Dublin Calling

There are two types of people who travel: the curious and the restless. I am of the latter persuasion. I'm 22 years old and at a point in my life where I have no obligations and am engaged in a constant search for something. So in late February of this year I decided to travel by myself to Ireland, the land of my ancestors, to see what I would find.

My interest in travel was piqued in the summer of 2004. I had just graduated high school and was still very much a kid. My family (mom, dad, and two older sisters) decided that we were going to visit my older brother, his wife, and their baby daughter in Iceland. My brother met an Icelandic woman years before and moved in with her. We stopped over in London for three days on the way there and two days on the way home. London is awesome. The city is old as hell but full of life. I highly suggest a visit to London and if you go with a bunch of friends you can have a hell of a time. When we arrived in Iceland, the first thing we noticed was how clean the air smelled. And coming from Bayonne, NJ it was something we haven't really experienced before. That's one thing that I love. The air in foreign lands not only smells different but it feels different. I could go on about Iceland but that's not what this post is about. Long story short, it is like the moon up there. But an excellent moon at that. It was a lot of fun and I will be returning to Iceland someday.

So anyway, shortly after I lost my job I was messing around on Orbitz and I looked up tickets to Dublin. The screen read $309 for round trip tickets. "Get the hell outta here" I thought. "Fuck it, I'm booking it." My first trip to Ireland, where my grandparents came from. February 25th-March 5th. I needed to do this. My dad even bought me a cool traveler's backpack. So I scrounged up as much money as I could, booked my first night in a hostel, and I was off.

I arrived at Dublin airport in the wee morning hours of Feb 26th, 2009. I took the bus into the city proper and I got off at a stop on Upper O'Connell street. I experienced a quick moment of panic due to the fact that I was on my own in a city that I had never been to and I didn't really know where I was going. But just as quickly as the panic set in I put it to rest. "Who cares? This is awesome" I thought. Dublin is an amazing sight. It is laid out like this: shop, pub, shop, pub, shop, shop, pub, pub, pub. The city is teeming with the Irish in their native habitat and immigrants from the developing world. They all seem to get on with each other just fine. Also the city is full of beggars, buskers, and bums; Dublin's 3 B's of annoyance. I walked past the Dublin Central Post Office-a source of pride for Irish all over the world as it was a key site of the famed 1916 Easter Rising. Cool. I walked to my first hostel, The Bunkhouse, located on Parnell Street in Dublin's northside. I went to my room and locked up my pack and decided that I needed a Guinness.

Guinness is amazing, God I love it. So I walked about 50 feet from the hostel to the Metro Bar. I will never in my life forget the first time I entered a true Irish pub. There is a certain feeling that hangs in the air which words fail to express. The feeling only intensifies after ten pints or so. It was about 10 or 11 in the morning but the bar had a fair amount of people in it. For a lot of guys, this is their job. I notified the bar that this was my first pint in Ireland and they answered with a faint cheer. It was excellent to have the finest, most fresh tasting Guinness in the world. Pints are bigger in Ireland too. Here in the States a pint is 16 oz but in Dublin it is 20. The Irish are very funny. They could drink all day but still comment on other people who are doing the same thing. At one point a man said goodbye and left. Another guy then said about him to his friend, "Paddy's at death's door, he doesn't look well." "Why is that?" his friend answered. "Too much drinkin...hes not caring for himself. Its a shame." He said this and neglected to mention that hes a few pints in and its 11 am. Before long, these guys started talking to me. Peter from Cork and Peter from Connemara. Peter from Cork was interested in America, and asked me what I thought of Barack Obama and what the crime is like where I live. I had to answer those questions a few times while I was in Dublin. They love Barack Obama and they love Americans. That's the thing about Ireland and its pubs in particular. It is completely inviting. When you are in a local bar they will look at you funny if you don't chat with them, unlike most other places. They want to know your story. I couldn't understand any of what Peter from Connemara was saying. I'm used to Irish accents but his was insane. Maybe it was just because he was drunk and missing most of his teeth. When I told him that my PopPop came from Leitrim he got all excited and belted out, "Leitrim?! Farga sshhh misshhh scemmm plsshhh feckin Leitrim!" I laughed and nodded. Co. Leitrim is a very poor place on the island and apparently has a reputation. For what, I don't know. As I prepared to leave, Peter from Cork gave me some advice: "People will rob ye, stab ye, shoot ye, its a shame. A shame. Mind yerself."
I should have taken a picture with those two. Damn.

My nine days in Dublin were filled with sight seeing and pub crawling. I must have been to like 8,000 bars. An Irish pub is like a scene from a movie. The walls are adorned with dusty old pictures of military and literary heroes. It is a place forever frozen in time where generations of people converge to celebrate triumphs or seek remedy for tragedies. Furthermore, it plays host to a whole bunch of characters. Characters such as Tommy-a 72 year old man who was blasted on whiskey mid afternoon. He got the craic going with me because I was an American. I could understand only half of what he was saying. One thing he kept repeating was, "I like Americans...Am I annoying ye?" Tommy was getting ready to leave when he asked where my people come from. He hails from Kerry and when he heard that my Granny was from there as well, he just went off. He stayed for another hour and ordered us some rounds. At one point he broke out into some unintelligible song about his home turf. He was entertaining.

Just walking down the street I would get sidetracked by a cool looking place; namely Doyle's, Mulligan's, Egan's, McDaid's, Hogan's, The Lord Edward, and The Brazen Head. At 1,000 years old, The Brazen Head is the oldest pub in Ireland and possibly the world. It seems as though basic fun has remained unchanged for an entire millenium. James Joyce once said that you can't walk pretty much anywhere in Dublin without passing a pub. He was right. To be painfully cliche, I was like a kid in a candy store. But there's more than just bars and drinking. A lot more. Dublin is rife with culture and places where one can engage in some good craic. Pronounced "crack", craic is what fuels the social scene in Dublin. It refers to chatting, friendly banter, and an overall fun atmosphere. I could go on about my day to day routine but I won't. Partly because I don't remember everything but mostly because it takes too long. I'll just hit upon the finer points.

Any Irish person will tell you that Dublin is not truly representative of Ireland. Its kind of its own thing. I know this. But for a broke guy with dwindling familial contacts on the island, it was the best I could do for the moment. I made a point of going to places where the locals hang out and tried to establish a connection with the "real" Irish. There were some who were genuinely interested in their Irish American brethren. I spoke mainly to those people. JFK was inevitably invoked several times. We talked about what it means to be Irish in America and some of the qualities that are inherent in Irish people all over. Geography can only change so much. One day I took the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) up to a fishing village by the name of Howth, just north of Dublin. Howth is a cool little coastal community. I walked a trail up to the top of the hill which offers sweeping views of the great North Atlantic. It was a long hike and it gave me time to think and put things into perspective. I imagined that it would be an opportunity to do some soul searching. I tried, but I don't think I came up with anything worth mentioning. For what its worth, it was a peaceful walk. I took the train back to Dublin and the DART is really cool because they announce everything in English and Irish. That is one admirable thing about Ireland. The government goes to painstaking lengths to keep alive the Irish culture. The Irish language nearly became extinct but was resurrected in recent decades.

I stayed in three hostels: The Bunkhouse, Avalon House, and Barnacles Temple Bar. The Bunkhouse is relatively new and is still in the process of developing its own kind of swagger. It lies in a part of the city which isn't exactly known for its nightlife. But when you need somewhere to spend a night on the cheap, for like 12 Euros, then this is your place. Plus you get a free full Irish breakfast every morning and you can not beat that with a stick. The Avalon House is part of an international chain of hostels and is very professionally operated. There is a market nearby and right next door is a huge Carmelite church. I went in the church to observe the Irish doing what they do. They are an intensely Catholic people. The church is ornately decorated and seemed to be a summation of all things Irish. I bought my mother a Prayers of an Irish Mother book. It was a fitting gift. Barnacles Temple Bar is right in the center of things in the Temple Bar district and was my home for the last 2 days. Temple Bar is tourist central and pretty corny at times but fun nonetheless. In this area drinking, live music, and rabble rousing are fundamental elements.

To totally avoid all things tourist-y is somewhat tough. So when I wasn't trying to do as the locals do, I had to hit the essentials. I visited the Book of Kells exhibit at Trinity College. It is fascinating, impressive, and crucially important in both the Irish and world historical context. But that's not fun to talk about. The Guinness Storehouse was amazing. The tour culminated at the top of the factory in the Gravity Bar. There I chatted with some Americans but I have no idea what we were going on about. This place offers an aerial 360 degree view of the capital city and its surrounding hills. It is one of the most terrific places to have a drink because the view itself gives off a kind of natural high. And that, coupled with booze, creates an unreal feeling. I was the last one out of the plant when they closed and got a little bit lost on their vast grounds because I was hammered. I've got pictures to prove it. I realized that I left my belongings inside and began climbing a wall to get back in. Thankfully a worker came out and let me in. They knew it was my stuff somehow. The Old Jameson Distillery is quite nice and the tour was interesting. At the end they held a whiskey taste test but I was pissed off because the tour guide didn't select me. I felt I was the obvious choice but instead she picked some losers. A free drink was part of the deal so I calmed down.

I didn't eat much at all in Dublin. Guinness was my main form of sustenance, so there are no restaurant reviews to be found here. I really don't know how I survived. Guinness Is Good For You, Guinness Makes You Strong, as the propaganda boldly claims. However I had some excellent wings at The Quays bar and a great breakfast sandwich at a small stand in the George Street Market. Liam, who prepared the sandwich, and I spoke about the bank heist that had just gone down. A few days earlier, the biggest bank robbery in Irish history took place to the tune of 7 million Euro. For some reason I was happy to be there for it. Liam explained how criminals are stupid because they can't keep their mouths shut after they commit a crime. I agreed and his words rang true because the men were caught not long after. I was also around for the Ireland versus England rugby match during the Six Nations Tournament, in which Ireland subsequently won the crown. But this match was held at Croke Park, right in Dublin. For this reason there were legions of English rugby supporters all over the city. I watched the match at a bar which had plenty of Englishmen. The night transpired in a surprisingly peaceful manner. That says a lot due to the history between the two nations. I think the Brits understood the potential for disaster if they were to act up so everyone behaved themselves and was courteous. Ireland prevailed and the Brits were disappointed but after the match everyone, Irish and English alike, just took to partying. Hard.

The following night I took part in a Backpacker Pub Crawl. We met at the front gate of Trinity College and proceeded to visit 4 different bars. There were plenty of Americans but I mainly hung out with these really cool girls from the west of Ireland. They reminded me of people that I know. But I can't remember even one of their names. It was fun but I cant really provide too many specifics because the details drowned in a sea of booze. I got particularly sloshed that night and woke the next morning only to discover that I had lost my wallet. I figured that I was up the proverbial shit's creek. But I was soon thoroughly relieved when I found out that someone from the hostel found it and brought it to the front desk. Cash and cards, everything was there. Probably if this had happened back home someone would have taken my wallet down to Atlantic City; only to be vastly disappointed. Anyway the experience showed me that there are still good people left in this world, and it reaffirmed my faith in the human species.

As the daylight began to brake and I sat on the bus bound for the airport, I was left with a bittersweet feeling. Part of me was happy to go back to Jersey and see my family and friends. I love Ireland. It is a home of sorts, but it is not home. My blood comes from here but I do not and it takes being abroad for one to truly realize where they come from and what they are made of. I am an Irish American, and America is where I belong. But I was also left with the notion that I am far from being finished with this island. Or even Dublin for that matter. I have to go to countryside to see my family's roots. I am just glad that I got my feet wet, and I know that Ireland is eagerly anticipating my return.

I believe that traveling is an essential component in living a full life. One must go out and see the world in all its beauty and even in all its despair too. It is severely important that one sees alternative ways of living and discovers what opportunities exist. I want to travel for the rest of my life. When will it cease to be spurred on by restlessness? I do not know. But I suspect not anytime soon. This was not the first time that I have been abroad but it was the first time I did it on my own, as a man. The Journey of a Damn Man. This represents the first chapter of a long series of expeditions. As the airplane descended into Newark Airport, my elation was smashed by the realization that I was also descending upon the worst fiscal crisis of my brief tenure as a human. Fun's over, back to the real world now. I was without a job and I had spent all my money and then some. The only certainty in my life right now is uncertainty. But similar to travel, my world at this point could reveal anything around the bend. And I am fine with that.