One of the problems with renting a car is returning it, especially before you get dinged for another day. The car was of no more use to us – everything from here is on foot. So I got up at 6:30, while my family slept, to take the car back.
Down the street, across the river, back to the parking garage. €22 to get the car out of the car park. “Parking validation”, my odorous ass. I immediately turn into the wrong lane, get honked at, and stall car. Nearly forgetting that I had to refill the tank, I swear enough to make a true Dubliner blush all the way to the gas station. Got there as it was opening. Unsavoury characters milled about and I actually hit a point of no longer caring.
The Europcar was four blocks away from the parking garage; I’d had to go five blocks the other direction to get the car refilled. I was already irritated by the time I got to the gated lot, only to find that despite what the website said (7am), the lot didn’t open to 7:30. Even though I got there first, two more beat me in, including an impatient self-important fucktard business guy.
I was relieved to be rid of the car. It’s not that I don’t like rental agencies per se (but I don’t like renting cars), it’s the stress of having one. I walked back to hotel feeling a few pounds lighter. I dropped off any remaining car-related crap (notably the phone charging cord), picked up my camera bag, and followed Alex and Megan to a restaurant called Pog for breakfast. Choo Choo slept in.
From Pog (which had a respectable breakfast), Monkey and I walked the 2.5 km to the Guinness Storehouse for our tour. I’d arranged it yesterday after finally confirming that I could. Only Monkey wanted to come (and no, I didn’t force her to; I’d have gone solo without a second thought).
Yes, it’s touristy. Yes, it’s even a bit cheesy. But Guinness is legendary. Even the story of Guinness is full of legend. Their logo is based on the 14th-century “Brian Boru” harp preserved at Trinity College Dublin, and was registered in 1876. Because Guinness trademarked the symbol first, the Republic of Ireland – who also wanted to use the harp – later had to reverse it as not to cause an issue with the trademark.
All that said, yes, it was a Disneyworld-esque walk-through of their history with a variety of carefully designed and curated artefacts. The building was, in my view, more interesting that much of the self-guided tour, as it was an example of one of the first steel-skeleton buildings in Ireland. Unlike the steel structures we know today, these structural members had to be assembled by riveting together multiple pieces just to create a single beam. And they’d cut massive holes in the floors to allow for elevators and escalators, filling the central space with coloured glass, all meant to look like you were rising through a pint glass.
One of the neater experiences is a “tasting” room. It’s designed to mute your senses and let you experience the esters that make up the aroma and taste of a Guinness from six pods of scents. Then you take a miniature pint of Guinness into the next room for a proper “tasting”. It’s all very over-the-top, yes, but it’s still pretty neat.
At the top of the tour is the Gravity Bar, where your “free” sample awaits. (Monkey, of course, had pop.) Finally having had Guinness from the Source, I can safely say with a great deal of confidence that the beer I’ve hd from local taps in Calgary is almost identical to what I had here in Dublin. In short: I’m glad I came, and I’m relieved that I can drink Guinness at home without worry.
The gift shop covered much of the gamut of Guinness fandom. What I really wanted was a mug I had bought on our first trip to Dublin in ‘06, since destroyed by my family in a mishap (a fate that occurs to all my favourite drinking containers, it seems). But that particular mug is no longer available. I had to settle for a different one … and a shirt that says “Dublin”.
We opted for a taxi back to the hotel. We dropped off our stuff while waiting for news on Alex and Choo Choo’s whereabouts. Finding they were already at Trinity College – our next destination for the day – we headed out to meet them.
Since they were young, the girls have seen The Secret of Kells, a beautifully done Irish animated movie about the Book of Kells around the time of its creation, and it’s near-destruction by marauding Vikings. Alex and I had seen the Book of Kells when we first went to Dublin, and it seemed only proper that the girls see the real thing for themselves.
I barely remembered our first visit, except for seeing the Book itself. I’m sure the exhibit’s changed over the last near-20 years, but the Book is still just as impressive, even if it was opened to a random, uninteresting set of pages. But the introductory content was new and engaging, as was the latter material.
Once we’d seen the Book, we transitioned into the Long Room, which the girls also knew about. It’s the world-famous Trinity College library. And it’s a room you don’t easily see with only a few people – it’s a busy space. It’s also a space under renovation and restoration, which will be ongoing for at least another decade. Most of the books are off the shelves, undergoing digitization and preservation. Sadly the scope of the room was also marred with a pointless “sculpture” of the Earth spinning in real-time that filled nearly the width of the hall.
Back outside, we headed over to the “Red Pavilion”, a temporary space set up awaiting a formal new home. In it was more information about the Long Room. That led into a multimedia presentation about the Book, too, which immersed you in its imagery. And then into the gift shop.
Choo Choo crashed after all of that. Alex and I went to a nearby bar called the Windjammer for drinks, where I finally got to have a Beamish, a local stout. It’s quite tasty.
Still down for the count, we picked up Monkey and left Choo Choo to sleep, all heading down to the River Bar for dinner. Another concert was up that night, maybe more than one, but enough of a draw to bring many young women in thin clothing to drink up before the show.
Dinner was decent, though not enough to write home about. We went to find another of Alex’s caches, an act that has been mildly frustrating as the coordinates are up to 15 metres off the posted GPS coordinates. Fortunately, the description was much more helpful. And the walk to get there involved a very decorative alleyway filled with murals and posters of Irish artists, authors, and musicians.
Say what you will about geocaching, I’ve seen far more interesting things in the act of helping Alex with her hobby than I have when I make deliberate attempts to see things.
We found the statue of Molly Malone, a mythical figure from an 18th century folk song about a female fishmonger who dies a tragic death. I don’t know why the song is so popular, but the statue receives enough attention that the bronze statue has clearly polished breasts.
We found the Dublin location for Murphy’s Ice Cream. While there, talking with the staff about our visit to the Dingle location, we found that we met the founder and owner of Murphy’s – the American man who was offering all kinds of samples. Apparently he’s originally from New York, though I’d not heard a single accent to suggest it. And he doesn’t talk about being the owner, he just wants people to eat ice cream. The guy clearly loves what he does.
By the way, I highly recommend the Whiskey Chocolate and Honeycomb Caramel.
We found Grafton Street almost by accident. It’s been made popular in part by Ed Sheeran, or at least that I’d what I’ve heard.
On our way back to the hotel, we ran into a Garda station, which prompted me (stone cold sober by this point, thank you very much) to ask about the correct pronunciation of Garda Síochána, which is the name of the national police. I’d write it down, but even then it’ll miss the correct nuances. Suffice to say, Irish doesn’t translate well to Phonetic spelling.
No particular plans for tomorrow. We’ll see how it all goes.
