All Time Low?

Last week, I reached my abyss. The ONLY currency in this world that matters is social validation, and I went flat broke. In no particular order, Brenaé called my masculinity fragile, an Irish singer told me I looked like a French rapper, Dr. Wasser insinuated I had too strong of an affinity for beer, Blake called me the wasserspeier, and a leprechuan wouldn't let me look in his store. I begin my last week in Bonn with a shattered ego and bowed head.

Now that my conscious is clear, I can write about one of the best weeks of my life. If all it took to have times like that was having to do a dead sprint to my first train before Norderney and my last train back to Bonn, I'd make Usain Bolt look like a chump. Pretty small price to pay to live like a prince on a spa island in the North Sea, or live out a childhood dream to sing "Whiskey in the Jar" in Dublin. 

Starting with being the earliest person at the train station, Norderney was a phenomenal experience. The setting alone, framed between the North Sea and the mud flats, was spectacular, with cold times to be had in both. While everything was fun, working out in the morning, looking out over the waves at night, or standing shin deep in the mud all pale in comparison to the crown jewel of the island experience: the Badehaus. The Thalasso-centric treatment facility was chock full of enough saunas and pools to make the cold weather seem like it was from another planet. The setting also provided the perfect place for a great bromance-triangle to start up between Blake, Brian, and I during the mud treatment (we were loud, allegedly, but I've never been known to speak loudly).

If Norderney was about tranquility, Dublin was chaos. From the peace of Norderney to the storm that was the Irish city, the stark difference between the two was best illustrated by the buses. Irish buses are pure nightmare fuel. They are ambush predators, and if you're not careful, they'll bushwhack you while your back is turned. On the first morning, one poor guy got cracked in the face by a bus mirror while he stood on the sidewalk. After that, we all gave them a wide berth. We walked all over the city, and saw everything from amazing pubs and breweries to sobering cathedrals and memorials. Blake and I took the last morning to grab a 7am pint at Molloy's before an angelic choir service at the St. Patrick's cathedral.

All told, it was a nonstop week, but I hope I remember every second of it. I wouldn't trade a moment of the good company or good times.