Hot mama! Så det var något otippat. Att resan till Frankrike skulle öka suget efter Irland.
So yes, we met a couple of Irish people. Well actually more than a couple. A whole bunch actually. From Northern Ireland to be more specific. Jumping around in the middle of the street, celebrating having just lost... to Poland in the European Cup. That was our first experience with the Irish - a group of drunk guys, singing "We're the Ulster boys" as four cops stood watching.
One of the Irish told me with a smile that the polish had asked why they were happy having just lost the game: "It doesn't really matter if we loose. We're a happy bunch, just glad to be here. As long as there's beer."
It was the night of her birthday when they caught us on our way home and asked if we wouldn't join them for a drink.
Two girls on vacation and who much rather say yes than no - we were easy targets.
The Irish somehow found a club that was though suspicious it was also more importantly: still open and serving.
So we learned something. If there is a bar still letting people in when all others have locked their doors - It takes an Irish to find it. True story.
As the night was coming to an end - most importantly because it was 5 in the morning the next week was getting ready to take over - the suspicious bar closed and kicked us out.
One of the Irish: "Lets have another drink"
Us: - Everywhere's closed. And we have to go home...
One of the Irish: No come on. I'm sure there's someplace that is still open!!
We looked at each other knowing that they would find a place, still open, and that we were about to pull an all nighter.
So we turned around and ran, yelling "Byyee" just as we disappeared around the corner.
That's generally how we stop ourselves from continuing to party forever - the disappearing act.