Dublin: Day 1

I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think that I could probably live in Dublin forever and learn to play the fiddle and work at a bookstore and grow old and have my ashes scattered in the River Liffey. Yes, I know, I’ve only been here for one day, and that I have the character flaw of immediately wanting to move to any city that I’ve most recently been to. But I think it might be real this time. Dublin has a bookstore on nearly every corner and a bus that takes you directly to IKEA, so it’s basically my ideal place. That’s all it takes.

Unfortunately, my mother is highly allergic to all of Dublin, and the “Clarityn” we scored at a Dublin pharmacy doesn’t seem to be helping. But she has forged onwards in her allergenic fog through walking tours, visits to pubs, and awkward hostel interactions.

This is the only time we are staying in a hostel on this trip, and from my very limited hosteling experiences, this is the Taj Mahal of dormitory style hotels. The Generator Dublin is a HUGE multistory building with probably hundreds of rooms. It’s honestly nicer than anywhere I’ve lived at Wheaton. As always, I was concerned that we would have serial killer bunkmates, but they turned out to be a group of students from Minnesota who want to go visit some fishing village, as harmless as can be.

This morning, we started out with breakfast at a “wholesome food” restaurant, which is basically just organic and whatnot. I don’t think that I fully understood breakfast until coming to Europe. I love sugary carby things, but I hate eating them in the morning as is customary in America. I also dislike bacon, so I have never understood why people like breakfast food. But in Europe, so far it has been toast, tea, and really good yogurt with THE BEST granola, and I am completely on board.

After breakfast, we took a walking tour of Dublin that ended up spanning three hours, but it was very informative. I learned a lot of fun facts, which is great as I love fun facts.

Trinity College, founded by the Brits to be a Protestant university and didn’t allow Catholics to attend without restrictions until 1966

St. Patricks Cathedral

I don’t remember what this is, but it’s considered to have the most beautiful interior in Dublin

Dublin Castle, where important things go down like Ireland gaining independence and that one exciting referendum a few weeks ago

The National Gallery

St. Steven’s Green

The more time I spend in this city, the more I realize that Boston is just a cheap knockoff of Dublin. Boston’s main parks, the Commons and the Public Gardens, look exactly like St. Stevens Green. Boston’s people have that fun mix of working-class and progressive social values that was totally pioneered by Dublin. The brick buildings and streets of Dublin especially remind me of Boston, or I guess it would be the other way around. Dublin is basically Boston without the annoyances and pretention of the Northeast, which is great but also sad because now every time I go to Boston it’ll feel like sloppy seconds.

But anyway, later, we toured the Jameson Whiskey facility. We ended the tour with a tasting of three whiskeys, one each from Scotland, Ireland, and America, during which I discovered that I do not like whiskey. The Scottish one is supposed to be “smoky,” which means it tastes like inhaling a pack of lit cigarettes. The Irish one (Jameson) was the best, which is not saying much as it tastes like brown sugar and lighter fluid. The American one (Jack Daniels) is different from the others since it is made with corn, meaning that it tastes like fermented corn syrup. Here is a picture of me before I tried all of these horrible things:

My mom isn’t really privy to the intimate workings of the Nikon D3200 yet.

After that, for dinner, we went to a hip and happening restaurant in the Temple Bar district that had won a Trip Advisor hall of fame award. I like eating at places with the Trip Advisor sticker on the window because it is comforting to know that hundreds of tourists before me have been duped into eating at the same place. This place went above and beyond on the restaurant scale of greatness by being a themed restaurant, and that theme was a potato pancake mixture called “Boxy” that was invented in 1988. Pretty much anything you ordered came wrapped in a Boxy. They advertised Boxy mix on all of the tables with convincing slogans such as “Boxy in the oven, Boxy in the pan, if you eat Boxy then you’ll get a man.” All of the waiters had to wear t-shirts that said “Boxy: True Irish,” which I’m sure made them die a little inside every time they had to get dressed for work.

Although Dublin is fairly wonderful, I will say that there are a couple of things I would change. First, their streets are essentially unmarked. The only thing that tells you the name of the street are these TINY blue plaques that are sometimes on the sides of buildings at intersections, that is if the wording hasn’t eroded off. It’s basically impossible to tell what street you’re on, which is a major problem because, second, their streets make absolutely no sense. Roads wind every which way, and streets just change into a street of a different name without any warning. It is seriously insane, but luckily for them, I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to labeling their streets in exchange for a lifetime of free rent and organic breakfast foods. You’re welcome, Dublin.