Dublin

We had the option to cycle today, or to rest. A mischievous rider toyed with one of our guides, eagerly proposing a hilly 100 km jaunt. On his home turf, with fresh legs after doing virtually all of the driving up till now, he was all in. [We, of course, were not.]

Dublin is the capital of Ireland, and not surprisingly it's a bustling place. Even on a Saturday.

Until it started to rain. People scurried off the sidewalks in search of shelter; with my umbrella I had the place to myself. [Really, people? It rains here, you don't carry umbrellas?]

In my wanderings, I happened upon the statue of Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square Park.

I thought I'd take a walking tour of the city, but having slept in and then taken a wrong turn, I missed the start.

I thought I'd see the Book of Kells, but so did hundreds of other people. The line stretched out of sight.

Although I'm on vacation, I simply had to pay a visit to our local office. [Because. It's there.] I thought I'd leave a note on a colleague's desk, but the surprise was on me when another colleague passed on her way out the door. [Yes, on a Saturday afternoon.] I didn't know she'd relocated to Dublin, and of course she had no idea I was in town. What are the odds?!

I strolled along a segment of the Grand Canal, and watched a waterfowl building out a nest.

A pair of riders had asked if there were any plays being staged, and as it turned out, we were in luck: The Chastitute was playing in revival at the Gaiety Theatre. All the women in our group decamped to the theatre after dinner. Dark material wrapped in a comic candy shell; the sad denouement made me feel guilty for my laughter.

To live is the rarest thing in the world.
Most people exist, that is all.

—Oscar Wilde