Refuse on-campus accommodation, that is. Okay, so it was dear. And they were described as dorms, which reminds me of Mallory Towers, and not in a good way. And there was talk of meal plans, and there was no guarantee we’d even get it … but still. If we’d gone for that, we wouldn’t be staying in this scary Hostel-like hostel, living out of the rubble of our suitcases, racing around a strange city trying to find a place to live.
Exchange students in DCU get self-catered on-campus apartments guaranteed. Jammy feckers.
The trouble is we’re only staying four months. We viewed three houses yesterday where the owners seemed only delighted to be getting in these three mild-mannered Irish/Australian girls (lots of Americans can’t tell the difference, apparently). That was until we mentioned we’re skidaddling at Christmas, and their smiles kind of froze on their faces and they backed away slowly making “I don’t know about this” sounds.
The college itself is gorgeous. And huge. Sort of like Trinity, in that it’s part of the city, but not really. There’s a long straight stretch of street about a mile long, and on either side all the buildings are BU. Lot of roadworks going on at the moment but it’s still pretty.
Americans are often spontaneously helpful, I’m finding. At the airport, on the street, on the train and bus, people must have noticed us looking puzzled and just approached us to help. Says a lot about Ireland – or my cynicism – that the first time it happened I thought he was trying to mug and/or rape us.
Lots of interesting pronunciations of my name, too. “I’m ear”, that’s a popular one. And Ee-mare.
