The Rainbow Connection

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Trip Start Feb 26, 2004 Previous
Entry Trip End Nov 16, 2006

  Dublin, Ireland
Thursday, November 16, 2006

NOTE: For best results this final entry should be read while listening to 'The Trapeze Swinger' by Iron & Wine.

OK, I'm handwriting this on the boat from Holyhead to Dun Laoghaire and I'll type it up later. Yes, I'm heading somewhere cold and magnificient: Dublin...home. I'm listening to The Be Good Tanyas ("Love's a feeling like a warm dark stone...") to reduce the chance of someone starting a conversation with me. They might ask what I'm writing and I'd have to admit it's self-indulgent toss. As usual, I've looked around to determine whose carcass would make the best floatation device (old man, 10 o'clock) and who's the hottest girl (jail-bait brunette, 7 o'clock).

I caught The Tube to Euston this morning, then 3 amazingly good trains across England and in to Wales to Holyhead. I could have flown but this is cheap at short notice. And I wanted to make a real journey of the home straight. I wanted to make a meal of finally going home, like carrying my cross to my own crucifixion.

It's weird writing what I'm thinking in this Joyce-ish stream of consciousness style. It forces me to acknowledge every passing thought: What would happen if you threw a chicken in the ocean? How awesome it would be to be married to Lily Allen and hear her singing in the kitchen while she baked a cake. I don't like Burger King because it's a monarchy.

So the plan is to hit Irish soil and get the DART to Portmarnock where Malone is hopefully picking me up and dropping me at my parents apartment where my brother is. Malone and I decided a while ago that the final leg of my trip required a DART ride through town. Sort of bringin' it all back home. It will undoubtedly be delayed due to leaves on the track and this will give me time to take it all in.

I wonder if there's a 'Reverend Birdseye'.

I'm going to see Bruce Springsteen tomorrow and then I intend to spend my weekend drinking - getting fucked up with my homies and biatches until I puke. I'll paint the town red and the toilet yellow. I'll catch up with a few people and check out what material objects they've acquired since I've been away. And then I'll fly back to Spain.

So what kind of homecoming is this really? These aren't the circumstances I imagined. I'll only be back for 3 nights, I'm staying in an apartment I've never seen, I probably won't even unpack. I guess going home is a state of mind. But I'll come home properly when my Dad's treatment in Spain is finished. I'm in no rush.

Next time I go on a date I might wear a suit. And I'm going to turn up to it eating something.

So here I am, only an hour or two from seeing Dublin for the first time in nearly 3 years. By all accounts it has changed alot but I find that hard to believe. I'm looking forward to seeing it. I'm looking forward to the smoking ban. I'm also looking forward to seeing the mix of nationalities which I've heard is now very apparent. I don't remember ever seeing a black person in Dublin...except on TV when I watched Saved By The Bell.

Old is the new new.

It's dark outside now. Not long left. I'm actually nervous. But I'm excited and happy. I'm looking forward to treating Dublin like another destination; getting to know it. I want to stay in the backpacker frame of mind...I think that's how I can deal with this. I have a list of things I want to do with my life in Dublin. It's long and it's great. 3 years ago, before I left, I had a list of things to do and all it contained were 5 girls names. So maybe I've grown?

I wonder if I'll be able to score a Cadburys Creme Egg while I'm home.

The last few years have been the best of my life, and let's face it I've had a pretty fucking good life. It's strange to think back over all the people I met away who were on their way home. They were generally gutted about it and it made me feel even better about carrying on. But now I'm ready to finish this particular trip, although there will be more serious travels in the future.

There's the lights of Dublin out in front of me. It's definitely home. I can't believe I am going home.

I remember talking to one of my housemates in Sydney just before he went home. He said, "Going home is totally overrated." I liked that and it became sort of my mantra. Going home is totally overrated. The high is shortlived and then it's like your travels never happened. But it still has its benefits and I'm at the point where I want it, even if it's only temporary. Going home is a part of the trip. It's good. And it's right. It's the way all trips and travelogues should end.

And it's the way this one does.

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