Well, it’s almost 1 AM and I still haven’t begun packing for my weekend trip to Copenhagen, for which I leave on Thursday. I just got back yesterday from Dublin, and may I just say this: the Irish are the friendliest people I’ve met, and DAYUM can they cook.
We arrived last Thursday night to Abigail’s Hostel, which is located right on the River Liffey and about a block from the heart of Temple Bar, an area full of restaurants, bars and clubs. We explored a bit that night, but we crashed a couple hours after arrival. The next day, we checked out Trinity College, Ireland’s oldest university (if I’m remembering correctly.) It was only a few blocks from our hostel; Dublin isn’t a huge city, so most of the major sights were within walking distance. We snapped photos, wandered around Parliament and the Museum of Ireland, then grabbed some of the best food I’ve had so far at a pub called O’Neill’s, which a guy at our hostel had recommended. The pub itself was really interesting; vintage Guiness ads and old photos hung all over the wall, and the dark wood floors and walls added to the old-world feel. It was set up buffet-style, so we glanced at a menu and ordered. I got Sheppard’s pie and did not regret it; the corned beef was obviously excellent, too. One of my favorite things about travelling is eating the traditional/local food, so this lunch was a dream come true…although we all immediately headed back to the hostel for a nap, thanks to a food coma.
We awoke and headed back out to Temple Bar, to a bar with a live Irish band and way too many guys in matching plaid shirts. We danced, chatted with Irishmen, and Spain successfully avoided a creepy German in a scarf.
The next day we checked out Christchurch Cathedral (absolutely beautiful) and went to the underwhelming and overpriced Guiness Factory. It’s less of a factory (I was expecting something akin to the Budweiser factory in St. Louis, where you actually go through the areas where the beer is made) and more of a museum, and since I’m not that into the history of brewing (sorry Matt) I wasn’t totally into it. But the Sky bar at the top of the factory gives spectators a view of Dublin and the mountains for miles, so that made it worth it.
The part of the trip that made me utterly fall in love with Ireland came on Sunday, when we took a paddywagon tour to Wicklow, the county just south of Dublin. The six of us piled into a small bus, along with about 7 others and our tour guide/driver, Ed. Ed, a surprisingly mobile at least 80-year-old, knew his shit and was hilarious. Since it was foggy that day, he delayed our venture into the mountains, hoping the fog would clear off. (It didn’t.) He drove us around the coast near Dublin (oldish—and obviously badass—men were swimming in the Irish Sea) and around Dalkey. The view, even on the cloudy, misty day, was absolutely stunning. Ed pointed out Bono’s house and the bar he frequents when he’s home, Enya’s mock castle, and Van Morrison’s residence. Then we continued into the mountains and, throughout the day, went to Glendalough (which used to be a Catholic monastery until Henry VIII ordered it destroyed when he broke from Rome) and the two lakes it’s named for (“Glendalough” means “place of two lakes”, and they are serene and breathtaking.) It made me want to visit Ireland in April, when blooming heather makes the mountains purple. The Craic will undoubtedly, certainly be seeing my face again.
We arrived last Thursday night to Abigail’s Hostel, which is located right on the River Liffey and about a block from the heart of Temple Bar, an area full of restaurants, bars and clubs. We explored a bit that night, but we crashed a couple hours after arrival. The next day, we checked out Trinity College, Ireland’s oldest university (if I’m remembering correctly.) It was only a few blocks from our hostel; Dublin isn’t a huge city, so most of the major sights were within walking distance. We snapped photos, wandered around Parliament and the Museum of Ireland, then grabbed some of the best food I’ve had so far at a pub called O’Neill’s, which a guy at our hostel had recommended. The pub itself was really interesting; vintage Guiness ads and old photos hung all over the wall, and the dark wood floors and walls added to the old-world feel. It was set up buffet-style, so we glanced at a menu and ordered. I got Sheppard’s pie and did not regret it; the corned beef was obviously excellent, too. One of my favorite things about travelling is eating the traditional/local food, so this lunch was a dream come true…although we all immediately headed back to the hostel for a nap, thanks to a food coma.
We awoke and headed back out to Temple Bar, to a bar with a live Irish band and way too many guys in matching plaid shirts. We danced, chatted with Irishmen, and Spain successfully avoided a creepy German in a scarf.
The next day we checked out Christchurch Cathedral (absolutely beautiful) and went to the underwhelming and overpriced Guiness Factory. It’s less of a factory (I was expecting something akin to the Budweiser factory in St. Louis, where you actually go through the areas where the beer is made) and more of a museum, and since I’m not that into the history of brewing (sorry Matt) I wasn’t totally into it. But the Sky bar at the top of the factory gives spectators a view of Dublin and the mountains for miles, so that made it worth it.
The part of the trip that made me utterly fall in love with Ireland came on Sunday, when we took a paddywagon tour to Wicklow, the county just south of Dublin. The six of us piled into a small bus, along with about 7 others and our tour guide/driver, Ed. Ed, a surprisingly mobile at least 80-year-old, knew his shit and was hilarious. Since it was foggy that day, he delayed our venture into the mountains, hoping the fog would clear off. (It didn’t.) He drove us around the coast near Dublin (oldish—and obviously badass—men were swimming in the Irish Sea) and around Dalkey. The view, even on the cloudy, misty day, was absolutely stunning. Ed pointed out Bono’s house and the bar he frequents when he’s home, Enya’s mock castle, and Van Morrison’s residence. Then we continued into the mountains and, throughout the day, went to Glendalough (which used to be a Catholic monastery until Henry VIII ordered it destroyed when he broke from Rome) and the two lakes it’s named for (“Glendalough” means “place of two lakes”, and they are serene and breathtaking.) It made me want to visit Ireland in April, when blooming heather makes the mountains purple. The Craic will undoubtedly, certainly be seeing my face again.
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