No Sleep Til Dublin

Late on Good Friday we travelled to Dublin. Because I am a non-religious idiot who consistently forgets that Easter exists. We could have left so much earlier in the day! It would have made Such a Difference.But we did not. Our flight was at 10pm and, delightfully, RyanAir delayed and delayed and delayed it.

 We were heading to Dublin for the centenary of the Easter Rising (YES THIS SHOULD HAVE BEEN A CLUE FOR FLIGHT BOOKING) but mostly because my parents were going to be there.

As part of the Hutt Valley Irish Society they had arranged a trip around Ireland and it all began in Dublin for the centenary celebrations.

 Despite the delays (just a day after I’d been praising low-cost airlines to a pal!) we made it to Dublin. After getting exactly the wrong instructions from the airport-bus staff which sent us overshooting our hotel and an unplanned for 2am stroll through eerily abandoned streets, we made it to a hotel bed just after 3am.

We were out of the hotel by 8am the next morning and met my parents at their hotel for breakfast. I honestly can’t tell you how we managed it but I think we were simply too tired to do anything other than continue in a forwards direction.

That and a lot of coffee.

 When in Dublin there are a few things you must must do: 1. Visit Molly Malone. 2. Guinness. 3. ???

(I love them)


We tacked on a quick visit to the Book of Kells at Trinity College (the book? Underwhelming. The library building? Excellent) and my family’s spiritual home, Mulligan’s Bar.

The next morning was Easter Sunday, the day of the parade, and the day I cried in the bathroom of an art gallery. Not my finest hour.

The city itself was almost entirely blocked off for the parade. We watched the beginning but honestly, every even peripherally involved army battalion (peace keepers from the congo in the 1990s!) were involved and I am just not that interested in military history.

 We tried to get across to the bus station but the parade! The parade. We could not find a way across for at least two hours. Two long frustrating hours. When we finally made it to the bus stop, of course the one we needed to catch (we had planned to visit Kilmainham Gaol) was on strike. OF COURSE it was. She sent us to another bus stop, across the city, and the heavens opened.

In the pouring rain I tried to navigate us to the bus stop but when we got there? There was no bus stop. And it was still in the middle of the closed streets.

Regrouping and trying to dry off over lunch we ended on the western edge of the city. A bus to Kilmainham arrived just as my parents were trying to find us to come with us. We’ll let it go, it’s a bus, another one will be along shortly. Of course, you know the punch line already. There were no other buses. We couldn’t even get an uber to stop for us.

 We never did make it to Kilmainham.

(on the other hand, we hadn’t booked tickets and it was part of the centenary celebrations so chances are that had we made it, we couldn’t have gone inside anyway)

 The National Gallery of Ireland is in Dublin and I can say that their bathrooms are excellent if you do want to have a short little cry about how nothing is working out the way it is supposed to. The art is pretty good too. No, actually, it’s excellent.

Pip and I were followed by a security guard. I honestly thought we were about to be thrown out of an art gallery. Which really would have just been the perfect end to the weekend.

In the end, we didn’t get thrown out of the gallery. We ended up going to the pub with my parents which WAS the best idea. After two ciders, getting caught in SNOW as we waited for our bus back to the airport was just the right side of ridiculous.

Dublin, man, it doesn’t make it easy.