Dublin

Saturday February 15/2014

Ireland. Ireland, Ireland, Ireland. What can I say about Ireland? Well for starters, I am not nearly enough of a lush to survive here. Two days in Dublin and I feel like I've aged 50 years. It all started with my dear friend Angela, myself, and my first Guinness at an old man pub across from our hotel and continued long into the night, bringing us to an insufferable bar called Flannery's where the men were obnoxious and the woman had forgot to put on pants. Some things are consistent no matter what part of the world you're in. I was immediately bombarded by a man named Tony. And a Tony he was, indeed. Tony didn't understand personal space, or the fact that not everyone wants to be greeted with the ever enticing dance move known commonly as the "sprinkler". Go away Tony. This bar was making me angry at a very aggressive rate. Packed like sardines, we wiggled our way through the crowds of sweaty, half dressed woman and the even sweatier Tony's that pawed at them, until we found a place with a sufficient amount of oxygen and elbow space. Beside me was a young man, sorry, boy who looked to be enjoying himself as much as I was. "You should try pouting less." This would be my one attempt at putting effort into communication that evening. Tony had exhausted me with his three minute existence, and I had lost any ounce of interest in the human race. But this guy looked miserable and it mildly entertained me. He smiled, half heartedly and replied, "This place is god awful." This statement was enough to accept his offer to buy me a drink. Joey was his name, and unlike Tony, he was actually quite interesting. Joey loved films which kept us locked in deep conversation about how Gravity wasn't anything to rave about, and that Her was an astoundingly brilliant, and heartbreakingly beautiful film. It wasn't until 12 Years a Slave came up, that I started scanning the room, anxious to find Angela and vacate the premise. Don't tell me that Chiwetel Ejiofor over acted in the film and expect me to still find you interesting. So back to the hotel it was. A bottle of wine, a bag of candy, and a whole lot of drunken catch up talk, a perfect end to an evening neither Tony nor Joey could possibly have offered me. 

The next morning, I should have been completely knackered. 36 hours of consciousness, and not an ounce of jet lag. I decided this could only be chalked up to the immense amount of liquor I ingested upon arrival. Here's an interesting fact. A shot in Ireland is not the equivalent to a shot in Canada. So when ordering a double gin and soda, you're basically getting three shots worth of liquor. This information was not known to me at the time. Needless to say, even if I was jet lagged, it wasn't enough to override the immense hangover that inevitably followed my evening of 3 ounce pours. Regardless, it was time to be a tourist and with a jolt of espresso and a surprise croissant in bed from my darling Valentine, Angela, I was game for a full day of Dublin. We roamed the streets, braving the torrential rainfall and entering as many free buildings as possible. The ones we had to pay to see, we left immediately of course; the poorman's guide to some very stunning lobbies and entrances. Even the Church of Dublin expected you to pay an entrance fee. I doubt Jesus would be too pleased about such exploitation. The one place we did succumb to paid admission was the Kilmainham Gaol, a jail built in the 1700's that housed and executed like Irish revolutionaries or some shit (obviously this one hour educational tour was well worth our money) Nothing more romantic than spending Valentines Day in an old ass, haunted as shit jail. I couldn't have been any more creeped out. Until I entered one of the cells. Good god that was eerie. No. We're done now. Time to find a pub and drink heavily, in honour of those heroic lost souls, of course. I admire the pubs here in Ireland. Most don't even serve food. People here don't hide behind meals, pretending like they didn't come to a pub at three in the afternoon for a pint, or five. "No, no, I'm really only here for this tuna club sandwich. The beer is just to wash it down." Irishmen are honest with their alcoholic tendencies. "Fucking rights I'm here to drink, and there ain't a crumb of food in the joint to be bothered with." We went through three pubs before we found a place that would feed us (the croissant had worn off hours ago and we were dragging). After giving the bartender shit for not knowing what a caesar was, I settled for baileys and coffee. Though he did offer to pour a shot of vodka over my chicken wings. And this wasn't intended as a joke. He had the shot glass in hand and was reaching for the vodka. 

By the time we arrived at Colm's house (Angela's… boyfriend? and our host for the next two days) I was barely functioning. But we had a night out on the town ahead of us and I knew if I didn't stay upright I'd be done for. Three cups of tea and two glasses of wine later and I was feeling refreshed. We found ourselves at a three story pub with great craic, but not before our taxi driver accused me of being American. I sure showed him, with my copious knowledge of Canada's political history….. no. Several drinks and way too many laughs later we were at a new bar, and then another bar, and then not that bar because the cover was obscene, and then finally our last bar. All this time, Angela was determined to find me a beautiful bearded Irishman, without an ounce of luck I might add. Our final bar had me yawning more than anything and I was ready to throw in the towel. Enter Tim. A very cute, bearded, bartender, who happened to be an Aussie, and a red head, but I chose not to hold that against him. Tim has been in Ireland for five months, with one month remaining. He was funny, and kept my interest long enough for me to invite him to hang out with us the following day. However, how was I to predict I'd be bent over sideways with jet lagged exhaustion and unable to so much as step into a shower let alone go out in public. So Tim would remain just a bartender in my travel archives. But that's ok. He was short.