Ophelia

Whether for better or for worse, nothing ever goes exactly according to plan. On travel days in particular, this is one of the reasons I tend to avoid making definitive plans. The one exception was when I went to see Les Mis, and even hustling, I only arrived with fifteen minutes to spare before the curtain. Such as it is, I hadn’t planned anything for my one night in Dublin.

My expectations were well-founded. All of my research about how to get to my hostel from the airport was wasted when I approached the bus and the driver told me they weren’t going where I needed to be and directed me to another bus. Later, I saw that same bus line stopping exactly where I needed to be. Though it saved me €1.70, it also put me an hour behind my indeterminate schedule and about a mile out of my way. Nonetheless, I arrived in my hostel and was pleasantly surprised by the accommodations. My last hostel experience was a decade ago, and my memories of it are mostly of dark dingy discomfort. By the time I had everything stowed and was changed out of my travelling clothes, it was 7pm. I had two options, I decided. I could either get dinner somewhere, or go try to scalp tickets to the Lumineers concert which already was startin.

As I was haggling with the scalper, I looked up and made eye contact with Neyla Pekarek (the group’s cellist) as she made her way into the theatre. What was I supposed to say though? “Oh hey, for a second I thought you were Maisie Williams, but you’re actually just the famous person I was looking for!” In the end, I waited until right before they were supposed to come on stage, and got the ticket for about €25 less than they were originally asking. If I had played hardball, I probably could have saved another ten, but if I had done that I probably would not have ended up getting my seat of choice in the center front row of the mezzanine.

A few months back, we sat wondering if The Lumineers would ever release another album and when they’d tour again. As such, I keenly felt the absence of the Sisters Lawson and their respective husbands – even you, Keenan, despite how you got shafted the last time we saw them. Alas, I had to content myself chatting with a girl from California as we waited for them to come on.

The Olympia Theatre was packed, and they put on a fantastic show. The barefoot hipster playing the piano made me feel like I was back in Colorado, and the energy of the crowd rode high the entire set. During the period of which I’m unsure whether it was just short break or if it was an unconvincing attempt at a finish to prompt a contrived encore, the crowd treated the band to their first “ole!” Naturally, the next song was the slowest and saddest of the night. In the small theatre, we were gifted an exceptional rendition of Darlene done without the aid of any sound equipment, just the pure tones of voice and instrument mixing naturally, filling the small space and drawing us in.

Having decided against asking my new-made almost friend out for drinks, I headed back after the concert and instead enjoyed a cider in the comforts of the hostel bar. Which is where I met Carla, the professional South African netball player who flew to Dublin just for the concert and was flying back to England in a few hours. I found it concerningly odd at first when she asked me if we had a free bunk in my room where she could crash. Then I found out that she accidentally booked a mixed-dorm and it was just her and four men in her room. “Dodgy,” she called it, and she planned on sitting in the common room all night. Remembering the guy who had called me “baby doll” in the elevator, I was moved by her plight and offered her the spare bunk. I don’t suppose I really had a right to, but I’ve slept in enough public places in my life to want to help someone else avoid that unpleasantness if possible.

The Brevity Report:

• More lying bus drivers
• Lumineers in concert
• Rogue South African roommate