90 Days in Europe: An Experiment in Culture Clash: Dublin: You're Very Welcome To It

Hopefully everyone had a nice and relaxing Thanksgiving. In a fiery display of patriotism, Elisa from California and I made a proper Thanksgiving dinner at our Belfast hostel. Seeing the reactions of other guests when they saw all of the food the two Americans made for themselves was entertaining to say the least.

Chicken with white wine sauce, potatoes and mushrooms, stuffing, instant squash, corn on the cob, cheap champagne, and Smithwick's (red Irish ale)

Anyway, let's go back about a week-and-a-half. After some time in Prague, I boarded an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin. Aer Lingus. I mean, come on, that's not exactly the most family-friendly name for an airline now is it? It makes me think of the Saturday Night Live "Colonel Angus" skit, the video for which I can't find now, so if you haven't seen it, check it out. It's got Christopher Walken and mutton chops in it, so that alone should make you want to watch it. The flight was uneventful and upon landing, the stewardess said, "You're very welcome to Dublin," which made it sound like she was saying, 'Go on, take it. We don't want the damn place.'

With that in mind, I did a mental survey of my next ten days in Ireland's capital. Six of those days would be spent with my dad, who was able to make a trip over to save me from eating anymore doner kebabs or take-away Chinese food in favor of steak and seafood. The seafood would eventually be my downfall, but it was a welcomed change. The first four days in Dublin were solo and full of a bunch of walking around and mixing it up with locals in the pubs.

A quick note about going to pubs in Dublin: if you plan on stopping in for one pint, really plan on having three or four. There's a good chance that sometime during your first (and what you thought would be your only) beer, a guy will saunter in and plop himself next to you. Soon enough, a conversation will start up about something or other. At this point, buckle up--you're going to be here a while. For example, one guy was explaining to me how upset he was with a bar that had a basket of fruit with a sign urging people to take a free piece of fruit. "It's an insult to the globe," he kept saying, citing figures for world hunger that he pulled out of a book or, more likely, his ass. I never thought of it that way, but the guy was kind of right. Needless to say, I wasn't going to take a piece of fruit with him right next to me. Our conversation went from world hunger to government (I was forced to give him an on-the-spot definition of democracy: he said it was "backwards" after I was done telling him, but his revised definition was just a regurgitation of the one I gave him seconds before) to music (he sang along with the live band playing Irish music while I awkwardly looked into my Guinness and tried to tell him I couldn't sing with him because I didn't know the song) to political parties (apparently, he wants me to start one). By the time this meandering yet enjoyable conversation was over, he had bought me four pints. He wouldn't let me buy him any. Honestly, though, I was thinking the guy was a bit of a lightweight as he was obviously more drunk than me by the time I left, but then I realized the guy had been drinking all day (he thought he was in the bar across the street...I guess that should've been a clue). Rereading this sentence makes me think, "Damn, I better not keep up that talk, seeing as it reinforces negative stereotypes about--and broadstroked generalizations about people is never in anyone's best interest--the Irish," but this same scenario (with different conversations of course) happened to me seven times in four days. Just saying.

One guy recommended that when dad got into town, the two of us should go to the National Museum of Ireland, which according to him was full of, "Lots of old shite we used to hit each other with," and "A big whale carcass. They boned the fucker and put it in there."

We saved the Museum for one of the last days, but the day after he got in, dad and I checked out the Hill of Tara--proposed by some to be a site of kingship ritual--and Newgrange, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Newgrange, referred to as Bru na Boinne in Irish, was built around 3000 BC (for a reference, it's older than the Pyramids and Stonehenge) but there's still debate about what its main purpose was. Common interpretations suggest it was used for burial, ritual, and astronomical reasons. Tara and Negrange are both in really picturesque areas of rolling Irish countryside, so visits to both sites are good history lessons as well as sightseeing trips.

With a tour of two important historical sites in Ireland under our belts, we took a trip to Howth, a suburb of Dublin and a popular fishing area. Like I mentioned earlier, we had some local seafood, but the freshness of the food confused my body and made me sick the next night. Real sick. Sorry, there are no pictures of the food (before and after the sickness set in), but here's Howth:

What would a trip to Dublin be without a visit to the Guinness factory? So, we made our way to St. James Gate, which was where Arthur Guinness started brewing his signature porters and stouts in 1759. Like Heineken in Amsterdam, Guinness in Dublin tastes far better than it does back in the States, mainly due to the lack of extended shipping time. Also, a barman told me that clean equipment was crucial for a good pint. The psychology behind drinking one in Dublin also might have something to do with it...

There were also some posters, drawn by John Gilroy, from Guinness' advertising campaign on display. When it comes to advertisements, I'd say these are about as good as they get. The zookeeper is a caricature of Gilroy.

Finally, at the end of the self-guided tour, you're able to get a free pint at the "Gravity Bar," a stupidly named bar at the top of the storehouse, which boasts a not so stupid 360 degree view of Dublin.

And that's Dublin. Pretty great place if you ask me. Next time, I'll show you Belfast, a city to the north that scares the shit out of Dubliners because of the contentious past there between Protestants and Catholics. With a last name like Feingold, though, I didn't really have anything to worry about. Righto, let's end with some random pictures of Dublin.