Dublin, day one: Some people drank some beer

I know people say this a lot, but when I tell you that Dublin was a whirlwind few days, I really truly mean it. The greatest, most fun and interesting whirlwind of all time. Ireland withstood all of my expectations and exceeded them. The short trip was some of the best days I’ve had abroad so far, and I feel absolutely lucky to have gotten the chance for this visit. I mean, I celebrated Saint Patrick’s Day the rough and tumble way – with the Irish, in Dublin, in their pubs, with their Guinness. To be correct, I only had a sip of Guinness because I’m not too big a fan of it, but still – these couple days were an amazing experience I will never forget. How many people can say they’ve worn a bright green beret around the streets of Dublin on St. Patty’s Day, absorbing the shouts and laughter of the true Irish on the most Irish day of the year?

Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start…After waking up at 8am on Tuesday, Nick and I finally arrived in Dublin around 1pm. Since we’re young, innocent and unprepared 20/21-year olds, we hadn’t checked on how to travel from the airport to our hotel. Can’t be that hard, right? Well, it turned out that all the people telling us that Dublin doesn’t celebrate St. Patty’s Day were horribly wrong, and much of the public transportation that day was clogged with busyness. The woman at the airport told us it could take a bus two hours to reach our hotel, which was somewhat poorly placed outside the city center and not easy to access. There was another bus, which would take us close to the hotel but require some walking, so we hopped on and of course I was cranky from travelling and had to use the bathroom the whole way…but we made it to Newlands Cross, where the airport woman had told us the bus driver could direct us to the hotel. He couldn’t. Instead, we had to trek uphill (with Nick graciously carrying our very heavy large backpack) to another hotel and ask directions to ours. After a few different direction-givers, we found quickly that the people of Dublin are extremely kind and friendly – a fact somewhat forgotten as we then began the stifling warm ten minute walk to our hotel along the middle-of-nowhere highway. Soon, the Green Isle Hotel loomed in front of us, and despite the warm summer day, we were relieved to stumble inside. After checking in, we dropped our stuff, splashed cool water on our faces, and turned back outside for the 30-minute tram ride into Dublin city center.

As we watched stops like Red Cow, Bluebell, Jervis and Abbey Street roll by, I got more and more excited to land in Dublin. And then we did, and stepped off the train into a pulsing crowd of bright green hats and red beards. The streets were jam-packed with Dubliners and tourists decked out in bright green hats, clover-covered faces and fake leprechaun beards. Within minutes, I had gotten a clover painted on my cheek and purchased a couple-euro green beret that read “Ireland” with the Irish symbol of a harp sewn on it – which I wore proudly for the rest of the day and got many comments on (someone even asked me if I was French…no, I said, I’m Irish for the day). We met up with Allie, Emily and Larissa, my friends from Florence, and heard all about the crazy St. Patty’s Day parade they had witnessed earlier. The five of us decided to grab food at a nearby pub – and, looking around, realized that “nearby” pretty much meant every building within view. We chose O’Neils, and promptly ran into Colleen (my other Florence roommate) and a group from my abroad program, who had been celebrating the day since early morning and left us later to take naps at their hotel. They directed us toward the fantastic Irish buffet at O’Neils, though, and we had a delicious meal of turkey, potatoes, carrots and beer. The whole place was loud and bottle-necked full of happy people in hats. It was quite the introduction to Dublin. And so, after an hour or so there, we moved onto another pub…and then another…and another…and another. Until finally, I think we covered most of the Temple Bar (main pub area) of Dublin, and felt satisfied enough to return to our hotel. But first, let me tell you about some people we met along the way:

At one of the pubs, we stood outside to avoid the thick, heavily drinking crowd indoors, and it was pretty nice out so the streets were pleasant. A group of Irishman waved our group over and started chatting with us five, asking about our hometowns and how we liked Dublin so far. It was clear they’d had a long day of celebration, and an Irish friendliness was apparent in their jolly smiling faces. One of them asked why Allie didn’t have a drink in hand, and when she said she wasn’t feeling well (she’s not a big fan of beer) they looked confused and said, “Well, why don’t you just have a Guinness then?” She told them, of course, this was what made her feel sick in the first place…they looked more confused and just told us, “Guinness is the hangover cure, so…” It looked like the Irish didn’t quite understand that for someone who doesn’t like beer (probably unheard of for them), Guinness wasn’t exactly the cure for beer-induced nausea. It was a funny introduction to the world of native Irishmen and the halo of worship surrounding Guinness. I was laughing my butt off and absolutely enthralled with their jokes and stories about this town. When we were ready to move on, it was nice to have such good counselors on what pubs to hit next.

Across the street, I suddenly noticed a man dressed in costume, and this was where we met our second crew of intriguing Irishmen. The outfit turned out to be a costume of Saint Patrick: in long green robes, a golden staff, long beard and pointed green hat that sort of looked like he might be the Pope. “Saint Patrick” was delighted to take photos with our group, and his friends talked to us while snapping pictures. Nick bantered with one about Irish poetry, then the guy convinced me he was from France and when I told him I spoke French, began speaking French with me. Confused, I responded mostly in English until he finally said, “Oh, are you American?” …Yet again the crazy Irish entertained us with their antics – the women were shooting photos of us left and right, while the leader of their pack talked poetry and convinced us they were all French (while speaking in obvious Irish accents), then told us that Saint Patrick was their brother. I’m still not sure what to believe, and we parted ways with a slew of pictures and a few interesting memories.

The best Irish encounter was yet to come, though, and I’ll have to save that one for another day. Day Two in Dublin coming soon! And some pictures…