Travel Log– Day Three 5/13

Slept at last!! Got most confusing directions to local pub from desk clerk last night. Supposedly, take the 140 bus “that way” to Duke St., “or nearby,” and walk ten minutes or so “along the way.” About 45 minutes, 5 Euro, 40 later we made it back to the hotel to say, “Uh no, no Duke Steet even near the place. “Ah,” says she, “I forgot to tell yuh to switch busses to the 85 or such.” And actually it was supposed to be the *other* “that way” as well. We found (in the end) another pub going the opposite direct of where she told us to (by car this time) and settled in for our first *real* Guinness over Irish Stew (our first real food since Minneapolis.)

…“The Pale,” was it’s name, so obviously off the beaten track as to be completely tourist free (but for us) and where us being there proved a happy novelty to them as well. After all…we *do* talk funny. So, we just sat there on the pub’s little attic floor looking out onto the street where this giant church that is older than our *country,* was just…you know…sitting there, and slowly the attic began to fill in with wee men toking fiddle, banjo, and guitar cases. Thinking that surely this was too good to be true, we waited a bit, and after each had had a bit of a gab and his allotted “first round,” they took out the instruments and started to tune them. An eventual group of 8 (with occasional guest appearances by their mates sitting at nearby tables), then commenced to get their jig on. For real. Just local fellas hanging out like they usually do, singin’ and playin’ songs with joking jibes at one another in between. Needless to say: FUN. A couple hours worth, in fact…until the drive back home and even *more* confusing directions that began literally:

HIMSELF: You’ll see that bend in the road, the one after the shopping set on the left? Don’t take that bend. Weave ‘round to the right and a left…the road isn’t marked but you’ll know when, and there’s that statue of…now what was it now? I can’t remember… (calling back inside the pub)…Augh, Jamie! What’s the name of that statue, the one by that one turn, now?

JAMIE: (materializing from the Pub) The Saint Francis or the Saint Matthew?

HIMSELF: Nogh, nogh…the one! The one wit the ting.

JAMIE: Which?

HIMSELF: Is it Saint Joseph, mabby?

JAMIE: (to Mom) And jus’ where is it yuh want to be goin’, love?

HIMSELF: Nogh, now, I’ve got her far as that bend on the left to that shop lot.

JAMIE: Right is to the shop lot. Left is to the road way.

HIMSELF: Nogh, nogh….

JAMIE: You need the shop lot do yuh, love. Well, I’ll tell yuh…yuh wanna take a right up here just a bit after the third pub on the left and…

…You get the picture. And yes, now we know…they actually do this. Anyway, four of them have. So far.

..Which brings me to the commentary of Dublin roads. Only about 25% of them are marked, and it doesn’t seem to matter because everyone here drives by landmark directions anyway. Which is fine, if you happen to *know* which Saint is which, which Petrol station is run by Padric, and which Guinness sign is the big one versus the small one when there’s three in a row on the left. Also, the names change, even while on the straightaway, and every person you ask directions from, look at your finger pointed to the map and wrinkle their nose as if to say, “I doubt highly this is gonna work, but try: …”

…Suffice it to say, we did finally get home, eventually, and slept like the dead. Up at 10:30 (decidedly behind schedule) and have been online mapping everything ever since. Check-out is in 15 minutes, so better go and pack up the kit now.