I saw nothing of historical value in Dublin. I barely did any shopping. And I think we can blame this on those troublesome Australians. Everytime I travel, I encounter some dashing Aussie and lose all sensibilities. This trip was no different. On the night that I planned to "take it easy" we found the best pub to date, met two wildly fun Australian travelers and after that, the night was a blur. How can a girl remove herself for the evening when a 6'2" blonde Aussie is on a quest to drink 20 Guiness? She can't! It's impossible! And she can't let him drink alone. That would be unfriendly. Such was my downfall.

I did try to houdini that night. But I was busted by D. and chased up the stairs. Not one of my better moments. And then some guy grabbed me....and Dr. Dre starting booming about how "California likes to party" and I can't let a bunch of foreigners mimic Dre's rhymes taunting the East Coast... really, it was just not right. Not at all.

I did take the Guiness tour at the end of which, the bartender refused to serve my smart mouth. He asked where I was from and I told him Iran. Is that wrong? I may have also told him to shake a leg. All in jest. I spotted him giggling over my comments at the Extra Cold tap.

One interesting moment. When I entered the hotel, I went for breakfast in the restaurant while my room was being prepared. An older gentlemen, seated diagonal from me, partially hidden behind a half wall, stared intently at me for the hour I was seated. I could feel his stare and refused to look his way. Once or twice I looked up, irritated, and he looked away. It was bizarre.

I didn't see him again until 3AM 1/1/02. I walked into the Hotel "study" ahead of my enormous group of friends and as I crossed the threshold and assessed the room I paused. He was seated close to the door in a group of empty chairs and using his leg, wordlessly kicked out a chair toward me. I threw my head back and laughed, taking the seat. Before I could thank him, the others came in and noisely filled out the rest of the seats and he turned to me with eyebrows and said, "I didn't realize you were leading a herd."

"Ha!" I said, "I always travel in packs, makes it safer to accept seats kicked out for me by strangers in foreign lands."

"Touche," he replied and laughed.

We exchanged stories of the night. He was a California businessman. No background on his business but it was evident he was a bohemian and based on the extent of his traveling and lifestyle which he afforded (including the 20 year old scotch I spied him sipping) I assume he had some coin.

I nailed him as a 60's remnant in minutes and lured him in with mention of Bob Dylan. We spoke for hours, about what, I can't really recall. I can only recall, turning to the side to light my cigarette hours later, and him grabbing my face with both his faces, pulling me to him and roughly kissing my cheek. He wished me Happy New Year and was gone.

Strangers in the night. I love that.

I love strangers. Their mystery. Their collective experiences.

I met a lot of strangers, most young men. But this meeting, so predestined, was all the more intriguing. And the fact that he had watched me in the hotel restaurant days before, but made no mention of it, was all the more mysterious. I wonder if he was disappointed with the outcome. I wonder who he really is. But I don't really want to know. That's the beauty of strangers.

On our trip, the kindness of strangers was most fulfilling. We met a man working in the hotel who migrated from Nigeria. He left his wife and children to make money for them. This exchange meant sacrifice for him. Sacrifice in the highest order, removing him from all that he knew and loved. Abroad, although lonely, he told us of the joy he found in the simple pleasures of his life, such as the cup of hot chocolate he indulged in each day after his shift at 7AM.

This man was incredibly kind to us and I hope that we were equally as kind to him. On our last night there, he gave to each of us, a gift. Wrapped in pink paper by his own hands, he proudly gave each of us, a small plastic snow globe of the city of Dublin. The beauty of this gift was in the thought and the giving, the time spent during his free time to purchase these things and to wrap them for us. The joy in his eyes when he gave them to us, so unprovoked and kindly.

We cried. Each of us, cried, opening these gifts from a man who left his country and his family to make a better life which meant sacrificing his own happiness generating from a life with his wife and children. He shared his small wages and his time with us, strangers to him. He didn't know our loss this year. He did not that we were there, running from grief all the way across the Atlantic in the hopes of starting off the New Year fresh, with no reminders.

What a beautiful stranger. Holding that globe in my hands, in the wee hours of New Years Day, I felt love and goodness transcending plastic and water and I knew suddenly that the world will be good again, as long as there are beautiful strangers like this sprinkled in other places throughout the world.

And now I better understand the meaning of "Happy New Year."

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