My Joycean Adventure – Day 1
After 16 hours of flight time, including a four hour layover in Frankfurt, I have finally arrived. Dublin has met me with a cold, wet, gray embrace, and I love every minute of it. What a city!
Getting here was a mostly uneventful experience, although I surprised myself at my own excitement level. I travel all the time. I’m fast on my way to being a million miler with Delta. I’ve also been to Europe more times than I can count. So I found my own behavior odd. I had a hard time sleeping Friday night. I was like a kid the night before Christmas. I couldn’t wait until the morning.
At the airport I was giddy, smiling at everyone I met, chatty and generally showing signs of riding a massive adrenaline rush. There were times on the flight when I found myself short of breath. I haven’t felt this inspired in a very long time. I channeled my energy by preparing to write. On the flight to Frankfurt I found time to refine my outline and sketch out some of the major plot points. The Germans virtually insist that you sleep, so at one point I tried to recline and catnap for awhile. I don’t sleep much on planes, and I found it even harder to do Saturday. My head was either rushing with story ideas for the novel or thinking about Ireland. At one point I managed to dose off for about a half hour until I was awakened by a sudden splash of water. I think the woman in the seat next to me spilled from her cup, but she ignored me.
Ah, air travel.
I ran into my old friend Cliff Warner at the Frankfurt airport up in the Lufthansa Business Class lounge. It turns out that he was on the same flight from Los Angeles on his way to Dubai. Imagine my surprise when I heard my name called walking across the floor in search of German beer. We found a quiet corner and caught up. It was a pleasant diversion while I tried to quiet my restless energy. After he left to catch his flight, I read and drank coffee to stay awake.
I think the level of my anticipation doubled when I finally mosied over to my gate for the connection to Dublin. There were half a dozen red-headed passengers already in queue. Finally, I was mixing with people who looked like they might call Ireland home. The flight lasted an hour and forty minutes, but it seemed longer. My first views of the country were obscured by heavy overcast skies, but as the plane descended on approach the clouds gradually faded to reveal the lush green countryside described in books–rough geometric patterns defining farm country, dotted with beautiful country houses and occasionally a herd of horses or sheep.
I chatted with few other Americans in the passport line. One was a business man who was also making his first trip here. He was only staying 24 hours but asked if I had any suggestions on where to eat and visit. I shared what I knew from all my research. The other gentleman was from Seattle and had made many trips here. He shared some pointers with me and wished me well.
My informal tour of Dublin began in the cab. My driver welcomed me and shared history and cultural insights about Dublin. When he learned that I was a Callihan (my mother’s maiden name), he encouraged me to visit the western coast of Cork. Apparently, there’s a very famous Irish son named O’Callihan who won a gold medal for the hammer in the 1920 Olympics.
After checking in and getting settled at the hotel, my next order of business was to make a quick walk of the city before dark … and find a pub to drink my first Guinness in Ireland. My hotel is only a block from Trinity College and less than a mile from Grafton Street. It was a quiet Sunday night and there was enough daylight to give myself time to explore a few side streets, snap some photos and stroll through St. Stephen’s Green. The city was as charming and lovely as I imagined. It is very metropolitan, but feels small, quaint and navigable. I suppose I would compare it to Portland in the US. There’s a character to the city that feels distinctly Ireland, but it’s still a big city with all the modern conveniences and sophistication of one of the world’s capitals.
I purposely sought a pub that was not on the beaten path. The last thing I wanted on this night was a mingling with tourists. Near St. Stephen’s Green I found a pub on an out-of-the-way alley. It was a nice enough place but completely packed. I found the bar and ordered a pint, but had to stand against the wall to avoid blocking the path of the other patrons. When the head had reduced and I could tell the liquid had assumed its dark brown color, I took my first drink. Nectar of the Celtic gods! It is impossible to sip the Guinness here. One drink and a third of my glass was empty. It is so smooth, creamy and delicious. It may be in my head, but it does taste better here. The barkeep tells me it is because the Guinness company canvases all the pubs in Dublin to ensure the lines are clean and the beer is up to standards. That may be true, who knows? But the beer tastes fantastic.
After awhile of standing awkwardly in the packed pub, I thanked the proprietor and made my way back onto the Dublin city streets. I took a minute to text my sister Lisa. “Mmm. Guinness,” I wrote. A few minutes later her response: “Lucky!”
I found another pub, The Drake. It was quiet and I was able to find a seat. I reminded myself that it was Sunday night, and the pub scene would be more quiet, explaining the Drake’s emptiness. But I struck up a conversation with the barkeep (he liked my iPhone) and finished a cheese sandwich and a couple more pints.
By now, more than 24 hours had gone by without any real sleep. It was still early — not quite 9pm, so I decided to walk some more and found my way to Temple Bar, which was alive and bustling with street activity. It was a young crowd, with a lot of foreign tourists mingling between the many restaurants, pubs and clubs. I walked slowly to absorb the atmosphere. One of the pubs was hosting live music, which sounded interesting. I went in and inched my way around (and ordered another pint). I found a table near the action and divided my time between watching the music act who covered Paul Simon songs (odd), and a football game on the television. All the while, I marked the time by leaving little foam rings down my glass. It was heaven. I had to pinch myself to remind me that I was really here. The first day lived up to the hype.
I returned to my hotel with a very full belly and a very sleepy countenance. Monday morning, I begin my writing regimen. 1,500 words. As soon as I push them out, I’m free to begin my second day of touring and exploration. I’m even scheduled to see a play.