I have been home nearly a week now and cannot quit dreaming of dancing with Irishmen in Cork and Dublin, complaining of the heat and high prices of Milan, and riding an ATV around Zante all alone for hours at a time completely at bliss and fascinated by my own brazenness.
My skin is still beautifully tanned from the Zakynthian sun, my belly full from 1 1/2 days in Milan, and my mind easily drifts back to that last night in Cork riding around on the back of a bicycle rickshaw in the arms of cute man from Kerry after a night of Irish antics.
Work cannot hold my interest. This town does not satisfy my soul. My heart yearns for the Irish accent, Italian cuisine, and Greek hospitality. 5 months until my next trip is 5 months too many. I want it now.
I keep reliving each moment in my head and heart, all too powerful and vivid to detail in the written word. All too fresh because I can close my eyes and transplant myself to the Washington Inn Bar dancing with a girl named Ailish as she proudly announced to everyone within earshot, “This is her last night! She’s single and hasn’t experienced the proper Ireland!” while I shook my head at her crudeness and continued dancing until she shoved me in the direction of a stranger who was waiting with open arms and smirking at my poorly concealed apologies.
It’s all too fresh to recount and all too perfect to forget.
Brown Bombshell Travels 