Immediately after my parents left I began studying for my last final: John Donne. I spent four days in the library reading about this poet and gained a major appreciation for him. The poetry is amazing, specifically in my opinion the Holy Sonnets, particularly “Death be not proud,” and his Devotions, where Hemingway gets the phrase, “For whom the bells toll.” The final was on the 16th, and after it was over about six of us spent the afternoon day drinking. Prone to doing stupid things, we took pills meant for fevers, just to see what would happen when ignoring the warning not to take with alcohol, thinking nothing would actually happen. In reality, I ended up falling asleep on my friend Bridget’s shoulder an hour later, then ate dinner with Beth after that, barely staying awake through it, and went to sleep embarrassingly early for my last night in Dublin. I guess the medicine had the last laugh.
The next day I left Dublin for good and headed down to Lisbon, Portugal to meet up with my friends Evan Johnson and Eillie Anzilotti. The whole semester I’ve been wanting to see Seamus Heaney in person, and I finally got the opportunity in the security line. I was standing there and I saw him walk to the back of the line, talking with someone, and he had a major smile plastered permanently to his face. This was definitely him and I felt immediately star struck. I was debating whether to say something to him at the end of security, wondering if I had the courage. I watched him go through security and get padded down by one of the guards. That was great to see: Nobel Laureates are real people too who get frisked by security. He finished security before I did, and I watched him walk away and disappear down a corridor of the airport. I really don’t know whether, if I got the chance, I would have said something to him. I fantasized the conversation going something like this:
Me: Sorry to bother you, but are you Seamus Heaney?
SH: Haha, I am indeed.
Me: It’s an honor to meet you. I just wanted to shake your hand and tell you that you are an idol of mine.
Then I proceed to smile awkwardly and walk away, half humiliated. Good thing that didn’t happen.
Just seeing him made my morning, and I boarded my flight happily. Our plan for Lisbon was to decompress from the semester by hanging out on the beach the whole time. And that’s exactly what we did. When I got to the hostel, Home Lisbon Hostel (the best hostel of the semester), I changed and we took the train to the beach and stayed there for five hours.
That night we ate dinner at the hostel, one of the best meals I’ve had all semester, and Evan and Eillie were exhausted from Dublin so we stayed in that night.
The next day we woke up and went back to the same beach and spent another five hours there. I walked up and down the beach and took some cool pictures.
Evan and Eillie got really bad sunburns. We ate dinner that night at the hostel again, and the meal was incredible still, and sat at a table with two Australian girls. That night we went on the Hostel pub crawl, which started off during a monsoon that completely flooded the streets. The pub crawl was a lot of fun. The first bar had free drinks for the first hour, and the next two places were dance clubs. We went to sleep around 4:30 that morning. Eillie and Evan had to wake up at 9:30 for flights back to Dublin, but I stayed an extra day and slept til about 1:00. When I woke up I took a tram and met up with my friend Marjorie Kalomeris and her friend from home. As I was waiting for them I went to a community garage sale and bought a CD player for 3 euros, only because I hadn’t seen one in almost a decade and therefore found sentimental value in it. I had a horrible hangover from the night before, and the three of us went to a few cafes, which I appreciated. Her friend got in that day, so they went back to Marjorie’s place and I went to an art museum nearby for a while before heading back toward the hostel.
I wound up taking my last aimless journey in Europe around Lisbon, which lasted almost four hours.
I got some dinner to go at a place that sold falafel, but they gave it to me without sauce or bread, so I was planning on throwing it away. On the way back to the hostel I was stopped by a Rastafarian man who asked me for some money. I then had a ridiculous conversation:
R-man: Have some change, man? I see your fooood.
Me: Don’t have money, but actually do you want this? I don’t want it anymore.
R-man: Sure. No, I don’t need this, I need money, man, moooney. For some juice. I need chuuuice.
Me: I don’t know what Chuse is.
R-man: Chuuuuuice. Like whiskey man.
(I pulled out my wallet and gave him 50 cents)
R-man: What is this? I don’t need this man.
Me: How much do you need?
R-man: 70 euros.
Me: I don’t have 70 euros to give you.
R-man: But I need it man, I neeeeed it!
(I was getting angry)
Me: Listen, I just gave you my dinner, okay? I have to go.
R-man: No, I need the money.
Me: What the fuck do you want from me? I gave you food and some money, that’s all I got.
(I turned around and continued walking down the street)
R-man: C’mon you dickhead!
(He ran after me and I quickly turned around. He handed me back my falafel)
R-man: This is yours, I don’t want it, I just need money for the chuuuise.
Me: Here, here’s 3 euros, that’s all I have for you. Good luck.
Luckily a storeowner was closing his shop nearby and the Rastafarian ran up to him begging for juice, and I got away. I threw away the falafel and bought a better one at another place. I realized that that man would be the last interesting person I met in Europe. I got back to the hostel and hung out there for the rest of the night.
I woke up the next day. (Please note that today is the same day I’m currently writing about. I finally caught up!) I got breakfast in the dining room, showered, finished packing and left for the bus. I’m currently writing this on the plane flight to Boston. I am going from Boston to Chicago. After we took off from Lisbon I looked at Europe for the last time and said my goodbyes.
We are currently over Newfoundland, I think about two hours or so away from the connection.
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