In Europe, nosebleed seats have a somewhat different nuance than in the U.S. They're still bad, but the nosebleed moniker comes because there is the very real possibility of getting kicked in the face by a performer. My nose was literally 24 inches from the edge of the stage.
Somebody will have to metric that up for me.
It's not like sitting on the front row of a movie theater, fortunately. Then you miss a good percentage of the details and leave with a headache and a sore neck. Here, it's more like the characters in the play were represented by shoes and pants, not by people.
I'm back in Dublin. It was fun to be on the bus from the airport and actually recognize places. I do have to remind myself to speak, though. I'm so used to saying as little as possible because I don't speak the language that's it's almost foreign to actually speak the language.
So I have half of today and tomorrow to get to everything I missed the first time. I made it to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, a 1,200-year-old copy of the Gospels. (Last week someone asked the tour guide if that was 900 AD or BC.) I went to Dublin Castle, which is very similar to most every other castle I've seen. I tried to go to St. Patrick's Cathedral, but it was closed for the day. I almost went back to the leprechaun museum for is Halloween program, then changed my mind a block away, turned around and came to the theatre. I'd considered this show but then reconsidered. I reconsidered again when it struck me that I like theatre and I don't like scary stories, so why was I opting for the latter over the former? Fortunately they started at the same time and are both in downtown Dublin.
Apropos of nothing, why is it that the quieter you're trying to be, the louder you are? This morning I got back from the shower and was still the only conscious life form in the room. I cautiously moved toward my bed, only to drop every hard plastic object I was carrying on the floor and kick my metal water bottle over twice. Had my phone not been on airplane mode, it would have rung.
Speaking of, I was standing in this ancient library surrounded by more ancient books when I heard my ring tone. It was fairly close to me and no one was answering it. I surreptitiously pulled my bag closer to check while replaying when I had turned my phone on. It was not me. Nor was it me whose phone went off in the theatre twice. I judged that person. Based on the tsking around me, so did other people.
The play, by the way, is called "The Hanging Garden." It's about this über dysfunctional family. (I like stories like these because it makes my family seem so normal.) it's really sad, though. I'll let you look it up. It's Irish.
I also will not be the last person to bed in my room tonight. I should apologize to those girls I shared a room with last time I was here. Maybe they'd been traveling for weeks and were just really, really tired.
It's a courting couch, complete with chaperone seats at each end. I can't imagine what adding a chaperone does to the awkwardness level of a date.