My third visit to Dublin began with—of all things—a discussion of the city’s tram system, Luas. Chatting with our taxi driver on our way into the city from the airport, my husband and I recalled the chaotic Luis-related construction we encountered during our most recent visit in 2016. This came as a surprise as we assumed it would be done—way back in 2004 when we were studying at University College Dublin, the project was already beginning operation. So what happened? All told, our driver explained, the project took a turbulent 13 years (it’s finally finished): first city government decided on two separate city centre lines; then they decided to join them; next they realized the tracks were two different sizes and needed to be redone; and eventually the 2010 recession stalled the whole endeavor. Hence the 2017 completion date.
Our new friend from the north side put it like this: “In this city, we prefer to do something wrong the first time, and then spend ages fixing it.”
This little motto seemed even more apt days later, when we stopped in at the National Gallery of Ireland. Upon our last visit to Dublin, the museum was in the midst of a laborious, drawn-out renovation that pushed some of its most celebrated art into storage. But when we returned these three years later hoping to finally see the beautiful (supposedly complete) new wings, we found them shut down once again, for “essential maintenance.” Those Jack Yeats paintings will have to wait until our next visit, I suppose.
Dublin: City of Frustration?
I’ve spent more time in Dublin than perhaps your average tourist—around 7 months or so total—but I can’t claim to know it, of course, like people who live there. And yet the great thing about being a repeat visitor to any destination is the ability to see different sides of it: you observe its changes over time, but you also can’t help but change your own perspective on it. This time, I feel like I’ve I’ve shaken the stars from my eyes a bit and started to see what the locals see—that in some ways, Dublin is a frustrating place.
As countless poets, novelists and songwriters have observed over the years, Dublin spends much of its time being gray, drizzly and smelling of exhaust, the traffic is a nightmare and stalled building projects seem to glare from every corner. Like many other 21st-century metropoles, the city of Dublin has a problem with poverty, homelessness and drug addiction, and gentrification and skyrocketing housing costs haven’t helped. Perusing local independent paper the Dublin Inquirer, I read stories on rising noise levels in the city, the housing crisis and other myriad city problems. Being a Dubliner, never easy, seems to be getting even harder. So why do I, why do many of us, love this city so incredibly much?
“Dublin” on Our Hearts
James Joyce allegedly once stated that when he died, they’d find the name “Dublin” written on his heart. It’s a sentiment you’re likely to hear from others who have spent any amount of time in the city, even (perhaps especially) those given to griping over daily annoyances. I think perhaps what makes the city near and dear to so many are in fact its contrasts; this juxtaposition of the frustrating and the inspiring.
There’s the way those gray, rainy mornings can open up into sunshiny, optimistic afternoons—the kind that call post-work crowds to sunbathe on St. Stephen’s Green or congregate chattily in front of pubs with friends and pints in their hands.
And maybe it’s that feeling when you enter Merrion Square, and the shocking green of the vegetation seems to throw the city into technicolor, and its statue of Oscar Wilde, artfully slouching on his rock, half-smiles as if to say not too bad, is it?
Or those times when you enter a crowded, cozy pub, with its snugs and panels of beaten wood, and just when the barman has topped up your Guinness a few generous lads get up and leave you the perfect table.
Perhaps also it’s the seemingly endless number of great bookshops to duck into, swearing you’re just going to browse until you encounter the carefully curated tables piled with enchanting works and the shopkeeper from central casting with the owl-eyed glasses (and 100 euro later you stagger out with a stack and a tote bag and a new lease on life).
And it’s noisy, yes, but in such a way that heightens one’s appreciation of the quiet places, like the medieval sanctuary at St. Audeon’s Church, the dignified stacks in the 18th-century Marsh’s Library, the dusky elegance of the Central Hotel’s upstairs Library Bar.
Finally then there’s the way the noise seems to fall away on a Grafton Street Sunday morning, when the street’s occasionally tacky cover-song buskers make way for a singer-songwriter with startling talent, and people crowd around and listen as though they were in church.
Postscript from a Smitten Tourist
There’s a lot I could say to you about Dublin, about the ways I like to walk the city, its hidden charms and jagged edges, the off-the-beaten-path attractions, the food, the pints, the wit and wisdom of its people. But these few points of description really say it all. Dublin is a city of frustration, grit, poverty, occasional violence. But it’s also a city of tender moments, of beauty and softness, of light breaking through heavy clouds and bright colors on Georgian doors, of a group of friends and a song and a pint in your hand on a summer evening.
Dublin Recommendations
Books:
- Books Upstairs, 17 D’Olier Street, Dublin 2
- The Winding Stair Bookshop, 40 Lower Ormond Quay, N. City, Dublin 1
- Ulysses Rare Books, 10 Duke Street, Dublin 2
- Hodges Figgis, 56-58 Dawson Street, Dublin 2
Pubs:
- Library Bar at the Central Hotel, Exchequer Street, Dublin 2 – Go up 1 floor for the bar. This is a great place to have a pint by yourself with a book, though I’d recommend going before 5 p.m. to get a good spot.
- The Long Hall, 51 South Great George’s Street, Dublin 2 – Classic Victorian Pub that’s small but always seems to have room for you. It’s faded Dublin elegance at its best.
- Palace Bar, 21 Fleet Street, Dublin 2 – Another Victorian bar with a cozy skylit room and outdoor street tables. Midcentury meeting place for journalists from the Irish Times.
- Mulligan’s, 8 Poolbeg Street, Dublin 2 – Storied 18th-century pub frequented by James Joyce and Irish poet Seamus Heaney, nicely hidden near Trinity College.
- Bruxelles, 8 Harry Street, Dublin 2 – A Dublin institution frequented by musicians and featuring a statue outside of Thin Lizzy’s Phil Lynott, one of Ireland’s biggest rock stars. Go downstairs and you’ll have your choice between a cocktail lounge (the Zodiac Bar) and the Flanders Bar, a pub for aging punks and what Bruxelles’ website calls “rock heads.” I’d highly recommend the latter.
- Kehoe’s, 9 Anne Street South, Dublin 2 – Traditional pub that draws large post-work crowds. Stand outside on charming Anne Street for a view of beautiful St. Ann’s Church.
- Whelan’s, 25 Wexford Street, Portobello, Dublin 2 – Dublin’s best music venue, with a pub in the front and a club in the back.