Don’t wear branded clothes. People over here don’t wear advertising. LIE
It rains all the time. Okay, that one is mostly true.
No one wears sports shoes. DAMN LIE
Right, so I believed that last one before I got here, and it may be that the two major cities I’ve been to in Ireland (Dublin and Belfast) are college towns, but… Yeah, all I’ve seen on people’s feet have been sports shoes or Doc Martens. Oh, and one pair of Converse high tops. For sure, in the under 30 set, that’s true. It’s mostly true in the 50 and under crowd, and frequently true for the over 60.
Part of the reason is that everything is “walking distance” in Dublin, which really means it’s faster to walk than take a taxi or the city transit. But I didn’t know that on arrival, so armed with my “this is what YouTube says about—” research, I started day 1 in professional clothes and shoes.
My feet were crying in less than four hours. So many reasons why, but part of it is that Dublin is a walking city, partly it’s very humid here which I did not know before arrival (duh!), and part of it is that the grounds are a mix of sidewalks and cobblestone walkways. Cobblestone. They’re pretty, they’re quaint, they’re historic. They’re also uneven, damp, and sure to puncture the image in your head when you got dressed that morning.
So I switched to my flat knee boots in black, because they go with everything. Except the rain. Colorado doesn’t get much rain, and the snow we get lasts a day or two before it disappears, so these boots worked great there. And then, one afternoon, the sky opened up and dropped the inside of the Titanic onto the streets of Dublin.
School kids in uniform decried the end of the world (seriously, they were very vocal). Women tried to hide behind umbrellas but the wind whisked the flimsy material inside out and upside down. People of all stripes took shelter in the shops along Grafton Street.
The day before I had bemoaned the shapeless and heavy raincoat I bought earlier this week, but now I felt vindicated in my unfashionable choice. I pulled tight the strings on the very unattractive hood and braved the wild woolly streets.
Here I was, an intrepid soul, braving the walk where no one dared to go, and then my fashionable but flimsy knee boots started taking on water.
At first, it was just the tip of the iceberg. My toes, but what happened beneath the waterline was much worse.
By the time I got to the dining hall, which honestly looks a bit like the great hall in Harry Potter, my feet were squishy. (I’ll try to sneak a quick, I’m-not-in-awe and everything-is-cool photo next time I’m in there, and post it on Instagram)
I am soaked from my knees to my toes, and I’m not the only one. One student shows the line of demarcation between the bottom of her trench coat and her shoes. Another, wearing blue suede shoes (really), opted to be late to class. “I know what I’ve got to do,” he said, but he didn’t want to do it. Along the route to class, I noticed that Dubliners for the most part are prepared for anything. Several wear clear plastic rain gear over their dry and serviceable (sometimes branded) clothing. One even has plastic covers for his boots (so I guess he isn’t taking on water).
I sit through the next few hours of lecture and the train ride home with cold and clammy feet. Obviously something has to give.
As a student, I run this balancing act between wanting to buy everything I see and knowing that I have to keep a certain amount in my checking account, so I really didn’t want to have to buy new shoes, but this was a gigantic—some might say Titanic—emergency.
One thing they taught us in survival school, curtesy of trench warfare, was that the number one priority in the field is keeping your feet dry. While we haven’t had that kind of storm since, I won’t make it the next year without rain. And I’m fairly certain my boots won’t make it. I know for a fact my purple running shoes won’t. They’re already covered in mud and the insole is more of a floaty than a part of the foundation.
Belfast Bound
Once every week or two, I try to visit my son in Belfast where he’s in his first year at uni. We have coffee, sometimes lunch, and then do some shopping. You know, exciting things like try to find American chips and salsa (I really am craving it). So we made a plan, including, I told him, boots.
He picks up cleaning supplies (he’s been here a month, so if this is the first time he’s cleaning…). I pick up a few groceries, and then we head for boots. Well, not exactly. See, he heard Boots capital B and walked into
Boots Pharmacy. For the record, not what I had in mind, but also, that’s the second time “Boots” the pharmacy has caused us some confusion.
No, I clarified. I needed boots. For my feet.
So I’ll tell you that story next time!
Join me on my journey. I have no idea what I’m doing or where I’ll end up. That’s half the fun. Depends on the day.
We need an update! I'm dying here, lol