Redheaded Runaway
 I'll drink all the time It is the beginning of the voyage home and the first English speaking country I’ve encountered for any substantial amount of time in almost a year. But more than those things it is the land of my ancestors, the ones that figured most prominently in my upbringing and are called to my attention any time I meet someone on the West side of the Iron Curtain. Reaching Dublin all these things swam about my mind as I wandered the streets in slight disbelief that I understood every casual conversation going on around me. So in true fashion I set out to settle myself back into the English speaking world the best way I could think of: Pub Crawl! It was the best pub crawl my Kiwi mate from Prague had ever been on, but I didn’t quite agree. Though the Prague pub crawl was a feat I doubt will ever be replicated. I did meet an individual who managed to my jaw drop farther than I knew it could. The two of us had headed out after everyone else headed home and after ditching Temple Bar for the tourist trap it is, we ended up in a pub listening to some live music. The guy was singing something about a ‘revolution of sound’ and everyone was singing along when she turned to me and said “It’s so funny that they’re singing about revolution and they don’t even know what it is.” I’m sure my jaw sounded like an anvil slamming into the ground below… I put this behind me the next day, cruising south along Dublin Bay and back to Italian kisses, meeting a friend for lunch. Having friends scattered about the globe willing to put me up, take me out and make sure I see the best of their portion of the world is doubtless one of the best parts of my life. She did just this and promised to see that I get some true and proper Guinness while in its hometown. The poor quality one I’d had the night before kept me away from it as I took in another pub crawl, this one with far more time devoted to drinking and general good times. Though it seems I still remain more Aussie than anything else, even one of my compatriots marveled at how I could pass as a myriad of non-American, yet still English-speaking nationalities. I wonder how long it will last. It also seems that the pub I had stumbled upon the night before for the live music was one of the locals’ preferred, as we ended there yet again drinking it the sweet tonic that is a snake bite. Just to be able to say I didn’t spend my entire stay in Dublin in a pub (but would that really be such a bad thing?) I spent the next day in the Wicklow “Mountains”. See despite the fact the Irish are very protective about their “mountains”, they are nothing more than large rolling hills and hence “mountains”. Despite their lack of magnitude it was welcomed respite as I feel as though I’ve spent the last 3 months in cities and haven’t seen anything green beyond a park. And they did unexpectedly hold Mecca, aka the beach where Paul McCartney, arguably one of the greatest song writers ever, wrote “Yesterday”, arguably one of the greatest songs ever. It was a spiritual experience, as were that evening’s Guinnesses. Under the guidance of my mate we headed to some of the best “old man” or general local bars around the city, the ones where they pour a proper pint of Guinness. These were located around some windy corners in the cross streets surrounding Temple Bar, where I’ve still spent precious little time. Not to be set back by a day in the “mountains” I woke early and found a bit of home at the Wool Shed, an Australian bar that the more educated will realize is named after the one in Cairns. The Tri-Nations match between the All Blacks and the Wallabies started at 11, so the place was packed with Kiwis and Aussies by 1030 and I was naturally among them. I confused a few with the combination of my out of place accent, knowledge of the game and the bottle of Speights I started the day with. It was a little piece of the South Pacific (heaven) smack in the middle of Dublin. I did stop for a bit of culture at Christ Church before hitting the Jameson brewery, where I naturally put up my hand as a volunteer whiskey taster. I am now far more knowledgeable about the liquor. The other 3 tasters included a French couple and an Aussie guy from greater-Melbourne. We started chatting over our post-sampling glass of whiskey and headed out a bit aimlessly. As he had already hit the Guinness storehouse, he lamented the fact he’d yet to have a good lager. Having been in the city a grand total of 3 days, I knew just the place and headed towards the Porterhouse. Something like 4.5 hours later, I had 30 min to run back to my new hostel, move my stuff and get back to Trinity gates to meet my mate. I was a bit late, but we still managed a Guinness at the old man’s pub that had been too crowded the previous night before heading off for the outdoor movie. After the film, my friend took us through one of the more colorful stretches of her city to a true locals’ pub where they were playing traditional music. As we rounded the corner and it came into sight, I commented that it looked like the type of place where we’d walk in and everyone would stop and look at us, to which she rebutted that it looked like they would pour a real proper Guinness. Both were true. It was the best Guinness I had in the city and we stayed ‘til close as the time after last hour quickly disappeared. In the grand tradition of drunk-food, we went back up to Temple Bar for a kebab and ended up at Eddie (Johnny) Rocket’s, which conveniently had a bouncer outside for the late night crowd. Also conveniently we were the only people requesting music. After a massive hostel debacle and a few hours of sleep I spent my final day at the essential sights of the city: the jail and the Guinness storehouse. Both were brilliant and oddly the pint at the sky bar of the storehouse was not as good as the previous night’s. Yes there was more to my motherland’s capital than the pubs, but that’s why I liked it so much. It has the perfect combination of culture, nature, size and nightlife. Walking up O’Connell Street on Friday night snacking on some curly fries, I felt more at home than at any other time this year.
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Diary Photos
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Wicklow Mountains River Liffe |
 Wicklow Mountains |
 Dublin Jail |
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