The Queen Commerce diaspora of unprecedented proportion (~80) congregated in Dublin for the religious holiday of some Irish patron saint. The motivation was far from righteous but lightheaded enlightenment, heroic determination, and pseudo-religious experiences were nonetheless widespread. Between the lively boisterousness and the well-meant aggression, the mentally fortified slept for not more than ten hours over the three-day period. The rest fell down to rise up half-awake with friendly support (aka peer pressure). They dealt with plumber cracks and drug addicts in jam-packed party hostels and found slivers of wifi to organize meet-ups. But even the most disconnected bumped into familiar faces on the alleys of Dublin.
Ireland is known for famine, revolution and writers. It was poor until its high-powered growth through the 1990s and 2000s when it had the highest growth of any Eurozone nation and earned “highest standard of living” from the Economist in 2005. So Dublin is ultra-modern with sleek airports and high-tech trams. Yet the unfettered capitalism has its limits. The competitive tax rate reveals an environment too friendly to business. The transport system is a mess of disparate privatized networks that do not share passes. The debt-fueled asset-bubble fell with the Debt Crisis, leaving Ireland the recipient of one of the six (soon to be seven?) European bailouts. The bailout saved it and Ireland will once again go to the markets with full strength.
Doors near Merrion Square
St. Stephen's Green
This gives Ireland a curious contrast between old and new. Between pints: St. Stephen’s Green is a serene haven surrounded by rambunctiousness; Oscar Wilde’s house is among a row of resplendent doors that surround Merrion Square; nearby, the National Gallery showcases Irish art among specks of European masterpieces. For pints, the Guinness Storehouse is a sensory overload of a commercialized brand-building exercise and serve free samplers on each floor. For a micro-brewery, Porterhouse has three stouts, four ales and three lagers. It also has great food for the sort of environment.
Food in Dublin is surprisingly varied and attributable to the modernization movement it experienced with the English-speaking world. It tastes like London or even Toronto. Crackbird serves a bucket of chicken coated in a raucous mélange of fiery sauces that compete for dominance. Most popular is half a chicken smothered in Soy Garlic for 12€ or a full one for 20€. In standard Anglo-Saxon hipster tradition of unapologetic plate settings, a peculiarly perky lemonade goes for 4€ and comes in a reused jar. It is a welcome change from uninterrupted beer guzzling.
Winding Stairs
26€, two courses
North of the river, a stone-throw from Temple Bar, is a cozy new-Irish restaurant called Winding Stairs with its own bookstore (an Irish novelty) on the ground floor. Walking up a narrow staircase, the rustic dining hall is planked with dark floors and decorated with scribbles on chalkboards and clipboard menus. The prix-fixe goes for 26€ is two-courses; add 5€ for dessert and 4€ for a glass of wine. To start, traditional black pudding is coated in a crispy skin and smothered in sweet applesauce. The salad is aromatic in herbs and topped with crispy pig ears. To follow, perfectly cooked beef liver is not a mushy mess but instead lusciously smooth in a potent beet sauce.
I am ever impressed with the Irish. Between the dingy pubs, espresso bars serve better coffee than anywhere in continental Europe. Bewley’s has some impressive latte art; it does not in any way resemble “Irish Coffee”. The people are warmhearted. A sim-card mess up left me lost without internet. The service centre promptly loaded my phone up with an extra 500mb for no extra charge. For the return flight, both my friend and I slept through an alarm, and were rushing to make the bus to the airport. Without any money, I had to appeal to the other bus patrons, who resoundingly came to my rescue. I made the plane with no time to spare; though I would’ve loved to stayed longer.