An O'Rourke in Dublin
Posted: Thursday, March 25, 2010
by Sara O'Rourke
It's 08:00 am. Guinness in right (and left) hand. Wearing headband with dangling, flashing green LED bobbles.
To be quite honest, there is no other way to spend St. Patrick's day than in Dublin - in the midst of the authentic Irish cheer, watching the parade lining O'Connell Street, the Heineken Bar on the riverbank, the pubs and clubs of Temple Bar. What a happy blur!
So what of the cultural aspect of the trip?
I found Dublin to be exactly what I expected. The people are the friendliest, and most eccentric, I have ever met. I felt a bit of a British prune uttering, 'Excuse me!' when I accidentally bumped into people on the busy pavements, to which they amusingly retorted, 'Yes, you're excused!' But this is exactly the low-key, relaxed attitude that makes the Irish so hospitable and easy to blend in with. They have a way of saying, 'Welcome to our country,' without actually having to say anything at all.
That first pint tasted very much like smooth chocolate, and gradually I began to pick up more and more of the local jargon. The accent, musical, globally imitated and desired by more or less all of femalekind, was absolutely impossible to understand. Never the less, I got by as soon as my grin pinched each ear at the sounds of that rolling tongue and tuttering. I found myself agreeing with the Irish men, entirely unaware, and carelessly so, of what I was letting myself in for. Otherwise, Trinity College was a lovely rendition of the Oxbridge prototype; bicycles included. Grafton Street was kitted out with all your designer needs. In other words, I felt very at home.
Now to cover a bit about the interesting encouters made on the trip.
First and foremost, there is a particular lady, a resident at my hostel, who needs a mention. Imagine this, I will describe her to the truest and best of my ability. Her hair was akin to that of Cruella's; that is, half black and half white, probably not naturally. She wandered around the hostel, never once that I saw did she leave, not even on St. Patrick's day, and was always barefoot. Upon inquiry, she told me she was from Madison Avenue, New York City, and was staying in Dublin for a week until she would leave again to visit family in Belgium. Her accent was definitely muddled, but I would not have placed her in central Europe. She had bought a plant for the hostel room, apparently from the Chinease Herbal Store. Second, I met a very interesting Dutch historian with hair down to his elbows. Third, a very vivacious, middle-aged, bald karaoke singer. The city is full of characters!
Finally, what of my antics?
In an army of friends I met travelling, mostly composed of Americans and a few Australians, the city break consisted of many adventures. There was a hunting trip to find legitimate Irish men to conquer, which surprisingly proved quite difficult - Dublin has a disproportionately high Canadian population - or rather, all the best-looking potential was Canadian! There was much ice-cream, late-night games of pool, singing with a bunch of Spanish tourists, an encounter with an old man in a trillby who pierced our ears, and learning how to Irish dance upstairs in a corner pub.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Great article. I love the energy.
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