Dublin 101
I had arrived in Ireland an had spent and hour finding my way into Dublin. It was dark out and the streets were wet. Eire is generally always wet. But it made the streets pretty when the orange lamplight reflected off the brick and concrete. I followed my friend's instructions to get to her house. "Take the bus from the airport to O'Connell street and switch to the 121 and go to Ardee street." I had followed the instructions successfully and was then waiting alone on some empty back street. I waited 15 minutes. She didn't show up. Was I supposed to call her? I think so. Loaded down with my backpack, I walked up and down the street, looking down alleyways trying to find a public phone. It was beginning to look impossible, but I kept walking. I saw some small children playing outside with some toy guns and an abandoned mattress. Kids only play in the dark if the neighborhood is either a very safe one or or if they havent seen their parents in a couple of weeks. The dirty mattress and trash gave away that it was the latter of the two. Graffiti was scrawled up and down the streets and across the dilapidated walls of the apartment buildings.
"Is there a phone around here?" I asked the children. They just stared at me as if I had come from outer space. "A phone?" I repeated, doing a hand motion to illustrate. They looked at each other and back at me. As I walked away they called me back and pointed down the street, gesturing the different turns I had to make to get to a phone. I could barely make out what they were saying but I thanked them and took off in the direction they pointed me at.
It was then that I saw a pub. It was a dingy looking place, with a large man smoking a cigarette outside.
"Excuse me, is there a phone inside?" I asked him.
"Aye. Through the door, on the left hand side." He jerked his thumb towards the door.
It took me a second for my eyes to get accustomed to the dim light. Five men sat at the bar. They were in their late 40s or early 50s. Most of them wore Irish styled caps and knit sweaters. Hard lower working men. They swung around and looked at me as I came in, like cowboys turning to stare at an Indian that has wandered into the wrong saloon. I nodded at them and went over to the phone. After taking off my bag, I put in the money and dialed. Nothing. One of the men says that you need to dial first and then put in the money. I did as he said. More success, but with it turned out that while the earpiece in the phone worked, the mouthpiece did not. "Ryan? Is that you?! Where are you??" I could hear my friend yelling the other side of the line. I hung up and turned around. They were all staring at me.
One particularly grizzly man got up and came towards me, reaching inside his coat. "If he pulls out a knife right now, its the end of me" I thought. Instead he pulled out a mobile phone.
"here" he grunted and handed it to me. "the pay phone is a feckin' slot machine. Right out of Las Vegas but with no prize."
I made my call and contacted my friend. She she tells me she is on her way and will be there in five minutes. After hanging up the phone I started to thank the man only to have him wave me quiet.
"Where in America are you from?"
"Boston" I replied, automatically mentioning the place where I had lived the longest and felt the most connected to in the US.
"Ah, Boston. " He warms a bit and the rest of the bar nods in approval. "Half of Boston is Irish, you know."
"that's true. Most of my friends are Irish there."
He took a sip out of his pint of dark beer and looked at me, face inscrutable. "you know what they say about America?"
I shook my head carefully... was an anti bush comment coming?
"That half of America is Irish" he said, avoiding politics much to my relief "... and that the other half feckin' wishes it were!" The bar erupted into laughter and I find myself laughing along as well. The men at the bar were raising their dark pints of Guinness in approval and toasting to Ireland. I stood amazed and thrilled as every one of the marvelous irish stereotypes was fulfilled within an hour of my arriving in Dublin. Still smiling I thanked them once again and walked outside to meet my friend.
"Is there a phone around here?" I asked the children. They just stared at me as if I had come from outer space. "A phone?" I repeated, doing a hand motion to illustrate. They looked at each other and back at me. As I walked away they called me back and pointed down the street, gesturing the different turns I had to make to get to a phone. I could barely make out what they were saying but I thanked them and took off in the direction they pointed me at.
It was then that I saw a pub. It was a dingy looking place, with a large man smoking a cigarette outside.
"Excuse me, is there a phone inside?" I asked him.
"Aye. Through the door, on the left hand side." He jerked his thumb towards the door.
It took me a second for my eyes to get accustomed to the dim light. Five men sat at the bar. They were in their late 40s or early 50s. Most of them wore Irish styled caps and knit sweaters. Hard lower working men. They swung around and looked at me as I came in, like cowboys turning to stare at an Indian that has wandered into the wrong saloon. I nodded at them and went over to the phone. After taking off my bag, I put in the money and dialed. Nothing. One of the men says that you need to dial first and then put in the money. I did as he said. More success, but with it turned out that while the earpiece in the phone worked, the mouthpiece did not. "Ryan? Is that you?! Where are you??" I could hear my friend yelling the other side of the line. I hung up and turned around. They were all staring at me.
One particularly grizzly man got up and came towards me, reaching inside his coat. "If he pulls out a knife right now, its the end of me" I thought. Instead he pulled out a mobile phone.
"here" he grunted and handed it to me. "the pay phone is a feckin' slot machine. Right out of Las Vegas but with no prize."
I made my call and contacted my friend. She she tells me she is on her way and will be there in five minutes. After hanging up the phone I started to thank the man only to have him wave me quiet.
"Where in America are you from?"
"Boston" I replied, automatically mentioning the place where I had lived the longest and felt the most connected to in the US.
"Ah, Boston. " He warms a bit and the rest of the bar nods in approval. "Half of Boston is Irish, you know."
"that's true. Most of my friends are Irish there."
He took a sip out of his pint of dark beer and looked at me, face inscrutable. "you know what they say about America?"
I shook my head carefully... was an anti bush comment coming?
"That half of America is Irish" he said, avoiding politics much to my relief "... and that the other half feckin' wishes it were!" The bar erupted into laughter and I find myself laughing along as well. The men at the bar were raising their dark pints of Guinness in approval and toasting to Ireland. I stood amazed and thrilled as every one of the marvelous irish stereotypes was fulfilled within an hour of my arriving in Dublin. Still smiling I thanked them once again and walked outside to meet my friend.