I had to charge home to Ireland over the weekend, due to a family medical emergency. And yesterday, 4 days later, I made my way back to Dublin, a bit dazed and head-spacey but very glad that things are improving.
Jumping into a taxi at the train station in Dublin I was informed by the driver that Thursday was a good day to be in Ireland. Apparently it is worldwide Arthur Guinness day, to celebrate the great man’s 250th birthday. But I told the taxi driver I was just passing through and would not be in Ireland on Thursday, and we agreed that it was a shame.
As a consolation the taxi driver agreed to drop me at what he considered the best real pub in the centre of Dublin. He drove me to O’Donoghues on Merrion Row and in I went.
This is a real Dublin pub–a long hardwood bar soaked with the sweat and beer of five generations, photos of real old patrons on the walls, a ticking clock and the laughter of old men, and an atmosphere of peace and timelessness.
So I drank my wonderful authentic Dublin pint and wondered why I hadn’t gone back to Dublin more often, just me, and rediscovered the place where I had become an adult. And why I didn’t see my friends in Ireland so often these days, why several of them had children that I had never even met, and how my family could be getting old without my noticing.
And I decided to do something about that, to get out there and see these people again, and rediscover those parts of the world I once fell in love with before my own medical emergencies come a-knocking on my door.
Because, as you well know, life’s too bloody short.