Ireland is a place where everyone seems to have the gift of gab. Some of the most distinguished and influential writers graced the streets of Dublin, but not every story deserves to be told. An innocuous event such as a man getting up out of bed and putting on his shoes can be turned into the most long-winded story or worse yet a song. Everywhere and everyone was a story for someone in Ireland. And in my short time there… I heard a lot of stories. It is only fair I share my story.
My Aer Lingus flight was out of LAX directly to Dublin. The flight was delayed so it made the upcoming 10 hours even more torturous. To my surprise, the seat next to me was open, and in front of me, the exit door had this long plastic prize that was perfect to rest my feet on. Across from me was a lovely flight attendant that I shared several nice conversations. She told a tall tale about how the beef and pork in Dublin were some of the best in the world. Reflecting- this was a very large tale.
Immigration was a breeze and I was able to get a taxi in no time. Uber sorta worked in Ireland. You go through the Uber app, but they send a taxi. I stayed at the Castle Hotel off of the main street- McConnell. A serviceable hotel, but besides the price, there wasn’t much to rave about. That’s not entirely true— the staff was on hand 24-hours and just the most pleasant of people.
The weather was good with only a light mist so I ventured out. The main tourist spot downtown is the Temple Bar area. Hollywood does an amazing job portraying the Irish culture as I felt like I was living in a movie. The streets were filled with foul mouth men, bickering couples, and other cherry mates all telling stories amongst themselves, but loud enough for everyone to hear. It was as if everyone being rained on was being pelted with drops of Guinness rather than water.
The most famous spot in the area is Temple Bar Pub. Getting into the bar was easy, but being able to move around was impossible. I listened to a song or two before jetting off to the streets.
Fun story being told by the bartender to me: “Did you know that U2 is worth over 800 million dollars? Did you know they own a hotel in the middle of Dublin? Did you know there is a law that if you live 177 days outside of Dublin that you don’t have to pay any taxes? Want to guess how much the band U2 has paid in taxes? $0.”That’s why people in Ireland aren’t huge fans.
It was dark out, but I was still able to wander around and see some of the sights. One thing that was a must to see was the Molley Malone Statute. A bronze statue of a big-breasted women that was a bit worn in a certain spot, carrying a basket of cockles and mussels. A song was crafted and has become the National song of Dublin. Several people shared the story that she ran her legitimate business during the day and at night she sold other things. Several people also broke out into unrequested songs when this was brought up. Everyone in Ireland is a storyteller and a singer.
This was validated when I went down Grafton street, which is known for its marvelous shopping. My favorite part of the entire evening was just walking down this decked-out street with Christmas lights, shoppers, and a musician every 50 meters. Thankfully they were playing American songs that I knew and loved!
Eating seems like a given with my proclivity for eating/ordering everything, but I actually need Grant to prompt me otherwise I have no idea I am hangry. Realizing I hadn’t eaten I stopped at, Gallagher’s Boxty: Totally Irish. When I mentioned Boxty on the plane to the flight attendant she had no idea what a Boxty was. For those that do not know— it is a potato pancake either stuffed or layered with meat and sauce. Think enchilada. I figured I would at least compare the US Boxty to the Irish Boxty to see what one “should be.”
As I was waiting, I made conversation with the people next to me at the bar and the waiter. The waiter was telling me a story about how his friend was a famous architect and developed “The One,” which was the largest single housing development in the world. Just raffling off facts and he thought I was buying. Eventually, my food came out and I found my escape. He was so engrossed that he forgot he had several other tables and I got death stares from those poor hungry souls. I inhaled the food and sauntered the streets of Dublin before heading to my hotel room.
I never really acclimated to the time change. By 7 am, I was wide awake and off to explore. During Black Friday, I was able to get a steal on a hop-on/ hop-off bus tour. I planned to ride that around and get a full lay of the area, but it wasn’t up and running cause of the early hour. Instead, I took off clumsily on my own going up and down the streets looking for my own adventure. Not a Molly Malone type adventure, but just trying to immerse myself in Dublin.
The night before I stumbled upon Trinity College and snapped a few photos. I knew they were giving tours of the Book of Kells and the Old Library early so I thought I check it out. I was not the only one as a long line had formed. Instinctually, I zip-zagged around people and made my way up near the front. It was perfect because I got right behind a tour group and the guide was spewing all sorts of details (i.e. stories). The book is all about Mark, its pages are made of calf skins, the monks who crafted it were refugees who had been attacked, they were attacked again and had the book stollen, the cover was filled with diamonds so the thieves took the diamonds and threw the book away. It was only recovered because a farmer found it and turned it in. The book itself is under constant surveillance so you can see it, but not take a photo. The library on the other hand was beautiful and you could take as many photos of that as you like. There was also some harp of fame, the same one as the Guinness logo, but I tuned that one out.
Even though I had wheels available, the joy of walking around called me. I walked over to other memorable monuments like Dublin Castle, Dublinia, Christ Church, Four Courts and I am sure other things. Dublin is not cheap, but I at least expected to be able to go into a church. Nope. Not unless you wanted to pay $10 for a ticket. I believe that was the student price as I played student the entire time to get a discount.
I had done a huge circle and it was about time I closed it out — walking back to the DoDublin Hop On/ Hop Off bus tour. Before I got there— the one museum I was most excited about visiting was the National Leprechaun Museum. Why? Because who doesn’t love Leprechauns? The museum wasn’t much more than a few rooms with a red-headed “leprechaun-like” guide telling us the history of Leprechauns. He graced us with stories about how he ran into one and was tricked by leaving his red sock only to return to have all the bushes with red socks on them. Literally, no Leprechauns were in the museum until the very end where there was a huge stuffed animal. Oral stories and traditions are rampant everywhere here even in the museums!
Finally, I made my way back to the bus tour starting point and started the whole path all over again. We started the tour with a look at a sculpture that had been attacked in a revolution. The tour guide was cheeky and told us to see if we could find out where she had been struck. As the tour continues, I learned more about the literary authors. Oscar Wilde’s home, in James Joyce’s Ulysses the real-life Pharmacy, where Bram Stroker got married. Things that were fun to know, but useless trivia.
The rest of the stops were not memorable besides St. Patrick’s Church, but I couldn’t justify spending money just to take a peak inside. The last stop for me was the Guinness Distillery. Not a heavy beer fan, but thought I would try it. To my dismay, they were sold out. I was able to stick my head in and see, but not much of a tour. The area that the distillery is in and just north of it where Jameson’s Distillery is a bit suspect. I am less concerned about how it’s made, but how it tastes. I was able to get a drink at the Jameson’s Distillery without having to get the tour so that was fantastic.
Unwilling to wait for the next bus, I just walked back to the hotel. Realizing that it was 5 pm Dublin time and I hadn’t eaten since my late-night meal the day before I was proud that I wasn’t on the floor crawling back to the hotel room. A bit loopy, I set my sights on a pub that I had passed on my early morning gambit—Murray’s Public House. My friend Emily said that I had to try the Clonakilty black pudding as it was a local favorite. This place had it so let’s roll!
Being a solo traveler has perks, but dining is not one of them. I always got seated in the bar, and the bartender always thought I required company. I spoke to the bartender and a drunk Irish man who was telling me that his friend was a bouncer, but he was too scrawny in his opinion. The man was a good 250 pounds so I have no idea what he was going on about. Eventually, my food came out and it was terrible. The soup, croquettes, the beef… ugh. I took a few bites and had a local women shout— it looks like you didn’t like the food. I said “Nah… I didn’t. It tasted like shit.” A good laugh amongst those who overheard and it was clear I was fitting in.
The restaurant was close to the Abbey Theater, which was my last event of the day. I paid next to nothing for front-row seats and quickly came to realize they were a bit obstructed. No matter to me as I used the stage to rest my weary legs. The play description wasn’t very detailed so I went in blind. If I had known what it was about I would have likely just stayed at the bar and got the same experience. The play, The Weir, was about a local bar, its patrons, a new woman in town, and the stories that are told amongst themselves. I guess it was to be an introspection on how the stories we tell others are a reflection of how we view ourselves. I didn’t get it. However, the sold-out audience loved it. I am here falling asleep in the front row, checking my clock every so many minute, and ready to run out as soon as the bows are over. The standing ovation requires an encore bow and that was my time to jump. I bolted and was the first one out. Enough storytelling for one day.
Two Ambien down mixed with an Advil and I finally fell asleep. I woke up to catch my guided tour out to the Cliffs of Moher. Along the way, we made several stops to keep everyone’s attention and to be fed.
We stopped at a few small towns including Kinvara and Dooling before making our way to the cliffs. The trip itself was several hours long and the guide went through the longest history lecture I have ever sat in on Irish History. Starting back in 800AD with Vikings and moving along to the British Rule, details about the first, second, and third attempts to get the country back from Britain. Needless to say— in every story, the Irish lose and die.
Eventually, we made our way to the cliffs and they were spectacular. I first went up to the observation deck area. This small tower only existed because O’Brien was a ladies' man and wanted to use it as a bachelor pad. It’s stayed the test of time and worked per our cheeky guide as he mentioned that everyone in this area’s family name is O’Brien.
These cliffs are huge and require a bit of a hike to see them from both sides. The weather was magical as it was not raining nor too windy. There were plenty of signs that said do not cross barriers and even a sign that said this area is extremely dangerous. I ignored all of it, hopped the fence, and snagged the photos I wanted. Thankfully I did not end up a story for the bus driver to tell about how a dumb solo traveler with a selfie stick got a bit too close and drowned.
On the way back we stopped at Bunratty Castle. We snapped a few photos but didn’t go inside due to a holiday event. The rest of the way back was a literal snooze with more stories about Barack Obama being Irish, how Bill Clinton stopped the fighting between Catholics and Protestants, and more tall tales.
As the bus pulled up, the timing couldn’t be more perfect as the 8:30pm show that I booked on the bus was about to begin. The Celtic Knight is a combination of Celtic music and dance. Imagine the history lessons coming to life in song. We of course heard about Molly Malone's job and death, a song about Grace who was allowed to marry her 1916 rebel leader husband only to have him executed 5 hours later, or my favorite a song about a man whose wife has died and he is dying on a park bench thinking about his life. Irish music is not very uplifting and generally, the protagonist always ends up dead.
The dancers came up and livened the place up a bit. Think river dance. It’s impressive up close.
The show was a dinner show, but the food was inedible. I stopped at Mcdonald's on the way back for some French fries and sour cream and chive sauce. Best food all day!
2 Ambien, a laxative, and an Advil later I was out. The next morning I wandered looking for some charity shops (resale shops in the US), then checked out of the hotel and made it to the airport with plenty of time before my flight boarded. So far so good on the plane as I am still alive to write this. What was really stellar was the fact that in Ireland you can go through US Customs and Border Protection in advance. This means that as soon as I land I will be able to take off.
The gift of the gab has blessed many Irish folks. Everything can be turned into a story passed down. I guess I am a tad hypocritical spewing my stories all over the internet and condemning the incessant stories the Irish tell. Maybe I am just taking a different approach to my truth-telling. Maybe I really am Irish?