A day and a half in Dublin
Whilst on a band tour in the United Kingdom, I managed to squeeze in a day and a half for a solo stint to Dublin. In my usual fashion, my flight tickets were booked hours before departure. Setting off from London City Airport in a CityJet RJ85, I was surrounded by bespectacled Irish co-passengers immersed in their Kindles and paperbacks.
Flying across the Irish Sea was literally a sea change from the scorching heatwave in London, to overcast skies and verdant landscape. Famished after a long day of travel, my first major conundrum was deciphering the Irish lilt as I ordered the side options for my quintessentially Irish baked potato meal. Satiated, I headed to Dublin perched on the top deck of the green airport link bus, taking in the vast green expanse of the countryside and along the way, passing through a seemingly endless tunnel. Finally, I found myself riding through the medieval cobbles and grey edifices of the city.
After checking into my cozy student accommodation a few blocks from St Patrick’s Cathedral, I trotted through brick houses and sunlit stone structures. Out of the by lanes, I found myself in front of St Patrick’s Cathedral, the imposing sanctum basking in the warm summer glow. Sauntering through the Cathedral gardens in flâneur mode, I was presented with a glimpse into the lives of dog-walking Dublin denizens. However, with the arrival of a rather unruly selfie-stick wielding horde, I scurried off the Cathedral greens. Retreating from St Patrick’s, I confronted the grandiose Christ Church arch extending itself along one of the main thoroughfares of the city, as if it were a living organism stretching itself over the breadth of the street. Between the tourist traps, I found myself enjoying a feeling of blissful solitude along the ancient cobbles.
Ambling along for a while, I chanced upon a small live music café by the River Liffey. An upright bass perched up on the attic caught my eye and drew me in. Despite my initial trepidation that the Irish fare would largely comprise of blood pudding (a nightmare for an agnostic who abides by kosher laws) and flavourless food, my supper turned out to be an edible epiphany. Well not quite, though it did turn out to be remarkably satisfying. The proprietor enthusiastically elucidated that the city was undergoing a food renaissance of sorts. Heading back to my compact student accommodation, I stopped by a cavernous pub for a pint of Guinness and a nightcap. Despite their somewhat aloof demeanour, the Irish effortlessly open up over a pint of Guinness. Two-thirds full and fresh from the tap, though still the colour of a muddy river, I was about to commit the ultimate faux pas of taking a sip much before the dark ale separated. Just then a pub stalwart stepped in and initiated me into the world of Guinness appreciation. As I waited for my pint to settle, my silver haired mentor with a sagacious countenance eagerly expounded the subtleties of Irish drinking culture, along with its excesses. I was given to understand that at the time, the dry and warm summer (by Irish standards) had affected the myriad distilleries around the country. My solicitous bartender along with my grizzled tavern companion proceeded to plan my day around the city. After receiving a handwritten list of things to do around the city, I set off into the chilly night, the sky about the same colour as a dark Irish brew.
Come daybreak, I waddled out of bed and made my way to the quaint and crowded Cathedral Café, a stone’s throw from St Patrick’s. Salmon and eggs, scones and strong black coffee roused me out of my slumber. A solemn, somber statue of the Virgin Mary draped in bright blue garb was placed in the corner of the café right by a large window, reminding me that I was in Catholic country. Ensconced alone at a table for two, I gestured to another patron waiting for a free table that the other chair was vacant. Within a short span of time I was given an elementary lesson in Gaelic. Despite her initial reticence, the Irish woman proceeded to give me a rapturous insight into life in the city. I was given to understand that the Irish are superstitious to the point where highway projects have had to circumvent ‘fairy trees’. The “fairy trees”, of course turned out to be diminutive thickets.
A 30 minute trot across the River Liffey and I was at the Irish Writer’s Museum, discovering the Irish antecedents of some of my favourite authors. As I walked out aimlessly, I stumbled upon the Guinness Brewery along with a seemingly endless line of tourists outside. With no intention of spending my time in the city waiting in a queue, I got on a hop-on hop-off bus. The bus driver doubled as a guide, with an engaging narrative of the city whilst driving like a madman through through all the major sites including Kilmainham Gaol and spinning around a roundabout at Phoenix Park. All this, interspersed with dry Irish humour and a fair bit of cussing. At the end of the tour, we were deposited by the quayside. After exploring Trinity College campus, I walked right into the Irish Whiskey Museum. A feisty Irish lass brought out the Irish Whiskey. Poking fun at the superstitious and overtly religious Irish Catholics, she pointed out that “If anythin' good happens its Jay-sus, but if anythin’ bad happens…it’s the fairies”. Our hostess and tasting guide regaled us about the idiosyncrasies of whiskey appreciation. After sampling the popular spirits covered in the whiskey tasting, I tottered out into the street, finding myself in a sea of tourists. Once again I set off in exploratory mode, attempting to get as far away from the crowds as possible. Fortuitously, I stumbled on a Yeats Exhibition, Yeats being one of my favourite Irish poets. A slew of visuals choreographed to poetry took me though the life of the literary stalwart. After wafting through the library building I set out to explore some more, making the most of the long summer day.
Come nightfall I made my way to The Brazen Head: the oldest pub in the city, dating all the way back to the 11th century. Serenaded by impeccable harmony and traditional Irish instruments, I sipped on my last Guinness in the city before making my way back to my room. As I strolled back by the quayside, a hooded figure emerged from the shadows enquiring whether I’d be interested in procuring some heroin. I politely declined and carried on. For a fleeting second, this along with the sight of a Cyclo (A bicycle taxi), transported me back to the warmer streets of Saigon with street urchins around every block dispensing all sorts of clandestine goods and services. Before my mind could wander too far, a cold drizzle and slippery cobbles brought me back to the moment.
The next morning, I set off to Edinburgh. Boarding a Hainan airlines Boeing 787, gave me a firsthand glimpse into Chinese mass tourism. My air-hostesses could not speak a word of English, so I helped them save face by uttering a polite ‘xièxiè’ for the services rendered, much to their relief. My short stint in Dublin had a rather fascinating epilogue as I flew over the British Isles without a single native English speaker around me, as the emerald isle faded away.
