behind.

They taught you how to drink beer with a small half pour, including how to maximise the life of your foam head to stop your beer from oxygenating.

There was also a number of photo stations and interactive zones like a huge podium that acted like a keyboard set to percussion mode when you hit different parts of it, and a beer pouring station.

Good to know after some 5 years since being behind a bar, I can still pour the perfect beer.

There was a room where they honoured the sports they are supporters of, in which the Haka was playing on a loop in the background.

Finally, you could take a punt at kicking a (digital) conversion for yourself, and then the bar. Your wristband gets you two free drinks, as well as the half pour that taught you how to drink earlier in the experience. Beer for breakfast, mother would be proud.

From there, I do finally go to the Van Gogh Museum, picking up this fine photo before seeing the no photo signs.

The store was a wonderful place for gifts, where I got some things for mum, dad, and myself.

I spent some more time with the streets, marvelling at how everything was so same-same-but-different, and then turned my attention to repacking my bag and weighing it with Tash’s handy luggage scale.

Some redistributing of items between the two bags brought me under the 7kg weight limit for carry on, and I still had a couple of items I could leave behind like my ratty one-use umbrella bought in Rome, the last of my travel shampoos, and the ability to wear two shirts on the airplane.

After many UberEats deliveries, it was time for Blink 182 in Rotterdam.

So, last night, I trained to Rotterdam from Amsterdam, checked into my hotel that photos promised to be awesome, lovely, and kitsch, which the lobby was, but turned out my room was just old. Oh well, only one night and a safe place to stay for the concert. I head off in an Uber, find my seat (cause screw general admission when you have no-one looking out for you) and make friends with the guys next to me.

The location of the seats was awesome, the night was great, the music epic.

In the end, I had to wait 30 minutes for an Uber back to my hotel due to high demand, and I was freezing. Compared to how hot most of my days had been, my fingers felt like they were going to fall off. It was 15°C, Pete messaged me from home letting me know it was 5° there. Joy.

Today, I trained back to Amsterdam, having bought some Blink182 merch and having another fight with my backpack, and checked in to my hotel airport.

In 15h and 35m I’m boarding my plane to start my journey home. The new release movies have been updated on the in flight entertainment (thank the lord for being away over a month) and I have about 9 hours of screen entertainment by way of movies. Accompanied with food, music, and reading my kindle, the journey shouldn’t be too bad.

Seeya soon, home. Miss you terribly.

Regards,

Alex

Day Thirty-Two

Coming to Dublin was probably the greatest last minute decision I could have made.

We landed at 10pm, and the sun was still setting, leaving everything an eerie twilight grey. All the signs in the airport were in English. Not just the directional ones, but the adverts too. It felt like heaven.

I caught a bus to my hostel, and checked in. There were two entrances into the dorms from the lobby, and I’m sure the receptionist told me to take the right one, but by the end of the unpleasantries I went straight through.

The hostel is a maze.

I’m sure they do it so you have to sleep in the hall at one point and save them running water costs. I have no idea what happened but I knew I had to be on the second floor, she was adamant about that, but I was to be in room 29 and each floor seemed to only be going up in 6-10s. I was following the “Rooms 20-29” plaques through mazes of halls and stairs and more stairs. Eventually, I started going downstairs again until I came across a tiny little cubby like area at the bottom of a staircase, with no plaques and a door that read “fire door”. Now, it doesn’t say “FIRE EXIT” but I still stood there confused, trying to figure out if I had followed the plaques wrong. I head back up the stairs, double check the sign that sent me down here, and head down again.

I push through the door, with no where else to go, and discover room 29 on the other side. Random, random layout in this building. I push through, collapse on my bed, and fall asleep.

I’m up the next morning to head to Murray’s Bar for the live screening of All Blacks v Samoa. I ask for tea and they don’t ask which fruity-green cocktail I want, just bring out a steaming mug of good, black tea. Dublin, I love you. A decent eggs bene and some rugby to start the morning, and I’m off.

I make my way to the Jameson’s factory on Bow street, and buy a ticket for their tour.

While I wait for the 12 o’clock start, I ponder their gift store. I’ve bought next to nothing while I’ve been here, and spent far less (I think) than anticipated. I wonder about getting dad a scarf, because he’s metro like that – and it’s his birthday, but mum advises while he likes Jameson’s, it isn’t his favourite. The tour is called up, and we head in.

We learn about the history of the brand, the process in making the liquor, and eventually a comparative taste test. The taste test results in the whole group having 3 shots before 1pm in the afternoon, and a complimentary drink is still on offer with the purchase of our ticket.

I sit at the bar and order their mixed version, instead of straight, and watch it get made as nearly a 50/50 while my body screams woah tiger we still have to walk back to the hostel. I take a nervous sip and it tastes amazing, not a single shiver of hard liquor reaction runs down my spine. An Australian joins me, I hear his accent and he hears mine and we’re fast friends, chatting over our drinks so we don’t appear alone at a bar. He splits off to meet up with his girlfriend arriving that day, and I decide to buy the scarf for myself. I’m incredibly happy.

I walk around, in a general opposite way I got here from the hostel kind of circle so I can look at new things, and stumble across a church.

The church turns out to be the only church from the Medieval era still in use today, in Dublin. It’s free entry, so I wander around, and the receptionist tells me a little bit of history but advises the cards around the building will be more interesting than her prattling on, and to watch out for the lucky stone around the corner.

It’s such a small, old place, so I touch the stone. Shop owners used to believe that the success of their business greatly hindered on them touching the stone once a day. Previously, I haven’t touched any of the “lucky” emblems around. The statues on the bridge in Prague being swarmed with people every minute, I just hate to think what’s been left on them, and if they’re ever cleaned. Maybe I’ll blame currently being sick on touching the thing, not very lucky, huh!

I wander around a little more, and round a corner to Dublinia, history of the vikings museum. You can see its very kid friendly from the get go, looking very interactive, but what the hell. Viking history is different to all the other history I’ve been looking at lately and interactive is fun.

The first floor is a concise Viking history, including a table with the Viking Runes laid out next to the English alphabet so you can spell out your name. Mostly using phonetics as not every letter has a direct translation. The floor ends talking about Valhalla and Ragnarok, and what it means for the Vikings. You exit into this pitch black room which occasionally lights up with lightning-esque flashes to reveal this terrifying wall.

We head up and learn about the settlements and Kings after the Viking rulers. It’s here that history starts to get a little too recent for me and I mostly just enjoy the interactive experience. The top floor was items on loan from the National museum and another interactive experience on archeology. It was great fun. I definitely felt 12.

The exit to the museum was through a bridge which has beautiful stained glass windows, and led into another church. I ventured outside to look at it from there.

From here, dinner time at BoBo’s Burgers, and bed.

The next morning was Lions v Maori All Blacks, which I again got up for. We lost, never really having much possesion or promising runs, but 2 South-Africans about Dad-age sat down and saw me watching the game so we chatted like old friends.

I wandered around again, settling down for lunch in an adorable Tram Cafe. I message Rimal about being homesick, just wanting to skip the end and come home, about wanting more than 2 days off before I go back to work haha. Rimal calls me, immediately, bless, and chats to me for maybe an hour and eventually settles me down about the notion of going home, and I setup a countdown timer to help me along.

I head into the Leprachaun Museum, advertised as a history lesson on Irish Folklore. It was pretty much terrible, a good way to kill an hour for me who was just looking for something to do, but I wouldn’t recommend it, to anyone.

My time slot changed while I was waiting as I was the only one who booked in, so the receptionist graciously moved me to 20 minutes later which was fine by me, and she wrote me a voucher for a free gift from the gift shop at the end of the tour for being so obliging. The gift turned out to be a rainbow lead coloured pencil. I laughed and went on my way.

From the museum, I made the long way home. Roommates recommend Sweet Miss Sue’s for dinner (or SMS) for some good fish and chips (and tartar sauce and mushy peas, my first time) yum! and the manager turned out to be from NZ having lived in Ireland for 14 years. It was awesome, but I started getting the sniffles, and my ear hadn’t unblocked from the airplane ride into Dublin, so I headed home and went to sleep.

Today, my sniffly nose has turned into a full on snot-demon, and my sinuses are clogging my ears and throat too. I went out purely in search of flu medicine, tissues, and vitamin water, had a TERRIBLE hot chocolate and cinnamon-bread-labelled-as-banana-bread and an okay lemon muffin from Insomnia (coffee chain).  2 of my 3 roommates didn’t come home from a concert last night, and at 5pm in the afternoon still haven’t been home all day. I wonder if they’re dead.

I managed to liase with a friend of Elanor’s who is hooking me up with a place to stay in Amsterdam (that place is SO expensive) and explained my homesick dilemma to her, and how I’d love to just go straight there from Dublin rather than through Belgium as previously planned, and she’s a-ok with that.

So I booked my flight to Amsterdam and settled down with some chips, updated my blog, and am now settling down to read some more. I love my kindle.

Regards,

Alex