It was Saturday. And it didn’t start well.
I wasn’t really wanting to go to the Guinness Factory early in the day but Craig insisted, because the 24 hour tickets we bought the night before were due to run out at midday, and he wanted to catch the bus to the factory. And use the 10% discount on entry that the ticket afforded us.
So we started walking to catch the bus and get some breakfast. Turns out that not many places in Dublin take debit. And there is a dearth of money machines. A fabulous combination! We walked and walked and walked. And walked and walked and walked. We finally found a money machine AND a café (which served burnt muffins. ick) which turned out to be right around the corner from the Guinness factory!
Then? realised that it was cheaper to use our student travel cards than the 10% discount.
And then my head exploded.
THE Guinness gate.
When you look at it straight on, it looks like a pint of Guinness.
But of course I was there when the sun was at the worst possible angle.
Everything was very well signposted.
The factory was so large and convoluted that they have many many signs for the hapless tourist. And back in the day it had its own railway and hospital.
And ambulances. While they are just all Dublin ambulances now, I saw one driving around and under the white you could see the outline of where it used to say Guinness.
Oh and they had (have?) their own church!
Half a pint.
(sorry! I had to.)
Inside the factory. The information is spread all over the walls.
Usually, that bugs me, but here it works very well.
The Largest barrels (see the people down below?) hold 720,000 pints.
The factory proper.
It produces … a lot of Guinness. A lot.
And most of it is consumed within Ireland!
James Joyce quote on the window of the Gravity Bar.
If you’re looking out at the right angle, you can see Martello Tower. But it was super crowded in the Gravity Bar so … oops?
Also, look! a Mulligan!
A removeable plastic ring gives us a free pint. Or soda.
Craig and his pint.
Me and my pint.
Looking back at the Gravity Bar.
Quit taking photos of meeeee
and stop making fun of my Guinness. Can we swap glasses?!
He made an adorable ick face after each grudging sip. But I never caught it on camera.
This is where I gave up:
Please note Craig’s in the background.
And all of a sudden I started feeling horrible. Really dreadfully sick.
Evil muffin and Guinness. I don’t think they agreed with each other.
After an all-too expensive stop at the gift shop, we emerged, blinking, to the light, three hours after we had gone in.
And I really have to admit that it was probably best that we went early.
When we had arrived at the brewery we had joined a queue of maybe 80 people and waited 10 minutes to reach the counter.
When we left there was a queue of around 200 people inside, and outside a queue of around 300 queueing to queue to get in to the brewery!
Quite a bit smaller than the one in London.
Fighting waves of nausea. We had one more stop before heading back to the hostel.
A former (and at heart) Mulligan standing in front of a bar formerly owned by Mulligans, on an errand for a Mulligan.
And sadly? that is where the day ended in Dublin.
We got back to the hostel and I lay on my bed in abject misery.
Horrible horrible horrible. I blame the Guinness.
Obelisk! The word I was looking for was Obelisk (and lethologica or Anomic aphasia. And burritos.)
And in the image is the Wellington Testimonial (often incorrectly called the Wellington Monument) in Phoenix Park, Dublin and at 62m is the tallest obelisk in Europe.
It is kind of dwarfed by the Washington Monument in Washington DC at 169.29m. Bah.
Thank you Daddy-Dear.