We arrived in Dublin before the sun came up, still in the darkness we had flown into from JFK. The flight had been a waiting game, filled with James Joyce audio books and unsteady sleep for me. The early hours of the morning seemed to stumble by, anchored by the immaculate Irish breakfast we ate at what was 7:00 in our new time zone.

Then we were finally able to actually get into Dublin proper and make our way hazily to the hotel, lie on the floor for some amount of time, and then gear up for our walking tour. There was a sense of circular continuity as the returning project members recognized the same tour guide from last year- as though perhaps the whole year that had elapsed was just another part of the same long walking tour. This strange deja vu feeling characterized the rest of the tour- although I saw a lot of things I hadn’t gotten a chance to last year (most notably for me, the practically nonexistent Dublin Castle). And it all culminated in that dreamlike wonder of Murphey’s ice cream.

Making our way back to the hotel was an elated blur which smoothly transitioned to me falling dead asleep in the hotel lobby as we waited for our rooms. Another almost seamless transition to the bed in my room.

Next up dinner and music in Temple Bar, strangely singing along to such classics as American Pie and Country Road while eating bangers and mash. But it was good, something about 30 odd hours without any steady sleep made it all feel normal. All just another ridiculous fantasy. Much like being back in Dublin: an odd dream that at the same time is as familiar as getting back home after a long trip.