Chelsea and I left Edinburgh early in the morning with bold intentions to reach Ireland by sea. We arrived at our ferry shortly before it was set to sail, but we were stopped at a surprisingly thorough security checkpoint. Our backpacks had to be checked into luggage storage, not unlike on an airplane and I was told that my favorite pocketknife would have to be confiscated.

The ferry interior was massive and decidedly luxurious. Ten floors of bars, restaurants, shops, movie theaters, panoramic window lounges, private rooms, and even a full spa! It was outrageous. While Chelsea inconspicuously hibernated in the on-board food court, I climbed the stairs to the tenth floor where a big metal door with a wheel crank lead out to the deck. Through the window I could see a drizzle of rain pattering on the otherwise deserted deck. I cranked the door open and was nearly knocked off my feet by the torrent of wind that met me on the other side. I pushed my way outside and with some effort closed the door behind me. The wind caught the brim of my favorite hat and sent it careening across the deck. Without thinking, I stepped quickly to grab it but only succeeded in slipping on the rain-slicked floor and falling flat on my face. I half commando crawled half penguin slid forward to my hat. Soaking wet, I stood up and mashed the hat firmly back onto my head. I looked up and saw a man in a very nautical hat watching me from the ship’s bridge above. He gave me a thumbs up and a toothy smile, both of which I proudly returned. I followed the deck all the way around the ship, one hand on the railing, one hand firmly on my hat. The roar of the sea, wind, and rain pumped a continuous supply of adrenaline though me and I looked eagerly for signs of Ireland on the horizon. When the green outline of mountains finally came into view, I bellowed “LAND HO!” to the empty deck and laughed giddily to myself. How could I be the only one outside to enjoy this? It was simply exhilarating to watch Ireland sail into view and it was every bit as green and lush as I had hoped it would be.

Chelsea and I had arrived in Belfast, but we were not lingering long. We made a few bus connections and found ourselves in Dublin by nightfall. I had made us online reservations at the award winning Jacob’s Hostel. We found the hostel around the corner from the bus station in the darkest and dirtiest of back alleyways. Inside it was warm and inviting with a roaring fireplace and lively common area, but from the outside it looked like the opening scene of a Law and Order episode. I paid for three nights, intending to leave the city before the weekend when the hostel rate doubled. After a convincing sales pitch from the reception team, Chelsea and I spontaneously decided to go on the hostel pub-crawl that night.

There are always pros and cons in regards to paying for a pub-crawl. On the one hand you are paying someone to take you to a series of establishments that you easily could have found yourself with a quick web search. As someone who is particularly found of spontaneity and chance encounters, I’m not necessarily a big fan of a preplanned itineraries. But on the other hand, the group crawls usually include a free drink at each pub and also immediately connect you to a group of likeminded travelers who just may become long-term friends if the night goes well. Because you are embedding yourself in an international group, you likely won’t experience the area in the most authentic of ways. But travel is just as much about having fun and making new friends so we decided to seize the night in true Carpe Noctum fashion and tagged along for the ride..

The Dublin pub-crawl did not disappoint and was a riotous experience to say the least. My favorite pub was undoubtedly The Kelt for its cozy atmosphere, warm fireplace, and hilarious live acoustic band. In a more upscale establishment called The Mercantile I chatted up a German and an Austrian girl on a vagabond tour of their own. Switching our conversation from German to English, I introduced them to Chelsea who immediately befriended them. The girls joined us as the pub-crawl continued to the infamous Temple Bar district.

Now the Temple Bar district is a place to be avoided if you are on a tight budget because the bars are known to raise their drink prices by the hour—sometimes making up the prices at will—as a means to capitalize on overly eager tourists in the midst of a binge holiday. It’s a classic tourist trap scenario. But the group was united in a drunken stupor by that point and willfully oblivious to all of this as we bounced from one pub to the next. One of the establishments offered beer pong tournaments with pitchers of Guinness, and as an unofficial ambassador of the United States, I felt obliged to demonstrate the art and finesse of the game. I teamed up with John, another American from our group, and relived the glory days of college as we took down opponent after opponent—the most difficult of which surprisingly being Chelsea.

The night was rounded off by a double DJ silent rave on the rooftop of the last pub. As you went up the stairs to the rave, a guy would hand you one of two bluetooth headsets connected to one of two DJs playing very different styles of music. I put on mine and got a hard-hitting dose of electronic music that aimed to raise pulses. I joined the dance floor and could immediately spot the people moving in rhythm to what I was listening to. As I joined them we contrasted hilariously to those dancing to the other DJ’s playlist who was obviously in a mellower mood. And so we danced, some of us bouncing on the balls of our feet with our hands raised to the sky, the rest moving in a slow motion Tai chi-like flow. All in all I think the pub-crawl was a good decision.

The next morning, after eating a humble hostel breakfast of cereal and orange juice, Chelsea and I went about exploring the city on our own. We discovered:

The festively decorated Jameson distillery:

The small but tall Dublin castle:

The Willy Wonka wonder that was the Guinness brewery and compound:

As the sun began to set and we were heading back toward our hostel, we happened to stumble into a walking tour where we got a very interesting history lesson from an old Irish gentleman. We followed the tour for a bit, the highlight being the castle garden we had somehow overlooked earlier. It featured a sprawling lawn surrounded by various fountains and colorful lighting was perfectly trimmed into a Celtic knot. The castle garden, which occasionally serves as a helicopter-landing pad for international diplomats, features a glass and stone sculpture of a serpent, allegedly the only snake left in Ireland after St. Patrick’s magical eradication of them (at least so the legend says).

The following morning I awoke to a downpour outside my window. While I was disappointed by the weather for my last day in Dublin, I was even more disappointed to find Chelsea unceremoniously packing her things for an early departure. Apparently she had arranged to join the German and Austrian girls from the pub-crawl to drive to Cork that morning. I won’t lie, it difficult to say goodbye to a travel companion as wonderful as Chelsea. But we had both started our travel adventures solo, and as hard as it was to admit, it was time we went our separate ways again. I waved goodbye as she went out into the rain and then started my day with a strong cup of coffee…the Irish variety.

After a couple pick-me-ups, the familiar feeling of wanderlust and spontaneity came over me. I unsheathed my Excalibur, my trusty umbrella, and embraced the Irish weather. I followed signs to the National Archeological Museum of Ireland, a massive building perhaps more aptly described as an armory with its centuries-worth of wondrous weaponry. I poured over the treasure trove of historical relics that spanned proto-historic Viking settlements, the 12th century Norman invasion, Henry VII’s bloody failure that was the English reformation, all the way through the Irish war for Independence culminating in 1922. Afterwards, I went next door to the Irish museum of natural history. I didn’t linger very long due to a rowdy school field trip, but I the highlight of my short visit was undoubtedly the various metal helmets you could try on that used clever mirrors and magnified lenses to mimic the eyesight of various animals including: horses, wolves, mice, giraffes, and my favorite, hammerhead sharks. My wanderings also brought me to the Irish literary museum, a small but tasteful collection of Ireland’s most famous writers’ life works. I had flashbacks of my college lit-classes as I read original diary pages, manuscripts, and personal letters from heavyweights like Swift, Sheridan, Wilde, Yeats, and Joyce.

As lunch time rolled around, I found myself striding onto the grounds of Dublin’s famous Trinity College. I melted seamlessly into the crowd of students hurriedly moving between the gorgeous old stone buildings. I found my way to a student cafe on campus and enjoyed the nostalgic ambience of student life as I tucked into my first hot meal of the day.

I oriented myself back in the direction of my hostel, looking forward to an evening by the warm fire to rest my tired feet. I took unfamiliar streets on the return trip and was rewarded when I stumbled upon the statue of Molly Malone. Molly Malone, voluptuously depicted with her wheelbarrow full of mussels, exists only in the folklore of an old Irish drinking song that starts, In Dublin’s fair city, where the girls are so pretty, I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone…

My three days in Dublin had come and gone in bittersweet fashion. While it is a fun city with so many worthwhile things to see and do, I knew going in that it was a city built on a pillar of tourism. It was time to once again stray from the beaten trail…and hopefully escape the rain.