To say that I woke up on my 2nd day in Dublin with a bit of a hangover is an understatement. I believe the text I sent to Andy contained the phrase “rough as a badger’s arsehole”. I suppose it’s fair to say that if you don’t wake up with a bit of a hangover in Ireland, you’re just not doing it right. I spent a good couple hours in bed moaning a bit, eating the free hotel biscuits, and wondering if I could convince the room service people to shower me. It was truly the need for some greasy food that finally got me going.
After checking out, I headed over to Grafton Street to try to catch breakfast at the place the friendly Irish couple, Joe and Mary, suggested. Joe did remind me via email to mention how lucky it was for me that he was in fact a cartographer and of all the people in Ireland I could have met, he was the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow in regards to giving directions. I’m paraphrasing obviously. They suggested that I treat myself and go to Bewley’s, which is this gorgeous café with loads of woodwork, café seating in a courtyard type setting with a high ceiling that was either very ornate or had skylights – I would be able to tell you for sure if I was actually able to eat here and not have been told that breakfast was over and it was another half hour until lunch. I feel terrible for waking up so late and thus missing such a fabulous suggestion but perhaps one of you all could go there sometime and tell me about it…just make sure not to show up at 11:30 AM.
Starving and unable to deal with the crowds on Grafton Street with a hangover, I headed down some side streets and found another smaller, less impressive cafe and had breakfast. I’m not going to mention the name of this place because the breakfast was average and they were out of brown sauce which I really do believe is a crime in some parts of the country. I did notice while sitting outside eating my sausage sans brown sauce that not only was I two buildings away from another one of Joe’s suggestions – Pete’s Pub – but I was also two buildings away from a pub one of my Californian\Irish friends back home recommended – the Hairy Lemon. What luck! I really needed a bloody mary.
Still trying to find Ryan's boarding pass on the walls of this place...
Since Pete’s Pub was closed for the bank holiday (another grand suggestion wasted!), I went to the Hairy Lemon where I felt very alcoholic – erm, I mean James Joyce like – by having a cocktail by myself in a very empty pub. In my defense, it was well after 12 PM by this point.
After my cocktail, I left and headed towards St. Stephen’s Green to redeem myself bit, stopping in multiple shops along the way. I stopped in H&M and bought the Henbot a few things, which only increased my missing of him. I haven’t mentioned that yet because I’m a bit ashamed. A couple years back Beth came out to CA to attend Andy and mine’s wedding. She had just had her son, Thomas, 6 months previously and you could see how much she missed being away from him. At the time I was Miss Not Understanding and just couldn’t get why she was depressed when she was only away from her child for 3 days. I completely get that now as its heartbreaking being away from your small child, even for a day. What ends up happening is you see all these parents with their babies, getting to cuddle them and push them in strollers and make silly faces at them and you don’t have your baby to do the same thing. As much fun as I had during this two day trip, it was bittersweet not having the Henbot to share it with. Not that he likes whiskey yet, but you get what I’m saying. Basically I bought more things back for Henry then anyone else and he couldn’t give a toss about presents yet. Seriously, this parenting thing is making me soft.
Oh sweet serenity. I wonder if those ducks have any whiskey.
Where was I? Oh yes…St. Stephen’s Green. When I entered the park there seemed to be some sort of Ladies Walk going on. It turned out to be the Dublin Flora Women’s Mini Marathon and when I exited the park on the other side, I ran smack dab in the middle of all the walkers – of course going in the wrong direction. While I could have headed back into the park to avoid being awkward, my brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders and I just plowed through. A confused young boy actually offered me a bottle of water which I almost took.
Not content enough to just walk? You can exercise with blue haired ladies.
It was ages before I made it back to a place where no one was wearing a number plate on their chest. I was so confused that I just headed back to the Hairy Lemon for some more James Joyce reenactment.
Listen up England. Get this in stock soon please before I am forced to revert back to Coors Light.
After my cider, I went to Pablo Picante, a Californian Burrito Bar, and you should too. I loved this place as it not only satisfied my need for Mexican food but it made me so homesick for California that I cried a bit over my Senor ‘Slim’ Delgado burrito. I text Andy shortly after eating telling him that we were moving to Dublin and living over Pablo Picante. For some reason he didn’t go for the idea but I’ll continue to whine about it until he gives in.
How could this not make you cry?
Belly full of burrito, I did some more wandering. At one point I found myself at the International Bar where I was offered to sing (I declined) and then later at the Stag’s Head where I had a great conversation with the bartender about Liverpool Football (which I know nothing about but bluffed my way through). I’d recommend both these places to anyone as neither were overly touristy and the staff and clientele in both were very friendly. The Stag’s Head in particular is a good bet as you can get a glass of Powers for 4.10 euros which is a goddamn bargain in Dublin.
Listening to the "band" at the International.
Stag's Head before they opened. No wonder Andrea recommended this place - it comes with a Vespa.
I ended my trip back at the Porterhouse Brewery for some bangers and mash and then headed to the airport exhausted, slightly tipsy, and desperately missing my family. I’m glad I got a chance to experience Dublin again and my opinion of it is much changed for the better. More importantly, now that I know that I can fly by myself and be alright, I’m heading back to the States with Henry this Thursday. Hot damn! All the Mexican food I can eat! If you find me somewhere in Milwaukee with burritos and enchiladas hanging from my ears, don’t bother me as I’ll be doing Just Fine.