Oooh Dublin. While this excerpt from my book is beautifully accurate, the memories I bring home with me from Ireland, although full of striking scenery, have surprisingly less to do with the green views and more to do with the people. I suppose I went to the land of the leprechaun with little to no expectations, but had they been mountainous I believe they still would have been surpassed after interacting with what turned out to be, a ridiculously lovely population. To say that the Irish are “pleasant”, “helpful”, even “jolly”, doesn’t do these people justice, but hopefully the content of this post will.
We’ll start at the beginning.
I really am much more organized and efficient when I have the time to be. I was beginning to think that I was just a natural born disaster, prone to organizational whirlwinds at every step. But turns out I’m not! I was the one guiding everyone out the door this clear morning at 5:30am, a full stomach from a healthy breakfast, and a perfectly packed bag. (Maybe I am capable of becoming an event planner after all!)
I was also the one running ahead of the troops when we were still inevitably late, checking the platform number and hustling each girl onto the train in front of my like a mamma hen. Anyways, we made it, and not a second too soon. It may have been a hell of a night trying to fit everything I need for a week into European bag regulations, and a shock when my alarm went off at 4:30am, but content and anticipating the St. Patty’s Day weekend ahead of me, I was never happier watching the sunrise over Tuscany.
Our bus ride from the airport into Dublin was when the Irish made their first benevolent impression on me. In the midst of casually discussing which stop was ours with my roommates, I felt a little tap tap on my shoulder. I turn around and this woman about my age, who is the spitting image of your typical Irish prototype- clear, creamy skin and the palest blue eyes I have ever seen- helpfully chimes in that she knows where our stop is and she’d be happy to tell us when it’s coming up.
Two minutes later I get another tap tap , and she wonders if we might like to know a couple good pubs near our hotel? By the end of our ride, I have a list of places to visit and hand drawn instructions on how to get to each of them.
(I soon discover that everybody in this delightful little town is the same- offering directions and suggestions, and ALL with a big smile. The way every person also adds “Oh, and enjoy yourself while you’re there!” before they wave you off, you can tell it is genuinely their pleasure to be helping you out.) Upon meeting with Laurent, Chap, and Natalie at the hotel, we go into town for some traditional Irish nourishment. I get delicious Irish sausage with mustard-infused potatoes and caramelized onions, accompanied with Guinness, obviously.
Then we go out and get lost in the bustling merry streets of Dublin, alive with the spirit of the St. Patty’s holiday. The scene was similar to Vancouver, Canada- crowded streets lined with pubs, and live music flowing out of the doors and into the night air. Not once did I hear Usher or Pitbull, or any other American pop music (Amen to that). Almost every pub had a live band, playing medlies of traditional Irish music and American oldies, such as “Brown Eyed Girl”, “West Virginia”, and more recent tunes by The Killers, and Death Cab for Cutie.
I. Love. Dublin.
And I love Irish car bombs more than can be explained. I only wish I had experienced this, this… drinkable ice cream earlier on in life, because I’ve missed out on six legal months of enjoying this delicious beverage.Anyways. Ireland is perhaps the only place where 70-year old birthday boys, mothers, and college students can collectively party together at the same pub, and it is utterly normal. Women who could be my grandmothers dancing on bar tops and grown men linking arms to do an Irish jig- this joyful passion for fun definitely left its impression on me.
“Brian”, the birthday boy I am referring to, upon informing me that it was his special day (I didn’t tell him that the declaration of WELCOME TO THE 70-YEAR OLD CLUB on his neon green t-shirt was a bit obvious), was absolutely smashed. So was everyone else in his cabobbled birthday group, who were all also graying and toothless, and wearing clown wigs, masks, and an assortment of other apparently appropriate accessories. The next day we wake up and go to the Guinness Storehouse. It’s a gorgeous green day, and I can’t help loving the city’s contagious positive energy.
The Storehouse is nothing short of awesome. I learn the four basic and all natural ingredients of the famous black drink- barley, hops, water, and yeast- and all about its history, production, and distribution. One level teaches you how to properly pour a pint of Guinness. (Not bragging, but they saved my certification paper until last, saying that I was best in the class.) From there we got to drink the product of our efforts while touring and eventually reaching the seventh level- a gravity bar overlooking all of Dublin. Not only could I see where the millions of pints of Guinness are produced every day, but such monuments as St. Patricks Tower and Trinity College.
Then, sadly, Laurent and Chap had to leave for London, so we said goodbye and I met up with my roommates. (They had just begun the Guinness tour, so unfortunately I had to go back to the gravity bar with them and got stuck with drink tickets the unenlightened couples who gave them to me didn’t want. Bummmer.) Then, we were eventually kicked out, if this eloquent speech can be considered “kicking out”:“I would like to thank the lot of you for coming and spending this splendid afternoon with us here at the Guinness Storehouse. I’m sure ye’ all know of the rugby match currently a’playin, an’ that none of ye’ are sore losers, so I ask that everybody kindly raise your glass to the Irish Rugby Football Union!”
Laughter
“It pains me to be the bearer of bad news but I ask ye’ to please come and use your tickets if you have not already done so, as we would like to get out and watch the rugby match for ourselves! Please no rush, beer is meant to be enjoyed and enjoy yerselves you will!”
If this charming “last call” is any indication of the capacity of Irish interaction, then you have a slight idea of how the rest of my trip went.
For dinner, I met up with friends from Chapman who were also in Dublin. Sushi was their food of choice, and given that I’ve been craving Asian cuisine for SO long, I was delighted to ignore travel obligations and eat scandalously un-Irish food with them.
I got another display of Irish charm when our food was late and our server took the time, despite the chaos of the restaurant, to describe in detail that the chefs were “tending to every single piece of edamame for us; cuddling them, stroking them, and infusing each individual bean with so much love” that they when they got to the table they would be so “warm and nurtured as to pop with happiness in our mouths!”I truly think that an Irish person could convey to you the message that the world was ending and somehow you would still walk away feeling delighted.
Better than the food (which when we did get, was incredible), was getting to catch up with people that I hadn’t seen in a long time. Megan is one of my longest college friends, and it was so great to get to connect overseas and catch up with her.
We had one of those long delicious dinners where everyone is still talking hours after the food is gone, fuzzy with alcohol and happiness to be updated on all that has been happening in our very different lives. And then we went out. Sixth months ago we were dancing at the District together, and here we were in Dublin, singing along to folk music beneath the millions of paper shamrocks and making friends with old men, chatting with London-born French real estate agents, and sampling our first Snake Bites (cider, beer, and vodka).
The 70-year old birthday party group was at the same pub again, and I confused Brian with one of the other old men in wigs. He played along, asking me to take pictures with him and such, until real Brian returned and the imposter just laughed and said he was hoping he could get a kiss out of playing the role.
Those tricky leprechauns.
Sunday morning my roommates were gone by the time I got back to our hotel, so I turned on my iPod and reveled in having all the space to myself. The next bus into town wasn’t for a while, so I leisurely got ready for the day, humming along to Dave Matthews all the while (it must be something about this country, you can’t help but to be happy all the time!) I made my way back to town, giddy with excitement of getting to explore Dublin on my own.
Sometimes traveling with others and trying to keep everybody happy gets difficult and being alone really frees one up to do whatever they please. And I have to admit that while I was initially skeptical of how far the bus ride into town was, I actually enjoyed being able to see the rural parts of Dublin instead of only the innards of the city center. It gave you time to really take in and process the country you were in instead of simply feeling like a visitor.
I’ve learned that when it comes to travel, quality is much more important than quantity. I'd rather go to fewer places and have an amazing time instead of just flying through a bunch of cities to check them off my list. I’ve also learned that you have to be selfish. You pay a lot for these trip's, it’s important to get out of it what you want.
So I wandered, stopping for a mocha and a white chocolate raspberry muffin so I could people-watch in comfort. I did a little shopping and some site seeing, and eventually met up with Megan and Taylor for fish n’ chips. Unaccustomed to greasy food, I got a terrible stomachache. All the Italian olive oil and fresh food has been spoiling me!
After, we went to this place Megan had heard about. It was an underground pub full of people our actual age, and we cozied up with some Irish coffees in the corner- The perfect way to end my perfectly jubilant weekend :)
On the bus ride back home I asked my driver could he please stop at Kingswood, it was dark and I wasn’t sure I would remember well enough to see my stop. Had he been an American bus driver, cranky at this time of night, the response would have been possibly the same but thick with sarcasm.
My sweet Irish bus driver, however, just smiles and asks in his perfectly cheery way “Sure, love, would you like me to just call back to you?”
I don’t think luck is what gets one around out here; I think it’s simply good-will.
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