As the guard handed my passport back to me, I smiled and gave him my now-customary, "gracias," forgetting that we we'd arrived in an English-speaking country.
It'd been months since we'd been surrounded by our native tongue. And apparently at some point over the course of our first two days in lovely Dublin, we lost all rational thought -- and agreed when someone in the group suggested we eat dinner at Acapulco, a Mexican restaurant just down the street from our hostel.
"The last time I was in Acapulco, I got SO SICK," Jody commented as we walked into the restaurant. We all laughed and enjoyed our fajitas and burritos.
Long story short, Jody and I wound up subsisting on saltine crackers and seltzer water for the rest of the week, while our partners-in-crime explored the Irish countryside.
The two redheads at the Guinness Factory BEFORE the Acapulco fiasco:
And quarantined in the hostel AFTER (not our finest moment):
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