Dublin

I traveled to Dublin partially to attend Bloomsday but largely to fill a hole in my schedule before my trip to the Iberian peninsula. I took the air shuttle to the Camden neighborhood which I later learned has a party reputation. Transit for €7 from the airport theoretically expresses but practically slugs along city streets. I arrived at Times Hostel which offered free sangria which I happily took part in. I met a lot of my hostel mates from all over: Quebec, Stuttgart, Italy, and North Carolina. One of the Germans asked if I was with the other, female American to which I responded, “we should both be so lucky” which was the correct answer and we became fast friends. One of the Germans rewarded my wit by sharing a bottle of wine with me. Who carries backup bottles of wine? Having more to drink that I should I tottered out about three hours later to find dinner. Most places were closing at 10:30 PM but I found Jerusalem Restaurant across the street. Most of the cheap hostels in Europe situate themselves in Arab neighborhoods and I like the neighborhood color and cheap food. I returned to talk with a sour Englishman playing in the nearby symphony and a pair of American siblings, one of which could not handle her liquor, then retired for the night.

I began the day with a big brunch at the nearby Brother Hubbard and set out to find a transit pass. Drugstores sell them although only accept cash to charge them, perhaps to avoid money laundering? I walked along a canal further than I hoped to find the train to Sandycove. Several retarded passengers rode the train with their guardians and I wondered if Ireland’s Catholicism and opposition to abortion causes this clustering? I attended the Bloomsday festivities at the James Joyce Tower which was interesting but not entirely enjoyable. I tried and failed several times to read Ulysses, although I enjoyed several of Joyce’s lesser works. The tower was built to protect against the French in the 19th century and Joyce had spent six night there until an incident with a revolver. Two people read and reenacted scenes from the book although I find these hard to follow in oral form. Curiously a man wearing an oversized golden necklace attended and allegedly he is one of the festival’s benefactors. The crowd skewed much older and I failed to strike up conversations so I headed home after only two hours. The proprietors of Sandycove offer a variety of Joycean-themed meals and music which did not interest me.

I returned to Dublin to have lunch at Cornucopia, which offers a variety of vegetarian dishes and a mostly female clientele. I wandered around for a bit and spied the Spire of Dublin which must be the most minimal and ugly structures I have ever seen. It replaces the more impressive Nelson’s Pillar which the IRA demolished. I found the other James Joyce Centre which hosted extortionary tours which I skipped and instead chilled at a coffee shop with broken wifi as I pondered what to do next. I returned to my hostel for a nap and chatted up my hostel mates who had turned from backpackers and academics into party kids and stag partiers. Apparently, the hostel is situated on Camden Street which is a huge party area and the hostel rates increase 2.5x on the weekend!

After that surprise, I treated myself to a vaguely Asian fusion dinner at Neon Asian Street Food which confused me since they give you takeaway boxes which you can serve into bowls. Like a little piggy, I just ate all of the entirely-too-large portions! I wandered Camden Street for a while and tried to enter a jazz club but was denied due to wearing trainers. Unfortunately, I have made this mistake in the past but I opted for running shoes over dress shoes this trip. Instead, I opted for live music at Whelan’s, a labyrinth complex which hosted at least two music stages as well as dancing. Angling for the free midnight show I had a confusing interaction before the bouncer directed upstairs for Gregory Spade and the Love Tailors who performed reinterpretations of older funk songs. I had my first pint of Guinness and observed that the audience came from all ages, quite different than most of the shows I attend in the States. Unfortunately, there was no ventilation and a large crowd so I could not finish the entire set!

I began the next morning late with a run, planning to follow canals on three sides but getting lost after the first one. Unfortunately, I put myself through some cobblestone streets and Trinity University congestion. New shoes seem to be causing me extensor tendonitis but I still enjoyed seeing more of the city. I walked back to the same area for brunch at Hatch and Sons, where I amazed the staff by ordering two breakfasts just to get at the four eggs. Apparently, such things are not done! Afterward, I took the tour at the Little Museum of Dublin which was a highlight of the trip. Ireland defined itself with its struggles with England over sovereignty and religion and plugging some missing pieces of the narrative helped me. One of the permanent exhibits describes the history of Dublin pubs along with a James Joyce puzzle. Finally, the temporary exhibit of U2, likely the most famous Irish export, reminded me of their early success and struggles to redefine themselves in the 90s, ending with the much-maligned Pop.

Breaking for lunch, I found a vaguely Indian-hippie Govindas which felt like a cafeteria. Why must vegetarian restaurants skew lower class? I walked over to Trinity College and, exhausted from my run, I napped on the grass in the quad like a student/homeless person. I woke up around 5:30 and, intending to see the library and, to some extent, the Book of Kells, bought a ticket and was informed I only had 30 minutes before closing! I rushed through the Kells exhibit which held my interest from typography and bookbinding perspectives but I do not understand the religious background Finally, I toured the library which has enough dust to pass for a Harry Potter set. I also saw the Brian Boru Harp, one of the three oldest harps in the world, which inspired both the Guinness logo and the symbol of Irish (reversed).

I planned for a late night so I went home for another nap then headed out for the late comedy show at International Bar. I was one of the only single people there which the emcee and all the comedians immediately picked up on. Coincidentally three other Bay Area travelers sat in the wings and one of the guys had an embarrassing kitschy Giants shirt which took the heat off of me. One of the comedians joked about stains inside pillows and made an unrelated Trump-Russian urine joke and I tried to connect it for him but no dice. I commiserated with the other Californians after the first act and the trio complemented my bridging and bought me a beer!

I had a sad dinner at Subway around 1 AM then headed for Copper Face Jacks which has a reputation as a hookup club. I coincidentally bumped into two of my hostel mates but did not want them salting my game so I slipped away. I danced for a few hours to American pop music with a few Irish folksy remixes thrown in. At 4:30 AM the club closes with a few 80s tunes then kicks everyone to the curb to watch the sun rise. This becomes a day-old meat market with the leftovers trying to find someone to go home with. One girl had too much to drink and could barely get her pickup line out to me despite a few attempts. I watched the other couples and the more successful ones seemed to share a common non-English language like French. One girl had a boyfriend until an appealing Frenchman showed up! Tiring of the shitshow I returned home only to realize that the club kids would loiter outside my window for at least another hour!

I had a late start to Sunday and met my two new roommates, both young women and I was slightly weirded out by bunking with teenagers. Wanting a less yuppie breakfast I found the more down-market Goose on the Loose which was a mom and pop, if mom was an Asian man and pop was a guy with a big beard. I walked through St. Stephen’s Green again and found an Oscar Wilde statue nearby, one of the wittiest men to walk this earth. I was destined for the EPIC museum of Irish migration. I do not recommend it but I took away that if America is characterized by immigration, Ireland is characterized by emigration. Allegedly 17 million Irish live abroad while only 6 million live in Ireland and they make dubious claims such as Barack Obama’s great-great-grandfather having Irish ancestry. The museum is new and well done but the story just did not appeal to me.

Next, I went to the Guinness Storehouse on the outskirts of the city. I read several warnings how this was a tourist trap and I can confirm this. I had some confusion about self-guided vs. tour guide and the latter merely makes a few minute appearance, dispensing trivia like the 9,000-year lease on the brewery. Guinness had some great advertisements back in the day with dubious claims about curing what ails you. They had a huge wooden sculpture of a Guinness pint, including a billowing head, which almost qualifies as art. The main events are a two once taste with tasting notes and an opportunity to pour your own Guinness. This is a total scam which I enjoyed and I learned that the bartender pours 7/8 of the pint with nitrogen and the rest without, taking 119.5 seconds including settling. Afterward, you can take your beer up to the observation deck and discover that Dublin has an unimpressive skyline.

I walked back about 2 km to the hostel to scout for a quick dinner before a failed attempt at listening to jazz nearby. Dejected I returned to the hostel and chatted up some hostelers over so-called tapas, actually cheese and crackers. After the crowd thinned I did some email and blogging and attracted the interest of a backpacker. She was also on a long trip and we commiserated about hostel inconveniences and some of the people we met. One shared complaint was witnessing, but not participating in, bunk bed sex. Some hostels include a curtain around the bed which gives some people license to fornicate! The couple in her story was caught by the Thai mama-san who threw them out. We also discussed strategies for seeing the countryside and agreed that it was OK to sleep in a car for a few days since she lacked a tent. The conversation was really good but I was so tired that I went to sleep early to prepare for my early morning flight the next day.

Ireland was more fun than I hoped, although Bloomsday was more like bust day. I did not learn enough about the country’s history, which seems like many squabbles with England over long periods of time. The pub scene is memorable I enjoyed chatting up patrons although mostly we discussed politics. Most of the Irish pubs worldwide are fakes but the fake ones look similar to the real ones. The climate feels like Seattle to me with the amazing greenery caused by the excessive rain. Overall worth a visit, although perhaps not a second. Onwards to Spain!