If you ever work for an American company while living abroad, you will find yourself fearing the apocalypse on those mornings that you wake up not knowing it is a holiday in your country of residence.  You still have to work, of course, but the streets will be empty as you walk to your tram/bus/metro stop. No lights will be on, businesses will be boarded up.  No chocolate croissant for you this morning.  The realization that it is a holiday will kick in: you will realize you should have checked the tram/bus/metro schedule, as it won’t be running at its usual times today.  You’ll have a pretty good feeling it’s just a holiday, but you’ll keep checking over your shoulder for zombies, protesters, or the coming lord.

The plus side, of course, is that you get arbitrary American holidays off when everyone else in your country of residence has to work.  One of those holidays is MLK day.  You can then book a nice 3- or 4-day vacation while everyone else is sitting at their desks, and so we did, a few friends and I, and merrily flew to Ireland to take in its beauty despite the bitter and wet cold.

Like any good travelers arriving late, we stopped in a bar after settling into our (very green) hostel and had a Guinness.

The next day, we visited the Christ Church Cathedral and the Trinity College campus, all of which were beautiful but as it was raining and we were shuttling around in the cold, I didn’t get many good photos.  What I did manage to capture, however, was the Brewbaker Cafe, where you can probably get the best coffee in Dublin:

My friend Jon and I insisted that we go see Oscar Wilde’s statue, and that we did.

Let’s stop and think about what a wonderful fella this guy is. If you aren’t sure, read his Wikipedia page and then check out a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from your local library. Then we can reconvene later.

We ventured, did some shopping, drank far too much Guinness, and sat along the river. We danced at the Temple Bar, we danced at Whelan’s, and we drunkenly ate cheeseburgers.  We then walked home and stumbled upon a Tower Records, which I worked at in Virginia up until its sad, sad demise in 2006.

Although Ireland is fun for drinking and dancing, what often comes to mind when you think of Ireland is rolling hills in vibrant shades of green with grazing sheep and nestled stone buildings.  Or rocky cliffs jutting out into the ocean. Am I right?

We rented a car and drove up to Northern Ireland, had a pit stop in Belfast, and made our way to our ultimate destination: Giant’s Causeway.  This is my attempt at showing you how breathtaking it was, but photos do no justice:

They say the Irish are a friendly bunch, and this expectation is also filled. A friendly, middle-aged Irish woman approached us with a thermos filled with hot chocolate.  She distributed mugs of it and gave us each a tea biscuit.  Where did she come from? What did she want? I have no idea because the light-headed feeling I got in my head, the endorphins that make your brain feel all fuzzy, completely took over.  Actually, she might have explained herself, but it’s been a while.  I should have kept a journal.  The endorphin thing did happen though.

I also made one of those crappy videos you always make when you go on vacation.  You hope it’s going to capture the beauty and excitement, but you can’t fit it all into the frame.  I’ll share it with you anyway (make sure your volume isn’t up too high– it was windy and I don’t want to kill your precious ears):

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