Lovin' Dublin

I was prepared to love Ireland - just not how thoroughly I would love Ireland. First the people are wonderful. The women are warm, welcoming, lovely. And Irish men (grrrrroooowwwwllll) are the cutest, most charming loveliest on the planet (and as of late, I’ve visited LOTS of the planet.)

Of course, you have to consider that I am married to an Irishman, so I might possess that recessive gene that is susceptible to their charms.

Secondly, we have recently come from Germany, and although it was beautiful, we didn’t have many episodes of the clever, the witty, and the funny. And let’s face it. I’m unabashedly a sucker for the funny.

So when our taxi driver in Dublin took us on an impromptu tour of the city, offered his best recommendations for dining, shopping and drinking; he charmed my socks off.

The best moment was when Mike asked “Could we walk this way to get to a descent pub?” Our witty, green-eyed, black haired, Irish cab driver answered.

“Yah…..a course. Yer could walk down that way, but yell die a turst”.

That became the battle cry of the rest of the trip “I’m dying a turst over here”.

In short, we stayed in Dublin for 5 nights. We went to several Irish Pubs. We sang and played with the band.

We took the train to a costal city called Bray and hiked the 7 km to Grey Stones. The scenery was lovely, picturesque, and not at all what I expected so close to Dublin.

We ate at a restaurant in Grey Stones, recommended by a woman we met on the street. Her name is Bernedette and she is the mother of Johnathan – the young man who won the trophy (from pictures in the last entry).

Beautiful Italian food (yep, right here in Ireland). Beautiful people. Beautiful service.

We took a bus tour of the city of Dublin which was hilarious thanks to the Irish wit of the driver. He told us the the residents from North Dublin are considered a little "rough around the edges" when compared to the sophisticated folks from South Dublin. He said that a girl from South Dublin would never date a boy from North Dublin - "Except to ge her handbag back"

We visited the Guinness factory and the Jameson Distillery, and my friend Ado and I were chosen for the taste testing. Not a huge fan of whisky or scotch, I summoned my courage to participate. Turns out I prefer an Irish variety called Paddys. And so does the homeless man perched on the curb just outside the distillery.

I got to sing in a pub with a wonderful Irish trio. Mike got to play harmonica. We both got to embrace the concept that between us we don’t have enough musical talent to fill a thimble when compare to the musicians who showed up later. Violinists, guitarists, drummers and accordion players just walk around the city toting their instruments and looking for a jam session. The jam session that ensued was ridiculously good. Humbled, we went home.

We visited Dublinea, the underground museum-esque facility that re-created the history of Dublin, complete with the sights, sound, and smells of the 1200-1600’s.
I loved it. Every minute. Charlie said, upon landing in Dublin, “This is it mom, these are my people.”

“Mine too baby…mine too”