We Heart Dublin

Our smiles are large and our eyes a gawk. The Dublin train station is brimming with activity as we steer our bikes around and through the hordes of people. Once outside the station we walk our faithful steeds in a random direction with hopes of eventually finding our accommodation. As we approach the city center the sidewalks fill with pedestrians which mimic a river full of spawning salmon--twisting, rubbing and brushing up against one another. We are swallowed up bike and all. As we cross the river Livy we get our first glance of the expansive nature of the city; smiles widen.We begin to get the feeling that we might be completely off course to where our nights stay will be, so we enter a hotel and ask for directions. We now obtain a city map with directions to our B&B, located a block from the train station we arrived at earlier. Ah, no worries, it's been grand taking in the city and our bearings for the metropolis have grown. We find the B&B and a steady flow of people are in and out of it's front door. It's a weekend in the capital city with a popular football game to boot. Every accommodation is booked and we were smart to have reserved ahead of time. We unload and wait for our turn while the proprietor sends away hopeful lodgers in droves. Later, at night we roam the city streets, take in a pint at the famous Temple Bar and indulge in a boxty dinner.Saturday morning we take to the streets early after a filling Irish breakfast in our bellies. We have a long list of items to attend to. First off is to secure buss passage to Limerick making sure bicycles will prove to be of no hassle. We next head north along the River Levy in hopes to find Susan's parents old home located in the outlying district of Ringsend. Again, with no map of the hopeful area or directions we wind our way out of proper Dublin via small back roads, vacant fields and town parks. Large cranes litter the skyline preparing office-condominiums for the next batch of young urban professionals living large on the Celtic Tiger. Far off in the distance two lone smoke stacks become our beacon. Remembering them when we surveyed this area back home through Google Earth, we keep heading towards that vicinity. Before long our surroundings quickly become hostile. The road is strewn with heaping amounts of foul rubbish: smashed-in televisions, burning tyres, gutted toys, rotten diapers atop cannibalized bicycles. Truly apocalyptic. Dilapidated caravans line the streets and mutant dogs begin to circle around us with snarling teeth and glowing eyes. We're reminded of films such as Snatch, Road Warrior and Dawn of the dead. Kicking and yelling at the mutant snapping K9s we hightail it down the street, dodging deep stagnant puddles to safety. We dead end at a large factory of some sort and shudder the thought of having to go back through the chasm of death. Just then a truck pulls up, stops and begins to turn around. Susan waves her arms and summons the driver to roll down his window. We are taken aboard and the two young chaps not only know the area we are looking for but take us there in safety. We disembark on Pigeon House Road, find Cambridge Avenue and the quaint house that Susan's parents raised their first two children in.We are delighted in discovering these stomping grounds of the Cummings clan. Needing a change of pace we walk across town back into the heart of Dublin and enter the gates of Trinity College, Owen Cummings' alma mater. Trinity college is also where, on the stairs of the chapel where Susan's parents first met. We walk the campus and daydream of young students falling in love while in the pursuits of academic excellence. Several photo ops take place and we navigate around the tourists in line to catch a glimpse of the famed Book of Kells. A splendid campus with well manicured lawns.Lunch and shopping is the topic for the rest of the afternoon. We finally decide on the wool garments of choice. We have kept an eye out for woolly sweaters since our arrival, coming close to purchasing in county Donegal. We make our splurge purchase and take cover from the daily downpour. With shopping bags in hand we run through the streets of Dublin, jumping puddles and streams. Making our way to the IFI, the Irish Film Institute. This is a fantastic arena for film and cinema-buffs; Susan had once thought of being an intern here once. We find an upstairs table at the pub inside and enjoy a couple of Guinnesses and dessert while we wait for our film to begin. We decided on the 1976 film by Charles Burnett, The Killer of Sheep.

"The Library of Congress has declared it a national treasure as one of the first fifty on the National Film Registry and the National Society of Film Critics selected it as one of the "100 Essential Films" of all time. However, due to the expense of the music rights, the film was never shown theatrically or made available on video. It has only been seen on poor quality 16mm prints at few and far between museum and festival showings."

It was a great film and we highly recommend seeing it if possible. Stepping back out into the streets of the temple bar district we wander for dinner and drinks, aimlessly taking lefts and rights until stopping at a local brewery. Being that microbreweries are rare in Ireland we step in. The establishment is packed with four stories of beer drinking fanatics. Susan and I wander the floors with no luck of seating. Back at the ground level a booth opens up and we slide in. We order starters and beers. We send back half of our order and are mostly disgusted with the the other half (foul tasting oysters in the half shell). A young couple sits down across from us, the only free chairs in the joint. It takes a while to interact but by the end of the night we are ordering rounds of beers together and talking about our lives, politics, and art appreciation. Their names are Milla and Petri and are from Finland. They were so much fun to visit with, Milla being an artist herself and Petri being a huge fan of the Ramones and other important punk rock predecessors. We bar hopped into the night and decided upon paganism being a good thing. It was a grand night for our departure from Dublin. We hope to get to Finland some day for a visit; great people hale from that land.