Writing: Moment in Time - A Day In Dublin

Stepping off the plane, he looks around for the first time since he left JFK Airport. He kept his eyes off the miles of water passing below him in hopes to keep his excitement lulled. His friend pushes him, forcing him to step out of the way of waiting passengers. He looks out the window, across the tarmac, and into the heart of Ireland. His friend joins him by the window, remarking about how close it looks to an American city. He doesn't listen after that statement. His friend cant see the differences out there; this is definitely not America. They walk down the airport, passing by signs for companies and products they don't know. His friend comments on how many Guinness signs they pass, eliciting a laugh from them that draws some stares. He knows they know he is an American, with all the gawking and confused looks that come with being one.

Stopping at a pub, he pays in US tender, drawing a smile from the server. She steps to the side and pours the drinks while he and his friend talk about what they are going to do for the next few months. The bartender himself brings over their cups, filled to the brim with dark stout. The bartender explains to them that things are different here than from the States and they will have to accept it and keep comments to themselves. They agree with the bartender and toast to his good health. With a smile he turns to his friend, after the bartender slips away, and tells him that this feels like second nature to him. A few rounds later, they leave the pub and catch a taxi to their hotel. They lug their belongings up to their home for eight weeks and walk out, not bothering to unpack.

Hitting the streets of Dublin, he looks around from the doorway of the hotel. To the left he see's a long busy road, covered in shops and restaurants. Down the road to the right, he spots a few pubs and an old building surrounded by a grand lawn. Choosing the right, he starts down the uncrowded street, his friend pointing things out as they walk. Jumping from pub to pub, they begin to sink in the differences between home and here. They chat up locals as if they had known them for years. He danced with an Irish woman, in Ireland, which brought a laugh from his friend. They crisscross the street, never feeling alone in a foreign land, until they reach the old building, which had to have been a castle back in the dark history of this country.

Most of the roof was gone, given way under the centuries of weather and torch. The top floor looked to be uninhabitable, but the lower floors, which they found out on the tour, were able to be salvaged before they turned it into a historic monument. He was mystified and touched, standing in the heart of Irish history, something he had only done online or through books. His friend was in equal amazement, but his mind, the mind of a mathematician, marveled at the way the angles of the arches were, and commented continuously about how this building should theoretically not be standing. Following the tour outside, they walked the great lawn, which had to be over 20 acres of well kept grass and trees. They wandered the lawn, reading plaques and taking pictures with decaying statues.

The night was closing in and the tour was over, despite the unanswered questions his friend had for their harried tour guide. They left the castle and made their way to a pub, which was aptly named, "The Irish Dragoon". Just as before, as soon as they entered, it was like they had been there before. Splitting up, with his friend going to the dart boards, he wandered to the bar in the midst of a sea of handshakes and pats on the back. Eyes rested on him as the bartender gave him a subtle cue on what he was to do to stay here in one piece. Raising his voice so the pub patrons, one and all, could hear him, he shouts, "This round's on me!". A deafening cheer and some hearty pats to his now sore back, he is now fully one of them.

Dancing and singing, darts and pool, drinking and storytelling, he had the best night of his life. His friend talked up a young Irish girl and was headed back to her place and would be back bright and early. He smiled and raised his drink, noticing the men around him doing the gesture as well. Leading a salute to a brother in arms, he and his new Irish family wish him luck and virility. Hours pass, and closing time finally arrives. He shakes the meaty hand of the bartender and hugs more than a large number of men and women before stepping into the brisk Dublin night. A glance to his watch shows two in the morning and he heads back to his hotel. Going back up to his room, he shuts the door and stumbles to his bed. Lying on his back, he turns and looks out the window, a smile on his face. Tonight was great, he thinks, but he was only getting started.