Our esteemed bus driver Kevin, captured the essence of Dublin beautifully; “Who’s hungover today?!” This was met with an awkward silence from the packed bus. “Oh well, the weekend for the locals begins on Wensdy night…and finishes around about the followin’ Wensdy morning.” This assertion was later confirmed by a shiny, red faced, middle aged local as he staggered out of a pub; “Geez it’s pretty ard to stay sober on any noight isn’t it?!” We nodded in agreement. Yes, apparently it is.Those who’ve been to Dublin will know that in addition to the poetic merging of drinking holes accross generations, Dublin offers ‘foreigner friendly’ people, locals frothing at the mouth to give you their 2 cents worth, more Guinness than you can poke a stick at and potatoes coming out your ears. Love it! But the true beauty for us lay in the country-side just outside the city.Prior to our trip, thoughts of Ireland had conjured up rolling hills, masses of greenery and lush fields dotted with flowers. Wicklow, about an hour south of Dublin embodied all that and more. Apparently numerous films have been shot in this particular county including ‘P.S I love you’ and ‘Brave-Heart’. Kevin, our bus driving fountain of knowledge proudly informed us, “I was an extra in Brave-Heart but I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me. You might see the resemblance if I show you my ass though!” We laughed at his reference to the kilt lifting scene with Mel Gibson. Wasn’t a bad delivery either considering the daily recital it surely gets!
One of the highlights of any trip to Dublin involves the Guinness Storehouse. We weren’t disappointed. Seven storeys and a wealth of information about the world famous beer stemming from 1759 and I couldn’t wait to tuck in. Unfortunately the reality was a little different and my pint from the 360 degree panoramic bar became an exercise in ‘when in Rome’ more than anything. Justin was beside himself however and took great delight in photographing his pint from every conceivable angle. This was the continuation of a beautiful friendship between the two, with a pint of Guinness consumed at every opportunity. “It tastes different over here!” was hard for me to believe but easy to run with given my limited beer knowledge.
We discovered a number of interesting yet somewhat depressing points about the history of Ireland on our trip. The Irish have clearly done it tough over the years through famines and Viking and Roman take-overs. Through what seems to be a build up of frustration on multiple levels, most people are feeling pretty angry and a bit down trodden. The result is an unleashing of furry about the current Government on unsuspecting tourists. We listened patiently to several locals venting and were shocked to discover that nearly 50% of the Irish population have migrated overseas (to St Kilda and Bondi?) Seventy years ago there were nearly 8 million people living in Ireland. Today there are around 4.5 million. Brutal statistic which doesn’t say much for the opportunities and faith people have in their own country. The names of a few local heroes the country has produced are trawled out by the locals time and time again. U2, Maeve Binchy, Sinead O’Connor, Oscar Wilde to name a few. Perhaps as a reminder of what such a small country has managed to achieve despite the rough ride over the years.
Nearly every local we came into contact with appeared to be very well educated on the points of interest in their city. By the time we left, we’d been told on no less than 4 occasions about the window tax which prevented the House of Lords from having any windows when it was re-built. Fascinating stuff – the first time we head it. Clearly a city heavily reliant on tourism. The sheer volume of Gift Shops with ‘luck of the Irish’ printed on anything and everything that will fit the words suggests the same thing. Chocolate Leprechaun anyone?
On our last night we attended an Irish music and dancing dinner show at the Arlington pub right on Liffey river. We had a friendly, non English speaking group of middle aged Germans sitting next to us which made for some interesting charades. Ten minutes of wild hand gestures and staccato speech and we discovered they were from Berlin. Exhausting stuff. Justin and I discussed whether we could find some common ground in the World Cup given Germany’s performance – there was no room to back out our chairs to mimmick kicking a football past us 4 times so we gave up.
The traditional food was hearty and tasty but unfortunately I had reached my limit of potatoes by that point. I struggled through my meal as I felt my stomach congealing and my colon pulling up stumps in protest. The entertainment was fantastic however. The dancing was dramatic and full of energy and I wondered how it was possible to dance for such a long period of time without moving your arms. Just as I was contemplating whether London housed Irish dancing schools, I was pulled out of the audience to partake in a ‘demonstration’ session. Feeling a bit like a gumby, I clutched the arm of the sweaty instructor, dodging pellets of perspiration as they flew off his forehead while he swung me around at a ferocious pace. I lost my shoe half way through resulting in something that more closely resembled hopping. Out of breath at the end, I decided there was no need to find a school as I could tick that box and confidently conclude that ‘yes, it’s more difficult than it looks’. It was good of them to give me a certificate for my hopping efforts on stage.
The diddly-dee music started again after the dancing and we watched with amazement as the tourists started filing out of the pub. We wondered whether this early departure would be infuriating for the locals who put their heart and soul into each performance. At one stage we noticed the drummer lean across to his mate and comment “the room’s empty!” Leaving early is definitely not the Irish way – a cultural point lost on most tourists.
We stayed in a hotel on the perimeter of Saint Stephen’s Green called The Conrad. A short walk from Grafton Street but far enough to be removed from the Chaos. The Chaos being Temple Bar. An interesting spot to visit with its cobblestone streets and lively atmosphere but probably not for those of us bordering on sober. Perhaps the two 65 year old females dressed up as Superman as part of a hen’s night might’ve given us that impression… Justin commented ‘I’m at least 10 pints away from most of these people’.
Three days and 285km of side walk pounding later we farewelled Dublin city to sit at the airport for 4 hours waiting for a delayed flight. We pondered what we’d learnt on our trip:
1. The Guinness really does tast better in Dublin. 2. 3 Euro buys 2 packets of chips, a Snickers bar and a bottle of water at the airport. 3. Don’t get an Irishman started on politics. 4. A pint of Guinness can in fact count as a meal. 5. There’s a limit to how much potato the female human digestive system can process. 6. Irish music (despite being beautiful) starts to sound much the same after a while. 7. Irish dancers aren’t wearing straight-jackets to keep their arms down. 8. It’s completely reasonable to have shots of whiskey as a bus driver 9. According to Kevin, if you want to know what the weather is going to be in Dublin just wait 5 minutes… 10. Further to point 9, always assume it’s going to rain.
Cathy & Justin Abroad 