I arrived in Dublin on Thursday afternoon after a three hour delay resulting from what I swear was a flash flood in New York. I’ve been having a brilliant time with Rebecca, learning all sorts of slang. Skangers are thug-type low-lifes who wear track suits and hassle people and get into fights. Rebecca says, “They are basically the scum of the earth.” They can be men or women. POBs (Pink, Orange, Blonde) are women who wear pink track suits, have orange-tinted skin from bad self-tans and excessive tanning salons, and have dyed blonde hair.

I have experienced many other cultural encounters as well on this a whirlwind trip. On Thursday, I went to Trinity College, ate dinner in Temple Bar, and then hung around the shopping area of Henry/Mary Street while Rebecca worked. On Friday, I gave myself a walking tour while Rebecca had a jolly time dealing with immigration. I went to St. Auden’s Church, Christchurch, Dublin Castle, Dublihn Garden, the Revenue Museum (about tax collection), and City Hall. Rebecca was sprung from immigration around lunchtime, and we celebrated with sandwiches then went to the National Museum of Decorative Arts. Husband arrived, we went to dinner, and then took advantage of Culture Night, in which museums are open late, and visited the Chester Beatty Library. Today Husband and I took a 2 hour walking tour while Rebecca worked. Then she took us to a seaside town called Howth, where we ate, walked on the pier, climbed a hill, and explored a cemetery amidst the ruins of a 15th century church. We returned to Dublin, walked by Mansion House (the Lord Mayor of Dublin’s residence), passed the Royal College of Surgeons, stopped to see St. Valentine’s relics at Whitefriar Church (I was disappointed that they were hidden in a metal casket), and viewed the oldest recorded house in Dublin. Then we ate and came back to Rebecca’s flat.

It has been extremely fun. I only froze my ass off 57% of the time. Damp cold is the worst.

Now Husband and Rebecca are playing Scrabble on Husband’s iPad. I missed their argument about what the word “loam” meant (but when they mentioned it later, I looked up and said, “Loam? You mean a rich soil?” and they laughed at me). But before that, I made a face.

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t want to go home,” I said.

She stared at me. (Husband smiled.)

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Why do you want to go home?” she asked.

“No, I don’t want to go home!”

She seemed less insulted by that. Tomorrow we are going to Dublinia, the Viking and Medieval museum that may or may not be like Colonial Williamsburg with lots of human re-enactments. I am not clear on that. (Now they are debating what “witan” or “kos” mean. Oy.) After lunch, Husband and I head to the airport for our separate flights (I am flying directly to NYC on Aer Lingus; he is flying to London on Aer Lingus then transferring to American Airlines so he can get airmiles and retain his executive platinum status). Good times.