Luck of the Irish

I am Irish. You'd never guess it, but I really am. Since the day I was born. Being a St. Patrick’s Day baby has resulted in a strong favoring of all things green, pots of gold, and a small island in the shadows of London. Logically, after spending several days in London, it only made sense to stop around the rest of the area before heading back to Spain/leaving Europe forever. We landed in Dublin for just about 36 hours starting Tuesday afternoon. Gatwick Airport had insane new security systems: rebagging liquids, full-body patdown, camera iris scans – and they weren’t even nice about it. Avoid that airport at all costs if you can. We were really glad to leave that heartless penitentiary of an airfield and land in Dublin just over an hour later. 

Airport, to bus, to hostel safe and sound, we ended up at Isaac’s one of “Dublin’s Best Hotels.” Not sure who decided that, nor do I have a frame of reference, but Isaac’s has been just fine. Wifi in the lobby, full kitchen, included breakfast, central heating, clean sheets, and some random guy’s clothing in my shower, that none of the neighbors can identify. Pretty standard on the positive side. 

A nice Lithuanian man offered me some butter, while telling me his life story in broken English, once I knew the capital of his homeland. True hostel friendships born at Isaacs.

So first evening in Dublin, we head to an undercover location to meet with the FBI. Aka Kate’s family friend who retired from his secret service and now consults for Ireland’s police force. He gave us a tour of his office complete with coffee and cookies before whisking us to Dublin’s fanciest hotel for drinks and then the shnazziest vietnamese restaurant. Since we had Chinese takeout the night before, I enjoyed two straight nights of tofu mania – much gastronomic enjoyment ensued, from dumplings and tempura to a full wok of stir fry. Courtesy of the FBI. Just kidding, but it was incredibly generous of this professional and society man to give us an introduction to Dublin.

We spent the rest of the evening at the famous Temple Bar, which I had never heard of prior to coming to Europe (so it can’t be that famous, right?). There, people did Irish pub things which include buying pints of beer, sitting on stools around barrels, listening to live folk covers, and shouting at each other drunkenly. I quite enjoyed myself.

In the morning, we walked through Trinity College’s campus. We didn’t want to pay to see the library and the Book of Kells because we’ve all seen Harry Potter and old bibles. Okay, not the real answers, but we just decided other sites would be better. We hit up the museum of natural history by accident, mistaking it for the museum of archaeology. The first was really just a huge hall of taxidermy. We lasted about ten minutes, totally creeped out the whole way. We then went to the National Gallery around the corner and were surprised to see Rembrandts, Monets, Bruegels, and a Picasso! The short visit made me appreciate Fox Meadow Elementary’s Learning to Look program. 

On our way out, we took advantage of the creative hands on area of the gallery and drew Christmas cards. I have no future in visual arts, really. But who doesn’t dig Christmas cheer?

Non-sequitor warning. We grabbed lunch at a cute café because they had mozzarella cheese in panini form – rarities in Spain. After eating that with the hugest hot chocolate ever, I made a near full recovery from my frozen state and proceeded to see lots of old stuff in the archaeology museum, the original primary destination. Viking capes, ancient engravings, and tavern coins – oh my. It was like a mini-British museum. But I’m sure Ireland would resent that comparison. Sorry.

We continued on for an alcohol adventure of an afternoon. First stop: Jameson Whiskey Distillery! Apparently, we were 25 minutes late (or 35 minutes early?) for our tour. Feeling time-crunched, and not like we were missing out too much, we joined the midway through tour, totally confusing the guide. We got our included whiskey beverages and Kate became a certified whiskey taster. She prefers Jameson to Jack Daniels and Johnny Walkers. To me, it did taste the least like wood, burning my lips minimally. The watered down cranberry whiskey drink I chose was delightful though – it tasted like nothing.

On an alcoroll, we walked far far far away to Guinness’s base plant. This massive distillery is a huge tourist attraction, employing every fashionable mode of advertising to captivate visitors, promising the opportunity to pull your own pint and see a great view of the city. Since I don’t appreciate beer, I had a diet coke. I am not embarrassed. I tried it. I didn’t like it. And that’s that. The view of Dublin all lit up at night was wonderful and definitely worth the multimedia and multisensory seven floors of tourvertisement. We got to touch barley and throw it in the air, see the 9000 year lease Mr. Guinness signed 200 years ago, smell and taste the beer, and feel like we were Dubliners, in the city, having a home-brewed pint. Or a diet coke. At the upstairs bar, we met two girls from Northeastern and ran into a Dartmouth student we’d met on our plane.

As you can now tell, Dublin is not very big. In just under 1000 words and 36 hours, I feel very satisfied with my visit. The city is a charming blend of Sevilla and Detroit in terms of size, ambiance, and recent development, still a bit rough around the edges… Dublin is a bro city – a place to chill with your friends in a cozy sweatshirt and never worry about the freezing rain outside. We have felt welcomed by everyone, from the secret agent to the random man who asked if we needed directions.

In case you wanted every last detail, like I do, we had veggie pizza delivered to our hostel, with jalapeno poppers (so healthy) and enjoyed the hostelculture.

Now we’re going to bed, praying the incoming snowstorm in Glasgow doesn’t affect our 8 am flight. Ha.