Location: Dublin, Ireland
Season: Winter 2019
In beautiful Ireland, I knew I was destined for a little bit of trouble. I have this friend I met my last visit to its capital, Dublin and we’ve been Air Buds ever since (neither of us are dogs, but being single can be ruff). Her and I met at a pub crawl, in which she was the leader. She was impressed that I could keep up with her shot for shot, pint for pint. Before the alcohol hit us, we exchanged WhatsApps and the rest, is history. We built a beautiful long distance relationship on bad dates, laughter, funny stories, and the claim that I’d visit again.
Later, she revealed to me that she actually didn’t believe I was going to visit again. She meets people on the tours all the time that say they’ll visit and they don’t. I proved true to my word and she was astonished and thrilled!
This first weekend abroad, brought to you by Nicola, my darling Irish friend.
In new heeled boots I bought with her for 5 euros, we set out for a night on the town in downtown Dublin. We poked our head into several tiny pubs, a couple traditional and a couple hipster-esque. We perused the crowd and atmosphere and carried on to the next until we came to the salsa club.
Girl, we need to get you ready for Spain. The only Spanish song both of us knew (no, not the Macarena) came on three songs in. For all of three minutes, we were in our own zone to Danza Kuduro.
While sipping our pink gin (you know I must like her as a person of I’m drinking gin for her. Grrrr), a tan blonde just inches taller than me, approached me with his chest puffed and a slight smile. Grabbing my hand with the confidence of a Puerto Rican Bradley Cooper, he grabbed my hand and began leading me into the rhythm of the Shakira song.
I picked up my pace and his hand slipped to my lower left hip. Before I could move it, it made its way to my ass.
“Woah sir!” I corrected his hand. “Do it again and I’ll hit ya.”
Both hands flew in the air like posing innocence in front of the cops. “All-light, all-light.”
Smiling, I continued to follow the salsa steps I learned in my salsa club in college. Almost every turn, I was with it.
I broke from the trance of sexy salsa music and checked on my friend. She was standing by the side with her coat and her drink.
“Chicks before dicks” was plastered in my mind.
“Thank you,” I said sliding my arm off of his exposed bicep. With a perplexed look, he stopped all movement while I walked away.
“Girl, he was hot! What are you doing?” My friend shouted over the salsa music.
“Not leaving my girl for the likes of any guy,” I smirked, standing beside my friend.
Laughing, she tanked her drink and two shorter Iranian guys put their hips on us to dance. Watching her response, I followed, ducking out and up the flight of stairs to our left.
We cooled off upstairs, I would say until close but, the states are the only country I’ve found that closes their bars at two.
Before leaving, I told her just one more song, ma.
And who did I see but the tan, Peruvian Bradley Cooper getting lightly rejected by a thin blonde with a square face.
Thrilled by her disposal, I strutted into his line of vision, to which he offered me a hand. Spinning me instantly, I laughed at what the girl turned down. Reminded me of “skater boi” and made me wonder if this was what the ballerina was thinking in Avril Lavigne. “Her head was up in space, she needed to come back down to earrrrrth!”
One dance almost turned into two but I gathered some self discipline and again, went for his beautiful bicep.
“Thanks again,” I said with a wink and I was out the door and out of his life.
As for Nicola and I, we had to make 4- not 3, not 2- but 4 stops to rest our aching feet. Also, it was a blistering 5 degrees Celsius.
You know the phrase, stop and smell the roses? Well, during one of the stops for our aching feet, we stopped and smelled the sights. A beautiful Kodac moment of looks on a bridge. Am I such a cliche that I’m a sucker for locks of lovers on a public bridge?
No recipe, just wonders of what tomorrow will bring on my journey away from my home country and the norm.
Dates and Cakes 