(Bates) First Impressions

I came to Dublin with my godmother about a week before the study abroad program started so I could explore the city with someone I knew and trusted. When we recovered from jet lag and struck out into the crowded city, three observations immediately hit me. First were the cars and the street system. It’s well known that the Irish drive on the wrong side of the road (though our taxi driver insisted it was Americans who drove incorrectly), but nothing could prepare me for the zigzagging paths of the streets or the fearless, knuckle-whitening speed at which the Irish zoomed around them. Yet, when comparing the streets to the ones back home in New Orleans, I noticed significantly less road kill, despite Dublin’s plethora of birds. Equally shocking was the pedestrians’ blatant snubbing of the crosswalks, which beeped at them much like a ticking bomb. That is, until the light turns green, and the beeping turns to an irritated chatter. After a while, though, my usual caution gave way and I joined the Irish in slighting the crosswalks, especially when no cars were coming. Clearly, pedestrians here firmly believe in their inherent right-of-way.

My second observation occurred when I immersed myself in Grafton Street’s shopping hub. A sharp cry pierced the crowd’s hum, and I was left wondering at the strangeness of seagulls in a mid-city center. Even now as I sit writing this, I can hear the gulls crying on the rooftops of Trinity, their call eerily like a wounded animal. As the Irish Sea is only a few miles away, it’s not unusual to see seagulls here, but it’s hard to think of the coastline when perusing designer stores on Grafton Street.

My last observation, though perhaps seemingly trivial at first, was the weather. There’s a joke about New Orleanian weather that goes, “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it will change.” Yet, by the end of our first week, my godmother and I swore we would never make fun of New Orleans’ fickle weather again. The first lesson a traveler will learn is to never leave home without a raincoat, as it will literally alternate between rain and sun in five minutes. While resting in our hotel room, my godmother and I witnessed the indecisiveness of Dublin’s weather at its best. At 4:30, a rainbow appeared at the end of a storm cloud amid newly restored sunlight. At 5:15, while it was still sunny, I went into the bathroom to freshen up. At 5:20, my godmother exclaims that it’s raining. I rushed out to see the gray scene that only minutes ago had been flush and vibrant in the after-shower look. We stared out the window wondering whether to walk to church or call a cab, only for it to stop at 5:30. Shrugging, we grabbed our raingear and headed down the elevator. When we reached the lobby, it was raining again, yet the sun was still out. We ventured two steps outside, and it stopped altogether. We shook our heads, suddenly missing the predictability of New Orleans’ weather.