8/1/07 Day 3 Part 2: Dublin City

It should come as no surprise to any who read this that the Guinness Storehouse was something we were looking forward to. It didn’t disappoint. Seven stories tall, including the Gravity Bar high above Dublin with a 360° view of the city, the Storehouse at St. James’ Gate takes up 64 acres and has its own water and electricity. The place is big. And, seeing how it’s filled with Guinness, it’s pretty much a must-see for Seth and me. Arthur Guinness signed a 9000-year lease on the property back in 1759, ensuring a steady supply of the black stuff for a long time to come.

The entrance to the Storehouse showcases the original lease signed by Arthur Guinness, encased in plexiglass and installed in the floor, so you literally walk over it to get to the admission line. To one side is an exhibit featuring the history of the Guinness bottle throughout the centuries.

Inside, we took a self-guided tour through the Storehouse (free pint included with admission!), where we learned the ins and outs of making Guinness Stout. We traveled upwards through the advertising museum (my favorite part) and saw all the great Guinness ads from over the years, like this one, which I bought on a magnet:

Then it was up to an exhibit called The History of Cooperage, where we were shown the finer points of barrel-making by hand. At one point, the Storehouse employed over 7000 full-time coopers. The three of us watched a video wherein one of these highly-skilled men put together barrel using wood planks, iron rings, a steamer, some kind of really sharp-looking hand tool, and lots of hard work. It was a lot more interesting than it sounds.

Up next we went to the tasting lab where Seth and I discovered, much to our surprised delight, that they make more than one kind of Guinness!!!! We had a small glass of “Guinness North-Star”, a limited batch of stout only available in Ireland. (It tasted an awful lot like regular Guinness. )

We ended our tour of the Storehouse in the Gravity Bar, where we could see a grand view of Dublin and get our free pints. Predictably, Dad almost upchucked his after the first sip. Then (this will become important soon) I bought my brother another round. We hung out up there for a while and enjoyed the view and brew. In addition to (and perhaps because of) my massive nose, I inherited something else from Dad: we have a deep loathing for people who smell. One such fellow was wandering around the Gravity Bar stinking the place up, so we finished our drinks and left, stopping at the Guinness Store for some souvenirs on the way out.

Outside, the three of us wanted to line up under the Guinness sign for a nice picture, but we had to wait about 10 minutes for a group of about 20 German high school kids to take their group shot. Normally, this would take a brief moment, but we soon realized that every one of those kids wanted a picture with their own camera, so what should have taken one minute took fifteen as their chaperone, festooned with cameras, fumbled her way through twenty individual shots. As you might imagine, the kids didn’t exactly stand stock-still waiting for the photos, so there was a lot of goofing off between shots. By the end, Dad was thinking unkind thoughts about kids in general, and German high schoolers in particular. I'm being diplomatic here. Dad wanted to murder them, but I held him back. (Now you know where I get it from.)

We were now hungry, and I couldn’t get the delicious stew from Madigan’s out of my mind. I convinced Dad and Seth to go back there for a late lunch. We hopped back on the bus and, unfortunately, decided to pass on the only other place I really wanted to visit in Dublin: the Dublin Zoo. Consulting our map, we found it would be a while before the bus made it back to O’Connell St., so we decided to hop off early and take a shortcut. What could go wrong?

Well, when you get off at the wrong stop because the driver announces the wrong number, plenty. We found ourselves pretty far from where we thought we’d be. Then it started to rain. A lot. And I, for one, had to piss like a racehorse.

We took refuge in a bar, where, once relieved, we decided to wait out the rain. Seth decided a pint would go down well while we waited, and offered to repay the round I bought him at the Gravity Bar. I told him no; although I love Guinness, I simply can’t drink a huge volume of it because I get full. Usually four or five pints are all I can manage before I’m done. Seth, on the other hand, can drink a seemingly unlimited amount. His bladder can expand to the size of a standard beanbag chair and he can piss like a world champion. But I digress.

I told Seth I didn’t want Guinness, but that I’d take two or three fingers’ worth of Jameson’s. After being told “we don’t do fingers here”, I settled for a double shot. And then, gentle readers, the seed of an evil plan began to form in my head. More on that later.

With the rain coming to an end, we made it back to Madigan’s only to be disappointed. The stew, while very good, was not the same as I had eaten the day before, probably the result of different cook. Dad fell madly in love with the barmaid (too skinny and too blond for me) and I bought Seth another Guinness and one for me as well. We returned to the hotel after dinner, where we decided we would check out some Dublin nightlife at one of the many pubs we passed today. We decided on O’Neill’s, a huge pub on Suffolk St. that advertised live music.

A few hours later, we took a cab there from the hotel. Our driver informed us that it had rained 57 days in a row prior to our arrival in Dublin. Guess we had good timing, as the small shower we experienced earlier was the only rain we’d seen thus far.

Inside O’Neill’s—which is a huge place complete with several bars, a kitchen and sandwich counter—we bellied up to the downstairs bar and ordered a round. Guinnesses for me and Seth, gin & tonic for the old man. I looked around but didn’t see any musicians. I didn’t hear any, either—not that we could hear much over the noise.

“Excuse me,” I yelled to the barman, “when does the music start?” He shrugged. I should have known better. In an Irish pub, the music starts when it starts.

I tried again. “Where are they gonna play?” The barman stopped pulling pints just long enough to point upstairs.

“Any pipers?” I asked with a casualness that belied my fervent hope.

"Huh?” the barman asked.

I repeated the question. His face screwed up in confusion and he gestured to another employee to help me. “Any pipers tonight?” I asked as the new guy came over. He nodded and walked away quickly.

I was thrilled. I was in Dublin, in the coolest Irish pub I’d ever been to in my life. Live music was going to start soon. And there would be a piper!

The new guy returned a minute later with a crumpled bundle of racing forms. I was confused, and it must have showed. “Your papers, mate,” he said, and walked away again to take someone’s order.

My brother has a very distinctive laugh, particularly when he finds something very funny. It’s more of a guffaw. He made that noise now.

Upstairs, we had the good fortune to grab a table close to both the musicians—a trio called Rafferty—and the bar. Traditional Irish music is (obviously) nothing new to me. I used to make a habit of attending seisuns in Boston every weekend. But for Dad and Seth it was another matter. Seth doesn’t even like Irish music (he may have changed his mind by now—we can only hope), and although I’d been trying to drag Dad to a seisun for years, he never accepted my invitation. Although we would hear a lot more music before our trip was finished, this was special because it was the first time we were all experiencing it together. Rafferty didn’t disappoint. After a round or two, the music started, traditional Irish tunes, no vocals. The accordion player was a marvel. The fiddler didn’t show up until about an hour into the set; with muttered apologies he took his place, and with little in the way of tuning joined right in.

The jigs and reels came fast and furious. Soon, I could no longer match my brother in Guinness consumption. Dad didn’t even try. Despite his lofty professions of drinking us under the table, after two gin & tonics he was ready for a nap. I, however, remembered my diabolical scheme. When it was Seth’s round, I told him I’d take another double shot of Jameson’s; and so it went, Seth downing Guinness while I slugged Jameson’s for the rest of the night.

Whiskey costs more than stout. Even in Ireland.

By the rest of the night, I mean until eleven or so. After all, we had a long drive ahead of us the next day. When the band took their second break, we decided to leave and walk back to Croke Park. We all knew we hadn’t seen nearly enough of Dublin for our liking, so we wanted to see whatever else we could through a leisurely walk home. It was a longer walk than we thought, but well worth it, and when we got back, we were all exhausted. Alcohol and exercise- the two best sedatives known to man.

On the way back, I reflected that the only thing missing from the night was the fact there was no uilleann piper in the seisun. Oh well. Tomorrow we’d be in Cork. Maybe I’d find one there.

And maybe not.