I was in Dublin about two years ago. Guinness tour was cool, if only because you get a nice pint at the end. And what they say about Guinness is true: it really does taste batter in Ireland. No one knows why. Maybe intelligent design.
But you’ll find all that out for yourself, I’m sure.
I don’t know how much time I would spend in the Temple Bar district. I travelled through it one night and it just seemed too…American. Like it was set up to cater to all the college kids travelling abroad. I wanted to go to an honest to goodness pub.
twistoffate took me and my friend out drinking on two nights to some cool places. For the life of me, I can’t recall their names but since the goal of the evening seemed to be not to remember a thing come the next morning, I’d say it was a job well done.
I dont work in bewleys, no, but I do intend to call in and chill out while my gf goes for an interview. I’ve been meaning to get to bewleys since it re-opened; it closed last year to much weeping and gnashing of teeth, then re-opened recently to much indifference. C’est la vie. Keep an eye out if your around, I should be wearing a blue family guy t-shirt and reading a volume of battle royale. Three-ish. You can e-mail me if you like.
Indeed, especially because the sweepstakes I won was put on by Guinness. I did see some American style hurling in Killarney when I was there a year and a half ago. Fortunately, the hurler chose to target his girlfriend rather than me. Stroke of luck, that was!
For those unfamiliar with hurling, allow me to surmise:
It is a miracle that people do not DIE during this game. It is a true testament to the awesome skill of the players that everybody walks off the pitch at the end. Its your basci, drive a leather ball between goalposts using wooden bats (or “Hurleys”, hence the name) played at breakneck speed. If you happen to watch it on tv, you may think its just guys running around, swinging at the air: this is because the ball moves that fast it is sometimes impossible to see. It is estimated that a good hurler can strike a ball (sliotar) at around the same speed as Tiger Woods’ golfball leaves the tee. Yo can only move with the ball if it is balanced on your hurley: picture a man balncing a tennis ball on a stick and running the lenght of the pitch without it falling off. Oh, and did I mention its a full contact sport, often to the point of hurleys snapping in half? So, you’ve got a guy balancing a ball on a stick, sprinting up a field being tackled by several other guys, avoiding them, then driving said ball sixty yards through posts about 12 feet apart. The precision and skill of these men is unsurpassed. And no protective clothing either (but some wear helmets). Tough motherfuckers.
Hurling effin’ rocks, and there are few American sports where the players have the BALLS! to do what hurlers do. It is unfortunate that if we make hurling a major sport, it’d be played with foam rubber balls and more padding than a loony bin.
We watched the championship game today with twistoffate and it was FUCKING INCREDIBLE!! IT WAS GODDAMN AMAZING!! IT WAS BEYONG FANTASTIC!! IT WAS FUCKING HEAVEN!!
Hoping to meet the other Dublin Dopers soon.
bubastis, we found the coffee shop and we’re planning on being there around 3pm.
It’s ironic that I’ve been smitten by a Spanish girl. Except for winning this trip, my life sucks…
So my sister & I are walking along, and some guy behind me seems to be looking at me. I’m wondering if I did something to offend him. A bit later, as we are waiting for the Walking Tour that begins at the gates of Trinity College, the guy approaches me as asks if I won a trip to Dublin from Guinness. It was bubastis. We chatted briefly and parted ways (the meeting @ the coffee house didn’t work out b/c his schedule changed.) What a freaky stroke of luck.
Our first night here we stopped in a pub where I saw a woman too beautiful for words. I was dying. She dissapears (I guess her shift was over) and a bit later we go on our way. I can’t get her out of my head; she’s so beautiful that she makes Petrarch’s Laura look like a pile of dog shit. So the next day, we see her walking down Grafton St. (sp?). Two days later, we see her on another street. Today, we see her again. If there is a god, he is deliberately taunting me, because the torture is simply too much to bear. I want to go back to the pub where she works. (I stopped by there Sunday before the Hurling match; but she wasn’t working. I said something about her, and the bartender said she’s Spanish…and kind of weird. Do I care if she’s weird? I can only hope she digs losers!)
How, in a city half-again the size of Detriot, could I have seen her so many times?
BTW, the Ghost Bus Tour is a riot!! Some facts are obviously false, but they’re just mood-setting facts and not material to the stories. Others I want to check out when I have time. But no matter how you look at it, it is a lot of fun.
They look pretty much like a hockey stick the women play in the US.
Who was the guy last year, I think he was from Cork, or at least in the Cork match, who hit someone upside the head with his hurley? It had to have been around June since I was over in Ireland at the time and was watching it. That’s got to hurt like hell.
Some guys did wear helmets. Can’t tell you how many.
Okay, things getting weirder:
First, we see the Spanish bartender walking down the street while we’re riding the sight-seeing bus of the city. Then we go to the National Gallery, and there’s a fucking painting of her: “On the Beach, Broadstairs, Kent” by Robert Ponsonby Staples. (can’t find images of it)
The bar she was working at was near Neary’s, because I had two pints there while waiting to meet twistoffate at Neary’s on Saturday. So it’s right near by, across from an Italian restaurant, but I can’t remember the name. I think it starts w/ an “L”.
Anyway, it’s creepy. I think god, if there is one, is definitely taunting me.
Hey man! Check out this classic irish ballad, i think it fits you pretty well!!! I’m sure you’ve heard the tune at some stage, this song is generally sung around porter-houses by smitten young men, and it’s creepily close to your predicament! http://www.socc.ie/~midiclass/irish%20lyrics/the%20spanish%20lady.doc
Allow me to expand on this story: My girlfriend had a meeting in the city at three, at which time I had arranged to meet js in a well-known coffee house. However, morning came and we got word that the meeting had been changed to 11am!! I felt really bad as I wouldnt be about to make my appointment later on, and I would look like a big jerk. So, we got off the bus on O’Connell st. and began to make our way to Trinity College, where her meeting was. I was griping about not meeting a fellow doper, and she, who has no real time for internet buddies, was telling me to cop on. I said “Hey, I said I was going to meet the guy, and I know he’s in the city. The least I could do is keep an eye out for him”.
Mrs B; “Keep an eye out? What possible chance do you have of spotting one guy in the city in the middle of the day???”
Bbsts “…Well, not much. Having said that, Thats him there”
Pointing at Js himself, walking down the street!!! Sweet victory against negative attitudes.
Still, I was unsure as to whether or not I had the right guy, so we followed him, checking out the following things:
Yes, he looked like the photo he posted.
American accent.
Carrying a camers/ various tourist paraphenalia.
Heading to Trinity College-Tourist Mecca.
So, I was fairly sure, all I had to do was ditch my boo and go meet this guy. She was worried about her meeting, and i had to appear at least interested as I tried to keep an eye on my man. Finally, I wished her good look and tore off to see if I could find Js, who had disappeared round a corner. Bingo!! There he was, waiting on a tour to commence. So, taking a pamplet from a tour operator and pretending to read it, I approached, still unsure if I had the right guy, still apprehensive of making a tool of myself in front of a total stranger. Bang!! Thats my man!!!
Was also very happy to have done such a good job following him, until he told me he’d been onto me from the start, and was wondering if I was some sort of mugger or something. I guess I am a bit scary looking. Even his sister asked if I was taking the tour that I had the pamplet for… There goes my private eye career!
So, Js_africanus, it was very nice to meet your aquintance, and your sister too. I apologise again for being unable to make the original agreement, but at least I got to say hello, and wish you the very best for the rest of your trip. As you can see, the weatehr is uncharicteristically beautiful, hopefully for the rest of the week. Enjoy the rest of the trip, leave those spanish ladies be, and get a good Irish Cailin!!
Glad you’re enjoying yourself js_africanus, I’m up in rainy, rioty Belfast getting ready for mywedding (it’s tomorrow) or you know I’d have come to say hi.
I think that’s part of what threw me so much. I didn’t get a good look at you behind me; what I was thinking was that maybe I took a photo and the “guy” mistakenly thought I took a picture of his girlfreind’s butt, or something like that. BTW, I hope I didn’t appear unfriendly or rude, because I really was in shock by the whole event and was having trouble grasping the dumb luck of such a chance meeting.
Regarding the Spanish girl, we went back to the Nat’l Gallery to browse the gift shop. Yeah, it’s lame, but I always enjoy art museum gift shops for some reason. Anyway, they have no prints of the painting, but they do have postcards. I buy three, figuring that I’ll lose two. A bit later we went to lunch at that pub, Sheehan’s I think, and almost sat in the upstairs bar, but instead we found a table on the ground floor. Curious about what the upsatairs bar is all about, I mosey up there for a glance and she’s working up there. I take out a postcard and write soemthing to the effect of realizing that she really was too beautiful to be real when I saw a painting of her in the Nat’l Gallery, and then just signed it “jsh”. She closed the upstairs bar and came to work downstairs. I caught her eye and gave her the card, saying that she was on it. (Her english wasn’t very good.) She tried to give it back because there was writing on it, but I said it was for her and she accepted it. I think she had to have a co-worker translate it for her.
No romance was forthcoming; however, I was glad to get it off my chest. (The link to the song won’t open up, so I’m quite curious as to how it goes.)
Just got back from a couple of pints w/ twistoffate, and I think we’ve worked out a new logo for the township where I work. It’s Acme, so you all can probably guess where it’s going.
Well, we’ve had an absolutely fantastic time. I’m even a certified taster of Irish whiskey now! Rock on! Flying out first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ve taken about twelve rolls of film. At the very least, folk will get to see what the city looks like, because I took a shitload of photos of it.
And I thought it was so funny yet appropriate that Guinness sponsored a hurling tournament…