This morning we woke up in Galway. We decided to trot around the town one more time before we left, so we packed our things and headed out of our hostel. Galway is such a lovely little place in the morning and early afternoon, with bakeries on every street and people bustling all around. We decided to head back to Thomas Dillon’s, the original maker of claddagh rings. With an executive decision to disregard our inner “cheap starving college student” and take true advantage of our happy accident (ending up in the home of the claddagh ring, unbeknownst to us until our arrival), Nolin and I bought silver claddagh rings. They’re stamped by the Irish government on the inside, which proves that they are the “official, original claddagh ring.” It turns out that the shop didn’t have a ring small enough in stock, so we had the privilege of watching them size my ring by hand. The lovely couple that owned the shop allowed us behind the counter to an old-world looking workbench, where the man sat and sawed minute pieces out of the band with a coping saw. He then placed the ring around a ring sizer and pounded it with a small hammer until the ends met, used some combination of hot welding tools, and delicately sanded it down. Afterward, he polished it on some sort of fabric wheel, and told us about the use of rouge as an abrasive for polishing (he put some on the wheels). Yes, he said to us (though he directed it at Nolin), “so the next time you put blush on your cheeks, you’ve seen what’s in it.”

After purchasing our rings and getting an impromptu, complimentary lesson on old-school ring making and sizing, we headed to the bus station. Naturally, we hopped on the first bus to Dublin. About halfway through the ride, we took a short stop at a bus station where there was food, restrooms, other buses, etc. Our driver was talking to Nolin and mentioned that there was a different bus a few spaces over that was also going to Dublin, but would be taking a more direct route, which would shave about 45 minutes off of our journey. Sounds great, right? Right. So we headed to the luggage storage area on the side of our bus and flung our packs over our shoulders. By this time, of course, it had begun pouring rain. This was no wimpy California spring rain either. This was proper, heavy, Irish rain. So we sprinted some 40 yards to the other bus, backpacks and all, threw our luggage into the luggage carrier under the bus, and hopped through the doors with barely any time to spare. We took our seats, soaked, and a bit out of breath… but hey, we had made it, and that meant 45 whole minutes less traveling time. Again… great, right? You bet. Flash forward a couple hours: we’re nearly to Dublin… the last 30 minutes of the trip. Looking out the window, something jumps out at me… “20″… the number on a bus in the next lane over. We pull up next to this bus…yes, from behind… and I say “hey Nolin….wasn’t our first bus the number 20?” ……it was. There may have been a bang or two of my head against the window. So when we eventually pull up to the Dublin bus station, who pulls up no more than 4 minutes later, but the number 20 bus. Lovely.

It was all good fun though, no worry, no hard feelings. Switching buses was a fun adrenaline rush, even if it didn’t work out exactly the way we planned.

So we made it back home to the Ashfield house in Dublin, a little tired, a little damp, but no worse for the wear. After that, aside from a stop at our favorite burger place (ironically, a fish’n'chips shop) and a short walk in the city, we had a quiet night in, which was especially nice after the long bus ride earlier today. We watched the Euro2008 soccer game: Russia vs. Sweden. Russia won, 2-0. Luckily, I think the group of Swedish guys left the hostel a few days prior.

Tonight was our first major encounter with Americans since arriving in Dublin. There are some good and some bad, which we definitely figured out tonight. There was the girl sitting behind us during the soccer game, who seemed insistent upon giving her commentary on exactly how “intense” each major play was. Then of course, there was the other group. Nolin and I were curious as to when the group of American teenagers with parent chaperones (an unusual occurrence in a hostel) were going to leave. They were a large group, and their parents cooked them dinner in the hostel kitchen, which smelled delicious. This of course, made us dislike them even more. Anyway, we wanted to know when they were going to leave (hoping it would be soon), but didn’t want to be rude by seeming pushy and asking. I jumped at my chance to strike up a conversation with one of them when he couldn’t get the soda machine to work, and slipped into the conversation “so how long will you guys be staying?” Of course, just after finding out that they’re leaving in the morning, I discovered that he and the rest of the kids (who joined the conversation) were actually pretty cool. So I made about 7 friends tonight. They’re from Kentucky. It figures that Nolin and I go all the way to Ireland, and the friends we make are from the midwest.

Anyway, it was a long, two-city day. Rings, bus rides, sprints in the rain, watching soccer with couchfuls of Europeans, and making friends from Kentucky.

That’s something I love about Dublin, you never know who you’ll meet. Over half the people in the city are actually from somewhere other than Ireland, which creates an interesting mix. Just walking down the street, you can hear English, French, Russian, Dutch, Spanish, Irish, and goodness knows what else.

We’ve really come to love Dublin and the ever-exciting Ashfield house. We can’t wait for Josh to come in the morning.

Hope these blogs are reaching healthy and happy people back home. You’re in our thoughts all the way over here.

Love always from Dublin.