IRELAND DAY 1 - DUBLIN

 

A few years ago, Aer Lingus added a direct route from PHL to DUB, and we take advantage of the easy, overnight flight, not much longer than a hop to the Caribbean.  Buttery landing, win baggage-belt-lotto scoring the first bags on the carousel and we’re in a taxi by 9:30am.  The cabbie is chatty, happy to talk about his city, his country and our country, weaving great local tips through the conversation.

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We arrive the Shelbourne and, despite Mandy’s Marriott status, there’s no chance of getting into our room this early.  We figured as much and already have a plan, surrendering our bags to the traditionally dressed bellman and hit the streets on foot.  It’s about a 10 minute walk to Murphy’s Café Bistro Bar for a much needed Americano and hearty Irish breakfast.  We’ve been awake for 24 hours as we start Mandy’s well researched walking tour of central Dublin.

The tour starts at O’Connell Bridge, the unofficial centerpoint of town and reputed to be the only bridge in the world to be wider than it is long.  We continue up O’Connell Street stopping to check out numerous statues and monuments and buildings of significance as we go. The O’Connell Memorial is comprised of numerous allegory laden bronze statues, several of which still have bullet holes from the fighting in 1916.  Further along we check out the Spire of Dublin, aka “The Stiletto in the Ghetto”, an elegant 390 foot tall needle built to celebrate Dublin’s Millennium in 1988.  Our last stop on O’Connell Street is the Garden of Remembrance, its moving cross shaped pool and massive Children of Lir statue created to honor all the casualties of the fight for Irish freedom.

Our walk continues through the Morre Street international market, over the Ha’penny Bridge, past the Temple Bar area and, by the time we get back to the posh Grafton Street shopping area, the Sunday morning brunch crowd has flooded into action.  Back to the hotel, check in, change and out the door.  This taxi driver is as friendly as the first, and we take notes for the north and west or Ireland that will weave themselves into our next trip here.

It's 2pm when we arrive at the Guiness Storehouse, the museum/tour at the factory, an homage to the beer synonymous with Ireland itself.  It’s a fun space celebrating the manufacturing and heritage of the iconic brew, spiraling up, each floor another theme. I’m particularly taken with the advertising exhibit, showcasing the print and media ads over the decades, my favorites being the “Guinness Is Good For You” (I’d love to meet the guy who thought “hey, let’s play up the health benefits of beer!”  Bloody genius!) and the Fish on a Bicycle. The tour culminates at the top floor bar, a large round space with floor to ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the city. It’s a pilgrimage for anyone who has ever identified as Irish. Or had a beer.  Mandy is buzzed by the 3^rd sip.

Our third cabbie of the day is also the third to recommend O’Donoghue’s as the best, most authentic pub in Dublin, and it’s conveniently located just 2 blocks from the Shelbourne.  But man cannot live on Guinness and whiskey alone, although many have tried, and a good percentage of them live around here, so it’s dinner first.  Doheny & Nesbitt offers a traditional menu in a traditional setting, replete with traditional batmen and traditional patrons.  We take our places at the traditional bar and order off the healthy side of the menu… Bangers and Mash for me, Beef and Guinness Stew for Mandy.  We chat with John, the middle-aged man sitting next to us, a local truck driver.  John starts the conversation when our food is served with "that's not how my mother's bangers and mashed looked!".  He takes and makes calls intermittently through the course of our conversation and, on one call, we overhear him asking a friend to borrow a suit for a funeral on Tuesday.  Apparently disappointed with the response, he goes on to ask for a black sports coat “to go with my chino’s”.  We chat on about Ireland, America, American politics (a favorite subject among the locals who are very well versed on the subject), Biden’s visit, travel, life, the universe and everything.  We force ourselves out of Doheny & Nesbitt as we’re starting to hit the wall, regretting only that we’ll never know John’s sartorial choices for the burial.

Just across the street is O’Donoghue’s the double-apostrophe pub proudly sticking to their analog roots.  Here you will find no TVs or other modern technological distractions.  Just people, freely talking to each other, embracing the “no strangers, only friends we haven’t met yet” philosophy.  There’s music here every night and the band, as such, is a group of unpaid locals who bring their own guitars, mandolins, accordions and voices who roll in when they can and just start playing unplugged.  At home we’d call it an acoustic jam night.  They sit on a low L-shaped sectional and some chopped down bar stools around a big coffee table.  Tonight there’s five musicians, the youngest not even 25 and the oldest was celebrating his 70^th birthday and 50^th year of playing at O’Donoghue’s.  Each musician takes his turn leading a song round-robin style, and the others have the familiarity to just play along, the accompaniment resulting in the harmonious Irish sound so iconic in pubs here.

Mandy and I are exhausted, so we’re just going to have one and go.  But the music is amazing.  And the people even moreso.  We end up talking for hours with a group of three guys, one Irish and his two British best friends.  They’re a riot and Mandy may or may not be coming back to Ireland for David’s wedding in a few weeks.  One becomes three, then we add some Teeling’s whiskey, so counting pints and keeping track of time becomes superfluous.  Also pronouncing superfluous becomes impossible.  We laugh late into the night, but eventually, 36 hours of awake catches up with us.  It promises to be a helluva two weeks.