When some people get dumped, they eat lots of ice-cream, drink lots of wine, and girl gab with friends for hours on end... I myself do all of these things but only after fleeing to a foreign country. A constant character in my worldwide antics, Dancer Friend living over in Limerick asked me if I fancied a few days away. Since I had found myself with a weekend completely open to new opportunity, I took her up on her offer. I booked a flight to Dublin, packed my bags, and headed off to an island on which I always find magical rejuvenation.
It was to be a low-key weekend chilling out in Limerick and enjoying some local fun. Dancer Friend's mother (whom I have known my entire life as well but not seen in a good decade) landed just a day or two before me, so it was a trio of ladies romping about. We spent the afternoon shopping around town, myself spending way too much money at my personal mecca, Penney's. Dancer Friend then had to go to, well, dance for a few hours so we were left to a bonding session ten years overdue. It was actually incredibly interesting to become reacquainted with a good friend's mother now that I am an adult. While there are still so many things about each other that remain the same, the dynamic of two adults catching up and sharing information over a bottle of wine borders on the twilight zone, though a jovial one. Eventually, our common link reappeared and, along with her roommate, we galavanted off to a lovely dinner and drinks.
The next day had a much stricter agenda. As always, we spent our Saturday morning meandering around the famous Milk Market. This is probably something I should do every weekend in Paris since there is no lack of open air bazaars in my fair city. Somehow, it never seems to have the same appeal, possibly due to the accent. We then ventured off for my first ever bus tour around Limerick. Bus tours have their advantages and disadvantages. You can see a lot in a short time and get some historical commentary to boot, but you cannot stop and take pictures whenever you want and as the weather in the British Isles is notoriously fickle, we absolutely got rained on for a spell.
It was then time to accompany Dancer Friend to Shannon airport, where she was scheduled to pick up a rental car for herself and her mother to go road tripping the following week. What was meant to be an hour or so task ended up turning into three hours. Europeans just don't generally have the same sense of urgency as crazy Americans do, and for whatever reason the three parties in front of us all took one million years to collect their cars. Side note: The three or four other car rental companies next to us were literally EMPTY.
By the time we got back to the apartment, we showered, cooked dinner, drank a little wine and only had enough time and energy for a quick drink out on the town. Dancer Friend and I flew solo (flew duet?) on this one, leaving Mother Dancer Friend at home. It was my time to catch up with my dear friend, vent a little about recent events, and blow those damn emotional cobwebs away.
The next morning our little trio shared a home cooked breakfast before heading off on our separate ways. A bus, an airport, a quick flight later, and I found myself back in Paris at last. Along the way, I had the good luck to see one of the most brilliant sunsets I have ever witnessed in the sky. Despite my anxiety about flying and despite any lingering nostalgic melancholy, absolutely nothing beats a stunning sunset above the clouds.
The final of the European Football Championship took place that night, and even though France lost in the end, it ended up taking me triple the amount of time to get home and I can't say my recent affinity for sports was able to withstand the trauma. Regardless, I think the fact that I went to Ireland one week after the beginning of my recent relationship and then again one week after the end was the cosmic cleanse I needed to go from murky rock to shiny sparkly gemstone.