Mickin' it up

"I'm from Dublin - listen to me."

As mentioned, we journeyed to Ireland for an extended weekend. Good times were had by all.

To start, we took a popular European discount airline to Dublin - Ryan Air. Ryan Air, based in the UK, is revered amongst Euros and Americans in Europe alike for the low costs, as low as 20 Euros one way to cities like London, Paris, Madrid, etc. Its a no-frills cheap and easy airline with few perks. All the "extras", like checked baggage and meals, cost an additional fee and are to be avoided if possible. I think we dropped roughly 100 Euro per person to get to Dublin and back, and we actually DID order the checked baggage (which only Pete used - and in the process won the "packs like a teenage girl" award for the trip).

So its not bad on pricing. One down-side to it is that in flies out of Hahn airport (which is west of Frankfurt) rather than Frankfurt Airport itself. The drive is longer and a little tedious on single lane roads, but its only a small setback.

The flight is almost like taking a European train but in the air. No assigned seats, just show up and sit down, and you're off. The seats don't recline, and the meals and other items are shuttled by on carts - everything again is available for a small fee.

Other than that, its like any other flight, and after less than two hours we found ourselves walking off of a plane, stepping out onto a mobile staircase, and descending the steps onto a tarmac in Dublin.

In the rain.

This "rain", as it were, became a definite theme of the trip. The weather in Ireland is horrible. Its always raining, misting, cold, or something. The three of us (Pete, Gwen, and myself, prior to meeting up with Betsy who came later) were almost drenched by the time we simply got inside the terminal. Poor weather persisted for most of the weekend, sparking several recurring jokes along the lines of "Crap, I forgot my sunscreen", "How come everything is so green here?", and the like.

Outside of the airport, we waited in line for a taxi in the mist (it was covered but still the mist broke through) that was not unlike the taxi line at the Las Vegas airport, minus the completely opposite weather. It was long and wrapped around itself like a cruel parody of some ride at Disneyland.

Our taxi driver from the airport made for an amusing first "native" encounter - she was a little Irish sassafras and by the end of the cab ride she had insinuated Pete might be gay and made fun of the fact that he wanted to buy an "old man" hat (see the photos) for the trip. ("And look like a farmer?!" she asked incredulously in her Irish brogue, leaving no room for second guessing the merit of Pete's suggested purchase.) She immediately won points in my book. Also, she gave us lots of great tips about good areas, good restaurants to eat in, and how to avoid the lower-quality local tourist joints where the food was worse, etc. Yup, she was alright.

We got to our apartment (renting apartments, we're finding, seems to be a good thing to do in Europe. They're cheaper, offer more space generally, have a kitchen and fridge, and sometimes even come with the same amenities as a hotel like new daily towels, etc.), which was up a massive flight of steps on the third or fourth floor and led to repeated panting sessions in which I realized how out of shape I've become.

The place was alright but unfortunately something in it set my allergies off like a faucet and though I'd never set foot in Ireland before this trip I found myself quite allergic to something there - probably the dust in our apartment though I'm sure some of the pollens around in the great, green garden of a country weren't helping. Having forgotten to bring my flonase, there were a couple of hours during the trip where I was just miserable and constantly blowing my nose (thus making everyone else miserable) and I was even puffy in some of the pictures.

After settling in on the Friday afternoon, we took a quick stroll around, immediately found a pub, and had some Guinness. I had always heard that the Guinness was better in Ireland and though Pete was skeptical - he's such a cynic - I would have to agree. Our taxi driver hinted that "Guinness doesn't travel well" and I think she's right. She mumbled something about the temperature needs of the beer. Either way, it did taste smoother and better in Ireland. It's definitely creamier, and the half-inch head they consistently create with each pour out of the tap seems to be key. It was good stuff. I never "loved" Guinness before, but in Ireland I would definitely say its my drink of choice. The Irish ambiance and mystique certainly doesn't hurt either. I mean, its hard to be a true 'drunken Mick' without a good point o' Guinness...

After a round we headed back the hotel/apartment and waited for Betsy to arrive. Pete went out exploring while Gwen and I took naps (neither of us had slept well the previous night and had gotten up early). A few hours later, Betsy arrived and we caught up briefly and then set out for some food.

We had Indian food that night, and despite being stuffed before we even got there (we had bought some cheese and bread at the local grocery store), the food was dee-lish. Thank God Britain dominated the Indian peninsula at one point, because without that imported food, we'd have been stuck eating British/Irish/UK food all weekend. Blech.

Saturday we struck out and did some hard core walking around the city. Pete, as usual, was in full guide mode, leading us around and schooling us occasionally with passages from the Ric Steve's book. We saw the sights, wandered around an outdoor market, and then started hitting several pubs. The Irish pub scene, as expected, was definitely solid. Simple, understated pubs that have good background noise but aren't too loud, people can actually converse and have good drinks.

We had a quick dinner Saturday on our way to a prearranged Irish pub crawl, which featured authentic Irish musicians - a guitar/singer guy and some dude playing the Irish bagpipes (Uillean pipes). Both were quite talented. At the first bar they explained some of the basics of Irish music and demonstrated various songs and jigs and then performed. After that, the whole group (about forty of us or so) got up and walked on to another bar. After settling in to the new place (they kept a whole room just for us) the duo fired things up again, this time explaining some of the history of Irish music between songs.

This musical pub crawl was great with one glaring exception - some American military jerk. Sad to say, but some obviously Army guy showed up to this thing way too drunk. He was clearly in the mood to rock out, or be loud, or pounce all over chicks, or whatever, and he was none too pleased when he learned that the audience for this pub crawl was an older, more musically interested, Irish culture-seeking sedate crowd (sort of like the kind you'd find at a poetry reading...plus Gwen, Pete, Betsy and I that is). The guy should have gotten the hint and then took off, but he didn't. Instead he sat in the back getting drunker and louder and yelling out inappropriate comments (like "Ridin' Dirty!") and "jokes" which he thought were funny. They weren't. It was actually quite frustrating being around him, and there were a lot of stares from around the room and a palpable vibe of people wishing the guy would leave. It made Pete, Gwen, and I somewhat embarrassed to be American military - which we talked about later - I felt like apologizing to others in the room for his behavior. Sadly, this is what many foreigners will remember of Americans. We even thought of quietly pulling rank on the dude (led by MAJOR Brophy, of course) and telling him to chill, but he was way too drunk to be handled smoothly. By the middle of the set at the second bar, he left, either pulled out by somebody or of his own volition - we can't be sure. Either way, everyone was glad he went. The lesson it is: Its OK to want to be loud and proud - hell maybe he just got back from Iraq - but pick your scene people....pick your scene. That - and don't yell "William Wallace!" between songs - like an idiot - when you're in IRELAND.

But, jerk-boy aside, we had a good time. And honestly, the performing duo didn't seem to mind the guy - my guess is that these guys were plenty used to loud drunks. I mean Jesus - they're Irish.

Sunday was another big tourist day. After breakfast, we headed to Trinity University located in the center of town and from there embarked on a two-hour walking tour of the city. The tour-guide was an Irish grad student who spent two hours brogueing it up and telling us all about the vast history of the University and the city in the context of Irish history. It was a solid tour, culminating in the recent peace accords, and I now feel much more "learn-ed" about Irish history, the Catholics, the Protestants, the English, Michael Collins (also nick-named Mick) and the rest. (Sadly, this new knowledge of real Irish history displaced much of my imagined Irish history, which included gangs of surly, pipe-smoking, Leprechauns brawling over turf, pots of gold, lucky charms, bars of Irish Spring, and various other things with their fists spinning in that classic Irish boxing stance. Come to think of it, I think I like my version better.)

After the walking tour, we had a solid brunch at some place called the Mermaid Cafe, and then it was time for the pub scene again and we sort of wandered around and in and out of pubs for most of the afternoon. Also, it rained on and off. (Wait, taking the time to write that last sentence is like typing "We breathed as we toured the city." Never mind.)

At some wine bar we happened into, we met up with an obviously drunk couple who were both Irish, both sauced, and both couldn't shut the hell up. They latched onto our foursome for a full hour while we ordered and split a bottle of wine. After spending about an hour in the place and finishing our bottle, we'd all had enough of "Irish Tommy's" close-talking, complete with spittle showers, and of his girlfriend's crazed noises (don't know how else to describe this) and we left - no, fled is a better word - the establishment.

What a scene it was. I'm glad, now, looking back, that it happened, because thanks to Irish Tommy I got my full 'drunken mick' experience, and it didn't disappoint. Quite the contrary, it amazed and even horrified a little. This guy blathered on about everything from US geography to having lived in Pittsburgh to George Bush to the Irish Coast. It was amazing. (He claimed that the west coast of Ireland was the second best spot to surf in the world - after Australia. Sorry Hawaii.) He must have told Pete and I about how many chicks he hooked up with in Pittsburgh at least a dozen times. His constant brogue was endearing - I'll give him that, and I enjoyed how he said the phrase, "I"m just Tommy from Ireland, but I think..." (Pronounced "Oim joost Taw-mee from Oir-lind, but...") before many of his ramblings.

Dealing with this couple (and Tommy's 12-year old daughter, who was sort of stuck at the bar but should be headed to therapy in a few short years) could have been a practical exam for "Dealing with Drunks 101". You sort of had to half-talk to them while trying to figure out a way out of there without causing a tremendous scene (i.e drawing out an "Are we bothering you?!?"), all the while communicating to those in your own group with subtle but complicated hand motions, eyebrow raises, and head gestures. After an hour, and despite the comedy of much of it, I think everyone was tired of Tommy-spittle on their face, especially Pete and I, who spent a good portion of the hour with some part - hand, arm, leg, or face - of this Tommy guy touching us. The girlfriend was even more freakish - I didn't deal much with her thank God. Betsy ended up diving on that grenade for most of the time.

After escaping the wine bar, and then after reliving the experience moment by moment both amused and horrified, we continued on with the Irish pub scene. We had a nice dinner that night, then it was more pubs, more Guinness, and more hands of Euchre.

Monday was the last day. We saw the Book of Kells that day, an interesting and impressive work of illustrated old Latin. There was more sightseeing and then we headed back to the airport bound for home again.

Overall I really liked Ireland. I think Gwen liked it more, given the whole Brophy thing perhaps, but I thought it rocked pretty hard to. That said, I'm not ready to put Dublin up over Berlin or Prague just yet. (It slaps Frenchy Paris right out of the mix, though). The people were for the most part really friendly and that brogue is hard to beat. Also, it definitely lived up to its drinking reputation. I saw more piles of vomit after Friday and Saturday night than I did on your average Mardi Gras day. We saw AT LEAST two people urinating on the sidewalks without even attempting to hide, and trying to find anything open before 10 am (even coffee and bagel shops) on the weekend mornings was next to impossible, as if the whole city glumly accepted the fact that everyone would be hungover and still passed out at that time, anyway. In short, go micks.

At one point Pete was walking behind some college student who was on his cell phone. Pete overhead the following line, "Wait - she's from Canada right? Jay-sus, I'd be surprised if she could even f*cking read!" ('read' was pronounced 'raid') This cracked me up and sealed it. Any country that likes to bag on Canadians for no real reason is all right by me - all right indeed.

And, pics.





Never get between a Mick and his Guinness





According to our cabbie, Pete looks like a gay Irish farmer






Colored doors pervade Dublin






Irish guy playing Irish drum near Irish statue in Ireland.






One Happy Pete













Pete freaks an Irish Famine memorial statue. For his next stop on the Appropriate Behavior 2007 tour, he'll be headed to Auschwitz...








Not a good language school - they can't even spell their title right...







Trinity University - barely older than UCSD






Trinity University





Dublin Castle








Best dog-squat image ever - the Gaelic is cool too






Hey its Tommy from Ireland - somebody help!





Pete Looking Leprechaunish...






The Mick and the Irish Chick






And as always...