Wined, dined and rested.

I’ve always wanted to see Dublin (to be fair, I’ve always wanted to see everywhere), so when I was sent here for a training course I was very pleased. I remembered hearing that Dublin was similar to London in the 1960s and although I never actually knew London in the 60s I can picture Carnaby Street and flower power, Liberty in its heyday and uninhibited young folk claiming the world for themselves by irritating the previous generation…… Dublin had a lot to live up to.
I should say too that getting to know a place when you are on a work trip is not easy. You are (at least, I was) kept busy from morning to evening, and you are put into a “conference hotel” because it makes sense to be on site for the various meetings that are held there during the day. My conference hotel was called “The Clayton”, and in many ways it was good – huge room, huge bed (it’s not my style to have bed parties, but you could have invited half the Irish rugby team to a party in the bed I was given) and bright, clean bathroom with towels that were nearly big enough. There was even a window that you could open, although not enough that there was any danger you might trip and fall out of it (presumably after falling over one of the Irish rugby team’s size 15 boots).
I’ll leave the Clayton there – it served a purpose, and did so well. It’s not my style of hotel, lacking any character beyond the charm of the young ladies who worked in the bistro/bar and whose mixture of Bulgarian/Irish accents fascinated me. One last thought – why didn’t they put those lovely smiling ladies to work in Reception instead of the grim-faced perfectly made-up ones who didn’t even look up when I was checking in?
Anyway, there had been a mix-up and I had to go and find my own supper on arrival, so I wandered out and up Leeson Road where I had seen there were some eateries. Of the several I found I chose the Canal Bank Café (the eponymous canal bank being actually about 500 metres up the road, but that’s just quibbling), and what a joy it turned out to be.

I entered a little tentatively, not sure if as only one person I would be welcome, but my fears were immediately allayed as I received a warm and smiling Irish welcome from the lady who must have been the manager and I was ushered to a table by the bar.

The place was buzzy, with groups of all ages chatting and laughing, there was good music which wasn’t intrusive and every person working there was friendly, ready to chat if I wanted to. There was EVEN a lit tealight on the table – one of my major bugbears (those who know me will be rolling their eyes to the ceiling that this point) is hostelries that put out candles then DON’T LIGHT THEM.
I ordered a glass of very nice Macabeo, then opted for a vegetable chowder which was delicious,

followed by potato gnocchi with butternut squash, lightly sautéed spinach and a slightly peppery cep mushroom sauce with generous parmesan shavings.

After the following day’s exertions, I needed a walk so I marched out of the hotel and towards the centre, using my trusty buddy Miss Google to guide me although it was really a straight-ish line. I passed St Stephen’s Green, a pretty Victorian park with typical borders, hedges and winding paths, then found my way to Grafton Street which was indeed a little like Oxford Street, although in the 70s and 80s. It was packed with people and the many shops were still open at 6pm – everything from flash boutiques to bright green souvenir shops (a lot of them). I found a lovely bookshop called Dubray, independent and clearly stocked for people who love reading as opposed to people who “want a book for Uncle Digby because he is always reading – yes, that will do.” On any return visit to Dublin, I’m going to concentrate on bookshops – there are lots.
However the one most obvious establishment that I found in Dublin was pubs – pubs everywhere, pubs next to bookshops and next to other pubs, pubs that looked dark and sinister, pubs that were painted pink and pubs that looked as if they were falling down. And quite a lot of pubs next to shops that had closed down, because there did seem to be a lot of boarded-up and graffiti-ed shop fronts.
On my way back to the hotel I found the river and the Halfpenny Bridge, so-called because it used to cost a ha’penny to cross it rather than wait for the ferry. It was approaching sunset, which made a good picture…..

And RIGHT on the other side of it was…. a bright green souvenir shop, staffed by charming Eastern Europeans, where I gave in to temptation and bought a thoroughly tasteful foam hat with attached ginger beard for my favourite 12-year-old who obviously really needed one for the next time she chose to support “the other team” in the Six Nations rugby tournament.

Finally, though, I have to talk of the one aspect of Dublin that had me in a surreal linguistic confusion. My course was about the teaching of Spanish, and I was one of the few English people on it – 90% of the participants were from Spanish-speaking countries, and naturally the course was conducted 99% in Spanish. So, from 9.00am to 5.00pm I was speaking and listening to Spanish, while also talking about the Spanish language. Fine, you will say. But then, on the dot of 5.05pm each afternoon I set off on my route march around Dublin, longing to hear the dulcet tones of sweet Molly Malone because I just love the Irish lilt.

And what did I hear, on buses, in the streets, in the shops, in the pubs? Spanish. That’s what I heard. EVERYWHERE. All sorts of Spanish – from Spain, from Venezuela, from Ecuador, from Central America…… This would be strange enough, but to a Spanish-speaker who had spent the whole day using Spanish, it meant I had to think REALLY hard when I went in to shops because my head was set to “Spanish” and I so nearly addressed several shopkeepers in that language instead of English….. So, ¡Viva Dublin!

One more afternoon in Dublin to talk about – that’ll be my next post! Entonces, hasta luego…..