It had rained that night but the day dawned cloudy but clear of actual precipitation. Considering the distances involved in the previous day I felt surprisingly sprightly until I tried actually ascending or descending stairs. Then the pain reappeared with a vengeance.
Chelsea very kindly taped my knee in such a way to support it whilst stylishly showing off the vibrant blue of the bandage. Being a well-known fashion ignoramus I churlishly hid it under trousers.
We assembled and caught the LUAS from Spencer Dock to Jervis and walked to the side of the Liffey to the Woollen Mills (a Orla Recommendation) where we had a delicious breakfast only slightly delayed by server cook communication issues. The cook didn't tell our server that he didn't have all the items we'd ordered until about twenty minutes after the server had placed the order. This faux pas led to the most furiously whispered argument I've ever heard. Gordon Ramsey could learn a bit about vocabulary and a lot about volume from these two.
When breakfast did arrive it was fantastic, I had some sort of Fishcake poached egg combo with the others ordering varieties of french toast, bacon and maple syrup. I should have had the much plainer penitents porridge but frankly fuck it. I had just run 13.2 miles...(strangely that excuse has a much shorter shelf life than you'd think.)
We LUAS'd up to James's and walked through what could only be described as bleak urbanity. The crew were starting to get nervous as I led them away from the tram stop and into what looked like concrete desolation with closed industrial units and narrow terraced houses looming over us on both sides. Much scorn and dare I say banter was flung at me. My parentage and my navigational skill were both called into question, until the familiar Harp logo rendered in gold and black appeared on the massive Storehouse in front of us.
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| Rob P tries to hide his affection for the Black Stuff |
I took their apologies with my usual magnanimity and aplomb ("HA ! In your face! I told you I knew where I was going!") and entered into the organised chaos of Dublin's most popular tourist attraction. Having pre-booked tickets we didn't need to queue outside and ascended the stairs into a large hall where you could see to the top of the building all of which was crammed with those wishing to worship at the Mecca of Stout.
You enter and exit through the gift shop where everything you can imagine, and some things you can't, have the Guinness logo emblazoned on them. You could quite easily fully equip a small suburban family solely with items from the extensive gift shop although they might find the proliferation of black and white in the palette a little dull.
The tour itself was self guided and started in a gallery of moving portraits, praising the black stuff in a scene reminiscent of the painting from Harry potter. Which, in all honesty, freaked most of us out. It's hard to think of another Iconic Beer that would have manufactured such a sense of mystery and pride around it. Hard to imagine marketing a John Smiths Museum or the Hoffmeister Experience. But neither of them have put the budget of a small Mediterranean country into a 1 and a half minute advert.
He waits...
The actual brewing part was fairly similar to every other brewery tour:
MALT + WATER + HOPS + YEAST = BEERY MAGIC
The bits I found interesting were the advertising and the cult of Guinness. When I was last here the main floors were taken up with display cases full of memorabilia and relics of signage past. These have been totally replaced with interactive displays, moving signs and selfie points. (The otherness of selfies is a discussion for another day but surely the point is to be spontaneous and show where you are. If you're directed to only take selfies in these assigned spots doesn't that ruin the point of them? Also as I'm over Forty( Fuck! I'm over Forty!) I don't think I could ever really get the appeal of them.)
Needless to say we didn't avail ourselves of the extensive selfie opportunities and headed instead to the gravity bar for a much needed pint.
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| Llion remains unconvinced |
It like much of the building was a heaving mass of people but we managed to secure both pints and seats to soak up the view. The Gravity bar is essentially a 360 bar on top of the Storehouse that provides a breathtaking view of both Dublin and the hills beyond. It's a spectacular place for a drink and the pints are, as you'd expect, smooth and velvety with none of the tang of old tin that you get from a badly stored pint of stout.
We managed to secure a couple of extra pints (meant to be limited to one per customer) through charity from a couple that disliked Guinness and through Caroline not having her tickets taken at the bar. She had waited to give the vouchers over after securing her pints but after thirty seconds of being ignored she wisely turned around and walked away. So her moral compass can be calibrated at precisely thirty seconds, (when it comes to free beer anyway).
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| The Four Stages of Guinness |
Andy Katie and Llion headed to a bus tour of the city.
Rob G and Chelsea decided to pursue a few shopping opportunities
The Parrys and the Taylors, in a shock move that, no-one could have predicted, headed to a local hostelry. A nice looking place called Madigans on Lower Abbey street.
We had a pint.
We had another pint.
That then called for a toastie or similar bar based snack.
We ended up in conversation with a family from Waterford that had come over for the Hurling match that was played yesterday. They seemed very nice and I didn't want to irritate them with questions about the game and why they have 5 sets of scores instead of just the one.
Caroline and I made friends with a Canadian couple at the bar who were at the start of a European cruise. We were looking at the selection of beers at the bar and one of them was something like a Galway Hooker. Strangely Mike and Lisa (the Canadians) found the conversation hilarious and subsequently joined us at the table for a pint or two.
Side note: I have yet to find a person from Canada who I don't instantly get on with. Their sense of humour, honesty and healthy lack of pretension just matches very well with what I'd describe as a British sensibility in the best possible sense.
It was whilst we were having a healthy debate about one thing or another (in the manner of the best bar conversations I've totally forgotten what we were discussing (actually it might have been blood pudding)) that we noticed the skies darkening considerably and then the heavens opening.
Now you've probably got a picture in your head of heavy rain. This was more like a thousand buckets of water being poured on the street at once. The rain fell in sheets. The torrent pressing on you like a weight, drenching you with your first step out of cover. It was the kind of rainfall to make you consider where one might obtain a fully functional ark at three in the afternoon. It felt like it was never going to stop, as if rain was now the default setting and we'd better evolve some gills, pronto.
Rob and Chelsea came in soon after and being Welsh we all had of course packed raincoats and umbrellas. However they had got a fair soaking an decided on a drink to warm up a touch.
The other three came back about an hour later. It was still raining but the bus had sheltered them from the worst of it. They showed us the photos they had taken of the front of the Guinness storehouse had huddled tourists crammed against the outside walls where we had breezed past earlier on. There was a certain thrill of Scaudhen freud in seeing the tourists soaking when we had remained dry and smug.
Mike and Lisa had to go as they were expected at the start of their cruise and we wished them well as they set off for their hotel and several more 'adult beverages'.
There was a minor lull in the rain and we decided to risk a run to Temple Bar and Bad Bobs as it seemed as if they knew we were meant to be there.
We managed to get a nice table thanks to a lovely host who I then managed to annoy by ordering drink for everyone at the bar rather than through her. However she took it in good humour by snagging my seat at the table! Role reversal.
Decently grubbed up some people decided on a walk home and some stayed out visiting my second favourite (but best named) pub in dublin. The Oliver St John Gogarty where they have live music every night of the year.
We snagged a couple of seats in the crowded middle bar and sang drunkenly along to the bits we knew until it was time to catch the last LUAS home sodden and sozzled but thoroughly happy.
15/08/2017 - DIPLOMATIC ESCALATOR INCIDENT
The last day of a trip is rarely a time for much reflection and activity due to my incessant need to be at the mode of transport at a stupidly advanced stage. I have been known to turn up for planes hours before I actually have to in a panic that due to some sort a cataclysmic event I might miss them.
However being a group like this means I feel less personally responsible (until things go wrong) so having risen groggily and not too unsteadily Llion, Chelsea and I headed into the town one last time, in search of mementos.
The LUAS works really well but given that time is meant to be relative, the next train indicators are in no way relative to the actual time of the next train. It was like watching someone who never haggled before.
"5 min. no 3 mins no fifteen mins, 23 mins. okay 5 mins ( as a tram actually pulls up.)"
They weren't here last time I came to Dublin and they seem to be having a really positive effect but the tram is still really in it's infancy and they re engage all the lines that were decommisioned after the 70's. There are only two lines currently open but I hope that when I next go back there will be more and we'll be able to travel to some of the further outskirts of this great city.
One thing I love about the LUAS is instead of a warning klaxon they have this really polite "ding" which is so much friendlier!
"Ding! Do please mind out of the way if it's not too much trouble. We wouldn't want a kerfuffle now would we?"
As opposed to,
"AWOOGA! OUT OF MY WAY!"
Much more civilised.
Anyway the gentleman-like tram eased us gently to O'Connell street which as mentioned elsewhere is the main thoroughfare in Dublin. It's a double wide tree lined road that reminds me of the Boulevards in Paris or Madrid or the Unter der Linden in Berlin. It's highly civilised and without the total stranglehold that franchises seem to have over other major cities.
We visited a souvenir shop that was so Tourist-Irish it may well have been called "Leprechauns shitting shamrocks." but sadly wasn't.
The staff managed to deal with being surrounded by a plastic version of their esteemed heritage a damn sight better than I would have done and we managed to assemble our various Irish themed tat for export.
We found ourselves at a doughnut shop Rob and Chelsea had scouted previously The Rolling Doughnut and availed ourselves of their calorific wares bringing back a few choice morsels for the crew.
Once back in the dock area we walked through the streets then an industrial area and then a park to find a delicious breakfast at Kennedy's food store. It looked tiny from outside but inside there were substantial tables and substantial breakfasts to be had by all.
Couple of taxi rides later we were at the docks and aside from Mr Gotts nearly causing a diplomatic incident by going down an escalator that he had gone up from thus violating all sorts of international laws, we had a relatively peaceful if a little more undulating ride home on the wipe clean ferry.
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