Business or pleasure? (a trip to Dublin)

Where to begin? First, some background information. For those Americans who, like me, have long thought the terms 'bachelor' and 'bachelorette' sound a wee bit degrading, here's your opportunity to use a new English term for a pre-wedding celebration: stag or hen do. OK, now that I think about it, those are just as bad, but regardless, Newcastle is a popular hen and stag party destination. The levels of drunkenness reached on these weekend-long excursions are fairly shocking to a girl who grew up in a county that didn't sell beer or wine on Sundays. I've been saving up photos to show the lengths people take, but I don't think my collection is complete enough to post just yet. You'll have to wait.

So to tie this to last weekend... two summers ago, a co-worker of mine got married, and the office (of mostly men) decided to take a weekend trip on the ferry to Amsterdam to celebrate. They had such a great time, they decided to do it again this year with Dublin as the destination. Someone at the office was in charge of booking our flights and hotel rooms and one office-wide meal. As we were waiting in the airport for our cheap Ryanair flight last Friday morning, I joined the banter about seeing Dublin from the inside of various pubs, and a co-worker turned to me and jokingly asked, 'Haven't you been on a lad's weekend before?' There was an architectural excuse originally, but in the end, everyone knew this office trip was just a lad's weekend, essentially a stag do without the justification. A lad's weekend with a few women, of course. A lad's weekend with the people you see every day for nine hours, who are your bosses or colleagues or merely acquaintances, the people who you may want to impress with your speed, articulateness, punctuality... not so much your drinking skills. For about the umpteenth time, I wondered what I was in for. (Side note: my computer's dictionary didn't mark 'umpteenth' as misspelled. Wow.)

Read the rest...
I'm glad I went. If nothing else, I got to see a very integral part of Northern English life. (I make no claims for the rest of the country. It may be only as big as my state, but even I can see the diversity in it.) I could easily argue that key element as alcohol, but I can also argue it as an evening spent with friends, creating stories, bonding through ridicule, broaching subjects bordering on 'too serious' for typical English conversation. It may be my femaleness that allowed that last one to occur, but I discussed sexism, racism, marriage, swearing, American city nomenclature, inhibitions, road construction, autism, smoking, xenophobia, diversity, the number of tigers in America, sportsmanship...

That being said, upon arrival and hotel check-in, we ventured forth to explore the city and made it only as far as the fourth pub. Luckily I had been to Dublin before, so I didn't feel obligated to part from the crowd for some sightseeing, but of the eighteen of us, I would estimate about twelve had never been. Apart from a wander by the three women, we pretty much spent the rest of that day in various pubs. The second day brought a lovely walk up a hillside south of the city for some beautiful views of Dublin bay and the sea, but that was followed by some quality pub time as well. Sunday? Do a bit of souvineer shopping for the kids and then wait for the airport bus in... you guessed it, a pub.

I have no idea how much those men spent on alcohol, but I would estimate each pub's tab (and we went to multiple per day/night) equalling my entire weekend expenses. It certainly made for some good stories, which were blearily recounted come breakfast. And the stories will continue to be recounted over the next few months, separating those who know them and those who don't, those who were there from those who were not.

I guess what surprises me most is that drunkenness in general is accepted, even encouraged. I remember reading articles in my trusty free morning newspaper (quality all the way) in New York warning employees not to get drunk at the company Christmas party. Here on Monday morning after the Dublin trip, I read an article in the British version of the same paper about the growing drinking problem in thirty-somethings and explaining alcohol units and recommended allowances. It's not an issue of the Christmas party, but any time someone leaves the office, gets married, or simply proposes a Thursday/Friday night out (Thursday for my office). Drunkenness in front of or even with your boss is not frowned upon, but inevitable. I suspect it is rather more explicit at my office due to the dearth of women and a younger boss who enjoys good food and drink and sharing this love with his colleagues. But I would still be careful of how many drinks I had in front of my American colleagues and boss at a work function (or any function). Here, an empty hand should be filled again, never mind who you're sitting next to.

What else to say? I did have fun. I didn't mind coming in on Monday morning, despite having spent the entire weekend with my co-workers. I looked forward to more open conversations with those whose company I already enjoyed and also with those I'd struggled to talk to before (or who had struggled to talk to me- female, American, younger, uh...). But surely there's a healthier way to bond?

I also had an almost overwhelming moment of homesickness while in a hot, crowded pub listening to some traditional Irish musicians on Saturday night. There was just something about the familiarity (folk music, the little bar with live music as in NYC, memory-laden American songs like 'The Gambler' being covered) and the foreignness (the absurd drinking, the people I'd only known for a year, the 'Powder Day rules' of each man for himself attitudes, the absence of my husband) that made me miss something that wasn't there. I think those intense moments fit with the oddity of the entire weekend.

So where to start? Perhaps with the word surreal. That's what the whole thing was: surreal.