More from Dublin!

Two fun things I forgot to mention about my first night in Dublin... First, I had an inaugural pint of Guinness to welcome myself to Ireland. Unfortunately, I found it so thick and bitter that I was simply unable to finish it. Oh well, I had better luck today at the Guinness brewery, but more on that later.... Second, I was however able to finish off a shamrock shake from McDonald's not long after my failed attempt with the Guinness. Yes, a shamrock shake in Dublin! This perhaps means nothing to anyone expect Mary and Dad, with whom I share the tradition of having a shamrock shake every year around St. Patrick's Day in the U.S. I had to wonder: is the shamrock (mint) flavor still left over from St. Patrick's Day, or is it a permanent flavor like chocolate or vanilla, on account of its "heritage"?

At any rate, I'm happy to pick up where I left off, in the Long Room of the Library. Sufficiently impressed, I realized that I was hungry not only for knowledge but also for lunch. I had made a small picnic lunch for myself and was pleased to eat it in Merrion Square, a lovely green oasis (or public park) in the middle of dingy Dublin. Merrion Square is home to the only multi-color statue in Dublin- that of the infamous Oscar Wilde, who reclines smugly in a dandy suit of green and burgundy, green carnation in hand.

The park was blessedly quiet and nearly empty, except for a few young families and the tiny orange-breasted sparrows that I shared my lunch with.

After that relaxing break, I wandered over to Number 29 Georgian House, an upper middle class house from the 18oo's that has been preserved as a museum showcasing the lifestyle of the day. What a house!! Four narrow floors, with servants quarters in the basement, reception of guests and dining room on the ground floor, and bedrooms on the upper two floors. It was a fascinating peek into the mentality and trends of the period. Did you know that the men often used an exercise machine meant to strengthen their calves? As they were one of the few visible parts of the body, sculpted calves implied handsomeness! Too funny.

From there I wandered down Grafton Street, a ped mall that is famous for its shops and buskers (street performers). Maybe it was just an off time or day, but I didn't see much of either that caught my eye.

After a little break back at the hostel, I walked purposefully over to Cobblestone Pub, which is said to have some of the best "trad" in Dublin. Having misread my guidebook, I thought that the trad started at 5pm, early even for Dublin, where most sessions start around 7:30pm. Well at any rate I showed up at 5pm to find a different sort of live music in session: American-style oldfashioned bluegrass! What a surprise treat! The place was only half-full, and just about everyone there seemed to be a local except me. I felt like I had wandered in on a wonderful secret. Proud locals Tom and Fergus were kind enough to start chatting with me. We had great conversation until they each had to go home and start dinner for the family, or "the wife 'll be threat'n divorce," as Fergus remarked with a sharp look at his watch and a final swig of his beer, only half-kidding it seemed.

I stuck around and without much of a break in between, the trad session soon began. What a session! A guitar, wooden flute, fiddle, and mandolin made for some great music. It was very casual, as they were less performers than regulars who happened to also play instruments. They all sat on a comfy bench along the wall in the front corner, with one or two of them sporadically getting up to buy the table a round.

Having arrived so early, I had a prime seat at the bar overlooking the action. Tom and Fergus had bought me a pint of cider (which I prefer over beer) and that lasted until another Dubliner knocked over a glass of water onto my lap and promptly bought me another cider as an apology. Never a dull moment, the most haggard of the local guests (also the most well-respected, if his picture over the bar had anything to say about it) twice broke into a song all by himself, with the ample encouragement of everyone in the bar. The second time, he started in on "Finnegan's Wake," which is one of my personal favs, but unfortunately he forgot the lyrics after the second verse and had to switch to another song. Talk about live music!

Another elderly man, this one dressed sharply in a jacket, tie, and classic Irish old-man cap, also frequently broke into song. Shhhh! went the admiring, music-loving locals, quite determinedly attempting to silence the lively pub in reverence for the old man's performances. And his singing was definitely worth it. He would close his eyes, place his hands on his knees, and slowly, slightly rock forward and back in time to his sonorous tune. His words were clear as crystal when he sang of days gone by, but when he greeted me at the bar later I could hardly understand a word he said! No matter, a smile was all he needed to hear.

All in all, a day well-spent in Dublin.