I came into Dublin for the first time alone, on the beginning of a business trip, in the midst of February rain. I had the name of a pub, The Clarendon Inn (a friend’s dear departed mum knew it as her “local”), to anchor my first night in town. I found a seat in the middle of the six-stool bar at the back, where I had a view of the Six Nations rugby match.
After bidding farewell mentally to the tourists on either side, I found myself joined by two older gentlemen, clearly from around these parts. One proclaimed himself the mayor of the district in which we sat…and no one from behind the bar contested his claim. We met when I sang a few lines from “Somewhere Over The Rainbow,” after the room burst into song following the close of the match. Then, he asked for Patsy Cline, if I knew her, and, pleased with that, he took me out on an impromptu tour of his domain…drinking half pints to stay somewhat modest in my intake (ha…ha) and only one shot of Jameson to top off the night. His foot was in a cast, so our progress was slow but steady, and we sang for many of his friends, old and new, that night.
The next morning, more Guinness and a spot of shepherd’s pie at the Ginger Man, along with more football (the Euro version) to soak up the hangover. And, once fortified, took a walk through the Trinity College grounds in the off-and-on rain, thinking on the illuminated manuscripts, and on the holiness of beer and its ability to cross continents and soothe our souls.
As it turns out, a beer is the primary way I’ve softened my landing onto countries around the world, as well as into bars around my home town, wherever that happens to be now. Beer is a universal language and connector, and as my experience in Dublin clearly illuminates, is among the best of the sinews that bind our multicolored fabrics together.
So that beer, taken in with each strange climate, levels me and puts me in touch with whatever rhythm beats under a new spot on my unfolding travel map. And it brings me home, too.
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- Across the street in a pub sitting out the rain
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- Feeding the swans in st. Stephen’s Green
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