ex'patri'ation

n. (-t, -t)
1. One who has taken up residence in a foreign country.
2. One who has renounced one's native land.

So I've moved to Dublin. It's a very strange transition, which I expected, but in ways I didn't expect. It's not very foreign--it's only Ireland, after all. But because it's not so different, when there are things that deviate from the American style, it's a huge shock. This means that I ended up being shocked most of the day, because there are quite a few differences.

I'm completely incapable of crossing the street. I've come so close to getting hit by cars so many times in the last few days, that I stand on curbs quaking in terror. Part of the problem is that they drive like maniacs, but more importantly, I can't figure out which way to turn my head because of the opposite side of the street driving. I always look the wrong way, and have not yet been able to train myself to look the right way. So I've now implemented a policy of looking both ways, but somehow the time it takes me to do this means that by the time I actually cross, a car that I hadn't noticed is bearing down on me, and I scurry away, panic-striken. At some crosswalks, though, there are foot tall letters painted on the street that say "look left" and "look right," as if in concessions to the morons like myself.

People may have to rely on the pavement to tell them which way to look because Dublin is a town filled with foreigners. This is part of the reason that it's such an amiable city. I've never been to a place where people are so friendly--already I have Polish, Turkish, Ukrainian and Irish pals.

Today I want to an Argos store. It's amazing. When you walk in, there is nothing there. Two counters and a catalog. The catalog has 1,642 pages, and every possible item you could possibly want. Be it a light bulb or an ipod, a full-size sofa or a laundry hamper, Argos has it. You write down the catalog number on a slip of paper, and sight unseen, pay for it. Within 60 seconds, they call your number at the counter, give you your items, and you're done. If you want a plastic bag for your purchases, you have to pay an additional 15 cents.

Before Argos, though, I managed to get myself lost for two hours looking for a grocery store that's less than ten minutes away. This is the only way I ever get to know my way around--by getting hopelessly lost a fair number of times. So I just gave in to it, and wandered around my neighborhood and the surrounding areas, constantly giggling whenever I heard an Irish child speak. I find it hard to believe that their accents here are genuine, and not just part of some elaborate joke, or maybe a historical recreation like Williamsburg, Virginia. But no, they're not kidding, and every time a real Irish person speaks to me, I have no idea what they are saying. Much like my trip to Spain (where I spoke no Spanish at all), I've taken to remaining mute and doing a lot of nodding.

I've tried to learn how to drink beer, but it's really difficult. It's pretty disgusting, and I just can't bring myself to drink that much liquid at one time. However, the locals seem to like it. Quite a bit, in fact. On Friday I was in a chipper at 3 am, and realized as I watched Irishmen literally slide down walls, that the stereotypes may actually be true.

Because the food here has yet to impress, I made this soup today. It's yummy; you should try it.