Manchester: "POUR - SOME - SUGAR on me!"

Tea got me CAMRA's Manchester Pub Guide a few months ago, and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it got some use this past weekend. Skip down to the Pubs section if that's your pleasure.

We got the 6 p.m. train to Manchester after work on Friday and arrived at Manchester Piccadilly station a few hours later, in the heart of the action. While The Mercure (formerly Piccadilly Hotel) wasn't anything to write home about, its location -- overlooking Piccadilly Gardens, all lit up for Christmas -- couldn't be beat, and the breakfast was very good.

Tea scored some tickets to the Wolves at Man U match on Saturday afternoon -- don't worry, Robbie, I didn't come back with any swag, and only cheered so the surrounding fans wouldn't hurt me -- so we spent the morning around Piccadilly Gardens and the European Christmas Market in the lee of the imposing Town Hall. (The following day we went inside, which has its own market, and enjoyed tea with a friend of Tea's from the area; really nice spot to warm up!)

Aside: there were nine Christmas markets in total, and of the highest calibre we've seen in the country to date. There were some really stand-out stalls -- a puppet maker and another with ornate metalwork lanterns come to mind -- and the themed markets were distinct: the ankerbrau on tap at the German market was a nice touch, and the seating in a stall at the French market gave it a cafe atmosphere of sorts; cognac is really nice in mulled wine, by the way.

Getting out to Old Trafford was a cinch: a few stops from Manchester Piccadilly. (Unfortunately, getting home after the match was another matter; we probably would've walked back to the town centre if we had our time back.) That first view of the pitch was amazing. With a capacity of nearly 80000, I have to say, the two Premier League matches I've been to have been a spectacle of staggering proportions. The steady thrum of noise, strikingly different from the typical Sens game, makes you feel so alive. Seated well up behind and to the side of one of the goal lines, we had a great view of three of the five goals in the 4-1 victory for Man U. (The Wolves played well, but were simply outclassed.)

Sunday was concert day! Steel Panther, Motley Crue and Def Leppard at the Arena! The venue was fantastic: right in the centre of town, just off the Shambles -- where we enjoyed supper at Cafe Rouge beforehand -- and again, like Old Trafford, was this big bowl of energy as we arrived. The Crue were great: pumping the crowd up and cooking 'em with crazy pyrotechnics -- we could feel the heat, in the seating way at the back! Tommy Lee's coaster-esque kit and set was like nothing I've ever seen. I laughed out loud, when, as part of the stills montage on the big screens during Girls, Girls, Girls, they flashed a picture of Justin Bieber.

Def Leppard's backdrop was toned down by comparison -- I could imagine it would've looked much the same twenty years ago -- but all the better for it: the shuttle footage on the floor-to-ceiling screens during Rocket, with their silhouettes out front, as they played on the three different levels, was fantastic. The whole show was great; everything I thought it would be -- Phil was still shirtless! -- and more. They seemed genuinely appreciative of the reception: Joe reminisced about driving back to Sheffield in a beat-up van in '79, having just opened for a band in Manchester: “You know, Manchester is really f*****' great.” And they ended saying, “Don't forget us; we won't forget you.” Good times!

Pubs

It's tough to choose between my two favourite pubs of the weekend. I think the Port St. Beer House has it by a nose: two levels, and not silly busy on the Saturday night we popped in, it hit a cosy rec room note we both took to immediately. The staff were knowledgeable and friendly: as usual Tea asked for a recommendation, and the barman's "Stunning!" for Thornbridge's Colorado Red was bang-on. Similarly, he raved about a recently-acquired saison that was a collaboration between local Marble Beers and Dark Star brewer, Mark Tranter; and with good reason: honestly, this may be the best beer I've ever tasted. So rich and smooth for a 9%, and much more than I'd dreamed a saison could be -- and I'm a big fan of Saison Dupont, understand.

Other hits of the evening included:

1. Utility IPA from Marble: excellent, even after the Colorado Red, which is saying something
2. Great Divide's Rumble: an oak aged IPA; so smooth, with caramel notes
3. Redwillow's Ageless, a beautiful Imperial IPA
4. BrewDog's Winter Porter
5. Otley's O-Ho-Ho: while good, it obviously paled in comparison to the heavy hitters

Enjoying a pint at the Old Wellington

Coming in a very close second was our second-to-last pub of the trip: the Knott Bar in Deansgate, Greater Manchester CAMRA Regional Pub of the Year 2010. The exterior wasn't much to look at from the side we approached, but a big grin broke out when I first stepped inside: really interesting, but understated decor, comfortable furniture, and, again, very friendly staff with a clear appreciation for real ale. They recommended Moor Beer Company's Southern Star, which was a great, hoppy pale. Marble's Bitter was the winner of the stop, although Redwillow's Heartless was an excellent stout. And as if that wasn't enough, the Irish (lamb) stew on special came bone-in; absolutely delicious. The bar is set in a former railway arch, and the periodic rumbling of the trains overhead was the icing on the cake.

Other stops included:

• The Old Wellington can't be missed. The surrounding Shambles -– and it really was in '96 -– is a must-see, and whilst you're there, you could do far worse than this twice-moved landmark. Over two visits, Acorn's Barnsley Bitter, Itchen Valley's Treacle Stout, Rudgate's Auld Saint Nic and Venus Black IPA were all excellent.
• Kro Piccadilly was right outside our hotel, and a great place to watch the wet-at-the-time world go by. The pump clip with Elbow's Build a Rocket Boys! called to me: slightly sweet with caramel notes, it went down very well; a good session beer.
• Microbar, in Arndale Market: the location is small and odd, but it really works. Strands Brewery's Brown Bitter and Ellands Brewery's Tinsel Ticklers were both great (the latter being hoppy and bright, with a hint of orange rind).
• Bulls Head: the guide hits the right note on this pub: smacks of professionalism and intimacy; quite the feat for a pub so close to the train station. Had Boondoggle and the Ugly Sisters, and was impressed by the latter.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the long weekend.

Hay-on-Wye: Book town of Wales (and my heart)

Walking in on Friday, we decided it was time for another mini-break. That evening we booked The Swan in Hay-on-Wye for following night. While the weather the next morning wasn't as good as the forecast, it steadily improved as we made our way west. Only fog awaited us as we checked in early and set about exploring Hay.

With rain threatening, we kept the walk short, down by the lively Wye river. Benches dedicated to fellow lovers of the British countryside could be seen all along the trail, and we took advantage of one part-way, enjoying the view and those smells you only get near fast-moving water.

The reviews Tea had read said the Swan's food was a bit poncey, and the fab Blue Boar was just across the road to boot, so guess where we ended up for lunch. Their food was excellent -- a beef burger for Tea and cottage pie (think shepherd's pie) for me -- and while their namesake IPA was a bit bland, the Landlord more than made up for it.

Bellies full, it was time to see what Hay is famous for: books, books and more books. I've never seen so many shops in such a small town. And some of them are so specialized -- on botany and ornithology, children's books, nineteenth century British authors... Honestly, that's three different bookshops -- you wonder how they can survive. In a word, or phrase, Hay Festival: tens of thousands of visitors flood the town with one thought on their mind: reading.

I won't bore you with my amazing finds -- including the ones I left on the shelves; it's easy to spend well in excess of a thousand pounds on one book, in case you're wondering why I wouldn't satisfy my every whim -- but the highlight of the day was certainly the illustrated edition of Voltaire's Candide by Peter Pauper Press, hardcover in a slipcase. Beautiful!

We decided to rest up a bit before supper. Back in the hotel room, I took in some of the FA Cup fifth round play, very impressed with how non-league Crawley Town fared against Man U. -- that's right: a team effectively four leagues below the team at the top of the Premier League, and, in the end, they were beaten by but one goal. Incredible.

We'd heard the Old Black Lion was the best restaurant in town, and we were lucky enough to get a table without a reservation... Just. The locals were so friendly, first offering us their seats while we waited for a table, and then one gentleman finished early, taking his digestif to the pub area, so that we might have his table sooner. Such a great atmosphere, before I even touch on the fabulous food: a T-bone steak for Tea, and a starter of duck, followed by braised lamb shank for me; superb! Plus, they had the Wye Valley's own Butty Bach on hand-pump! Love that stuff.

The next morning, after a big, tasty full English at the Swan, it was out for a proper hike, south toward the Hay Bluff. The weather was great again, but it had rained overnight, making it easily our muddiest walk to date. Thank goodness for wellies, is all I have to say; well, thank that and balance I summoned from the depths, hauling one boot out while another sank up to my shin, over and over again for a stretch. And I was grinnin' like an idiot, brought back thirty years in one afternoon.

The pig farm was another highlight: these big sows snuffling over to the fence (thinking we had food, no doubt) and scratching themselves on saplings the size of my forearm. Oh, and I can't forget the wee lambs, still trying to master the trick of standing up for seconds at a time. And if walking through all these farms doesn't give you a flavour for life here, every farmhouse we passed had a stool out front with cartons of their eggs and a tin for the money. Stepping back in time would approximate the feeling for some, I guess, but I've never known life like this. Period. It's heaven to me; plain and simple.

After a light lunch at the Blue Boar -- why mess with a good thing? -- it was time for more shopping. I had visions of popping 'round to many different shops, but that was before we entered the phenomenon of Hay Cinema Bookshop. It's pretty much a TARDIS. An old converted theatre, it just keeps going on and on, gobbling up afternoons like kids' sweets. Again, I won't bore you with all that made up our two shopping bags' full. For me, the highlights were N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims, and a beautiful edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated by Peter Weevers (although Tea also got some great photography manuals).

The day quickly getting away from us, we decided to hit the road. We still wanted to stop in Ross-on-Wye on the way back, and by the smaller roads that really shouldn't be travelled after sunset. 'Cause it was on the map, we did take one detour: to Arthur's Stone, dented by the elbow of a giant slain by Arthur, according to legend. The kids who were biking away as we arrived didn't seem so impressed, jumping up 'n' down on the neolithic burial chamber moments before. (I leave the mutters and grumblings of "no respect..." and "tanned hides..." as an exercise for the reader.)

We caught the last of the light as we pulled off at Ross-on-Wye. We'll definitely be back, as some of the walks beside the river looked absolutely idyllic. As it was, we stopped in The Mail Rooms for a few pints -- New Moon is an excellent dark, incidentally -- and tea for Tea. When we learned they'd run out of Sunday roast -- of any sort! -- it was down to the Seven Seas for kebabs; super messy, but delish!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the weekend.

New Year's in Prague

Well, before I start on our trip to Prague, just a few words about our Christmas: it was nice 'n' quiet, with plenty of delicious turkey and roasted veg leftovers -- Tea cooked her big meal on Christmas Eve, which they get off here -- mulled wine and cheesy movies. On Boxing Day we were on our way to Telford and then Newcastle to watch Newcastle United vs. Manchester City live! -- Robbie and Lill got us amazing seats, and the atmosphere in St. James' Park was top notch: the 52000 in attendance birthed this undulating roar that was unlike anything I'd experienced, even at the fantastic matches in Dublin the summer past -- and celebrate Jan's birthday; and, man, I knew her Stan was one-of-a-kind, but there's no half measures with any of the Geordies I met: tons of elaborate 'fancy dress' costumes and things still in full swing when we left in the wee-ish hours.

Tuesday, December 28

Luckily we'd padded our schedule with a day between Newcastle and our flight out of Bristol, as the M1 was pretty much a parking lot for large swathes of the 27th. With an early afternoon flight, we got plenty of sleep, even after a late night of packing. This was our first time on EasyJet, which was much like the other discount airlines (if a bit dirtier, to be honest, although, hey, it could've been worse with how quickly they turn around those planes).

Prague Airport is a ways out of the city, and that, combined with my poor direction sense, particularly at night, and the strange currency, had me a bit worried as the cab ride stretched on. 700 Czech koruna may seem like a lot, but it's really only about £23. (I was just starting to get the hang of converting that on the fly as we left.) After quickly dropping our bags, it was time to meet Ron and Michelle, fellow Canadians coincidentally in for Ronnie's big birthday, near the Prague Orloj, or Astronomical Clock, which was just a few blocks from our hotel. The first of many meals of goulash, chased with much pivo (pretty much all the Czech you need, incidentally) of various sorts, followed.

Wednesday

Prague Castle, or simply 'the hrad' to the locals, topped Ron 'n' Michelle's list for their last day, so we agreed to meet them up there after a fantastic breakfast in our hotel's cellar. (You can see a number of advertisements around town for pubs and restaurants in these cellars, and it's definitely a neat experience.) The hrad grounds stretched on and on; standing in the beautiful St. Vitus Cathedral, you could be forgiven for forgetting you're still within its walls. At minus 10°C, we soon needed some mulled wine, as we admired the icicles hanging from the mouths of the cathedral's gargoyles -- "Ice vomit!" as Tea so eloquently put it.

Michelle wanted to pick up some art, so we shopped our way back to town, over the famous Charles Bridge. (I've seen pictures of it in the summer, and I have to say, even then, there was something so right about it set against grey clouds, snow resting on its 30 statues.) I know many would call the galleries and little stands along that stretch touristy, but I was really impressed with the quality of the watercolours and ink drawings I saw; probably the most beautiful and varied I've seen of what you would consider readily available to the casual buyer.

Shopping's thirsty work, so we decided to stop at the Hotel U Zlatého Stromu's heated patio for some refreshments. Well, one look at probably one of the best menus I've ever seen (in terms of presentation) quickly pushed this well beyond even our substantial definition of a 'snack': check out Page 72 for a glimpse of Ronnie's skewer from the gods. More than sated, we resumed shopping, determined to rebuild our appetites for the amazing ham sandwiches at the Christmas markets -- reminiscent of the "slab o' ham" sandwiches from Cologne... Boy, do they know how to cook good pig in that part of the world!

While I think I preferred the Christmas markets in Cologne overall, one area where the Prague markets excelled -- and the old town square market, in particular -- was the live entertainment. The traditional (what I would call medieval) instruments, lighting that didn't drown out that of the big tree and stalls, and plenty of room for all to gather round really made for an immersive experience. (I recorded this sound clip by the stage.)

Speaking of medieval, later, when looking for somewhere to warm up and have a few, we happened upon such a themed restaurant. Initially, only the bar held our interest, but as late afternoon became evening, we learned that they were putting on a show later in the basement. Well, expecting something along the lines of Medieval Times, I was really impressed by the quality of the entertainment -- excellent musicians, belly dancers (carrying snakes and juggling flaming torches at different times throughout the show) and swordplay -- and the food; more food than we could eat, in fact. (I recorded these excerpts right from my seat.)



Thursday

We decided to skip the hotel breakfast in favour of an epic lie-in. In typical fashion, the idea came to us that New Year's at the Prague State Opera's gala event, Johann Strauss’ operetta Die Fledermaus, would be fun. However, we didn't bring any nice clothes with us, so, after a breakfast of klobasa from the old town square Christmas market, it was off to buy new outfits; Tea was crushed, of course.

The stores were surprisingly quiet for that time of year. We completed our mission in record time, I thought, and was particularly tickled that Tea found such a beautiful dress. After dropping our shopping in the hotel room, we decided to try the restaurant, Rainer Maria Rilke, right next door. It was a beautiful place, if a bit drafty, and the owner was very accommodating. I had roasted duck -- his grandmother's recipe! -- and Tea had salmon. So tasty!

New Year's Eve

Since this was the last day of the Christmas markets, we spent some time picking up a few gifts, and stuffing ourselves on the treats, of course. I think it's safe to say Tea's favourite was the trdelnik, which is a spiral of dough wrapped around a roller (called a trdlo), sugared and cooked over open coals. Very addictive!

It started to snow as we wandered 'new town', so we stopped in Branická Formanka for lunch. The place was packed, with only reserved tables open. However, as the Good Beer Guide Prague stated, it's always good to ask: we found a table that was apparently reserved special for us. Our waiter was very friendly, actually (which is unusual for Prague, incidentally). Good goulash and beer followed, then it was back to the hotel for a kip before the big night.

I'd reserved a taxi to the State Opera House for 6:30 p.m., but found, once we were in the lobby, it was the hotel driver who would be taking us. And then he offered to pick us up at a time of our choosing! No mad hunt for a cab on New Year's in Prague, apparently. The Opera House was absolutely breath-taking; the ceiling and balconies were so beautifully detailed.

Tea and I felt perfectly at ease amongst the well-dressed crowd -- thank goodness we'd shopped! They had an open bar, which was a nice touch, and as I was reading the English summary of the operetta, beer in hand, Tea struck up a conversation with a Dutch couple nearby.

When the operetta started, I surprised to see a large flat-screen above the stage, for the Czech and English subtitles as it turned out. (The operetta was performed in German.) I think there was a large French contingent behind us, as you could hear their translations -- presumably for their non-polyglot or short-sighted members -- in the quieter moments. (That, and there was an enormous cheer when the cast got to "Bonne année!" at midnight.)

After the first act, the buffet was served. Oh - my. Let's just say we were foolish to attempt to queue for what descended to a free-for-all. (It brought to mind a music video from ages past where everyone was in tuxedos and gowns to begin with, all prim and proper, only to become something like bipedal zoo animals by the end for reasons that escape me -- please comment below if this rings a bell, as it's bugging me and my Google-fu is weak.)

As Act III came to a close, champagne was passed 'round the audience, the cast toasting the new year with us in an astounding number of languages. Then, over the course of no more than twenty minutes, the orchestra pit was raised to meet the stage, thus creating a large dance floor. During the first few numbers, as couples slowly made their way to the front, there was one real stand-out: you could tell this couple had been dancing together for many, many years, and there wasn't a step they didn't know. Simply mesmerizing, as they made use of the still-sparsely-populated dance floor. But then it was packed, and stayed so as we shared a final drink with that Dutch couple, before saying our goodbyes around 2 a.m. I'm sure that place was hopping 'til the moment it was scheduled to finish, an hour after that.

A quick New Year's skype with Tea's family, and then it was time for bed.

New Year's Day

The hotel had humanely extended the hours of breakfast; after taking advantage, we set out to check some last spots off our list: Obecni Dum, and the Alphonse Mucha (pronounced MOO-ka) museum. (I'm embarrassed to admit that, while being a fan of his art for many years, I didn't realize he was Czech. A happy surprise, I can assure you.) We both really enjoyed the museum: the layout was excellent -- and beautiful, of course. There were many pieces I hadn't seen, and themes to others that I'd never picked up on. The documentary was also very well done. We came out of there with laden arms, in search of sustenance.

Another item on the list -- well, let's be frank: my list -- was a 'tankovna' or tank pub, where they serve unpasteurised pilsner (mostly Pilsner Urquell in Prague) from these polyester-lined steel tanks. Bredovský dvůr was my first choice, as the GBG Prague also highlighted its honey-glazed ribs. And with good reason! They were absolutely amazing! (Although Tea 'n' I probably could've shared an order.) The Pilsner Urquell was also excellent -- could I pick it out from the stuff for export if I was blindfolded? I honestly think so. The difference in the 'nose' and depth of flavours is significant.

Wandering the city the day before, we'd been handed a number of flyers for various concerts, either on New Year's Eve or early in the new year. We'd made the decision to go to the New Year's concert in the Clam-Gallas Palace, featuring Vivaldi's Four Seasons, as well as selections by Mozart, Dvorak, Pachelbel and Telemann. We left Bredovský dvůr with just enough time to make the 6 p.m. start.

Clam-Gallas Palace is famous for a number of reasons, including hosting a concert by Ludwig van Beethoven himself, as well as a ball that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart attended. Sitting in that intimate room, which honestly held little more than fifty guests -- a private concert, really, in other words -- so ornate (thinking of the Opera House again), and with that history in mind... Well, good G**, even I can't fail to grasp that I've really arrived: the Europe I've always dreamed of is before me.

I don't mind telling you that that ten-piece string orchestra's performance of Johann Pachelbel's Canon in D brought me to tears; and flowing ones at that. The whole concert, certainly less than an hour, was unbelievable, really. A violin soloist, Lucie Hulova, according to the programme, took the floor a few times, and her performance of Winter (I don't know which movement of Concerto No. 4 specifically) in particular opened my eyes to: 1) the leeway they have in performing these pieces, as she sprinkled little... quarter notes, I would imagine, throughout, and 2) what true passion can bring to a performance -- particularly when you standing barely 15 feet from the musician!

If you haven't guessed by now, I would have to put this in the Top 3 concerts of my life; if weighted with ticket price, at the equivalent of £15 per person, it shoots to #1, easily. And, as I said, we had our pick of these concerts without even trying. What an absolutely amazing city!

We finished off the evening at the nearby pub, U Zeleneho stromu. They had pretzels at the table, hanging off these neat little trees, and more unpasteurised Pilsner Urquell. At some point an entry on their beer menu caught my eye: Master Special 18°, which doesn't mean 18%, by the way, but rather is the percentage of malt sugar present before fermentation. Still, generally speaking, the bigger the number, the stronger the beer. This was brought home to me when I ordered it, "Is a strong beer, yeah?" was the waitress' reply. Well, holy tootin', she wasn't kidding. A beautiful dark, it was so much smoother than I'd expected. In truth, I nursed it, because with every swallow I could feel its punch. I defy anyone to have three of those in a night and make it home under their own steam.

Sunday

Our flight wasn't scheduled 'til the early afternoon, so we took the opportunity to go a-wanderin'. We ended up outside the hrad main gate as the changing of the guard was finishing; quite the production, especially under the gaze of those battling titans.

Then it was back to the hotel to pick up our bags, after lunch at the nearby Prazsky most brewpub. All in all, a fantastic trip. Tea's already talking about returning in 2011, which suits me fine.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the trip.

Up Dublin! Come on you boys in blue!

When friends of ours said they were going to be in Dublin for a long weekend in July, we jumped at the excuse to visit one of our favourite cities. One quick train ride to Birmingham International and forty-minute Ryanair flight later, and there was much hugging and back-slapping all round -- shortly followed by "Good night!" Hey, none of us is gettin' any younger; it's all about pacin' yourself.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

In Kilmainham Jail

Since Cee hadn't been to Dublin before, we decided that a hop-on-and-off bus tour would be the first order of business the following morn. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel -- including soda bread and black pudding -- it was off to buy our tickets for the bus, and for the hurling and football matches on Saturday, something the original Jae had been assured was a must-see.

In the Victorian wing

Our first hop off was the 'Gaol'. Tea and I enjoyed some great tours on our first trip to Dublin, but I have to say, if you have time for just one while you're there, the Kilmainham Gaol tour can't be beat. The history presses down on you before the informative guide even gets started. In particular, as we walked out to the yard that includes the Invincibles' unmarked grave, we all agreed that its significance was made known to us -- be it through chills or a weight in the air -- before the guide even pointed out the plaque. That, and seeing Joseph Plunkett's cell (amongst those of the other planners of the Easter Rising), where he and Grace had that short span 'alone' as a married couple, and then seeing her cell in the much-filmed Victorian wing later on; it wasn't hard to imagine why she decided to devote herself to the cause.

After that, we stopped at the Patriots Inn for lunch before walking to the Storehouse for some Guinness swag -- no, you can never have too much. We hopped back on the bus at that point, getting off again near Grafton Street for more shopping. Well, the girls shopped. Cee bought a cigar, and then we went wandering, stumbling upon the James Toner Pub for a pint before meeting the girls back at the Porterhouse for, you guessed it, another pint (of their own porter in my case -- delish!).

Within minutes of greeting Jae the previous evening, she'd mentioned Montys, a Nepalese restaurant she'd heard about; that was on the docket for supper. Well, what a treat! From the opening recommendation -- dumplings! -- we were hooked. My lamb ledo bedo (traditional Nepali curry) was amazing, and the peshwari nan was ridiculous -- seriously, probably the best I've had to date, and I'd like to think that means something now, after a year of trying great curries.

We finished the night off with a few more pints and live music at O'Neill's.

Friday, July 16, 2010

We started with another good breakfast at the hotel before heading to the train station to take the DART to Howth. The Victorian row houses gave way to greenery and, finally, the beautiful Irish Sea and Ireland's Eye. The air was heavy with salt as we left the train, and while the sun was shining through the clouds, we'd packed for showers. We noted Beshoff Bros fish and chips shop immediately, knowing how good that would taste after our cliff walk.

The harbour, Dún Laoghaire in the distance

Walking up the trail, the cliffs falling off to our left, reminded me of childhood walks around Cape Spear, and our recent trip to Cornwall. The cries of the seagulls and the crash of the surf accompanied us as the showers began. They were more cooling than anything; we really couldn't have asked for a better day. As we neared the top, a spectacular view of the town of Dún Laoghaire (which sounds like 'Dun Leery', I believe), across the harbour, greeted us. It was then that we noticed the houses, and the pub. It was a bit disheartening, thinking we'd conquered some significant mount, only to discover a thriving community in our midst. We attempted to cover our embarrassment by busily talking amongst ourselves, but a local quickly picked us out, stopping his car and leaning out the driver-side window with a friendly smile, "Do you know where you are?"

When we pointed at what we thought was the way down, he replied, "No, that's the boring way. What you want is there," pointing to a gap in a low wall that was in a similar, yet entirely different, direction. He said the way was intuitive: that so long as we were heading down, we were heading true. He emphasized that, while it was simple, we wouldn't see "any big German signs pointing the way," which had us in stitches for most of the way down -- Cee in particular, given his heritage.

Down we went, past row houses painted such bright colours you'd swear we were in St. John's. At one point we passed some guys unloading kegs from a flat-bed truck; they had this great system where one guy'd get a keg to the edge of the flat-bed before letting its weight carry it to the pavement below, and this little pillow they'd set for that purpose. The keg would bounce off that, turning on its side in the process, where the next guy would ensure that its momentum carried it right through the pub's side doorway. It was like something out of Donkey Kong!

The fish and chips from Beshoff Bros hit the spot, just as we'd imagined. Sated, we decided to pop into the tourist information centre quickly before heading back to Dublin. On the way, we noticed a crowd by the dock and were surprised to find a group of sea lions frolicking for the masses. A few people bought some bags of fish heads at the nearby shops, and the sea lions just went wild for them. Perfect timing!

Once back in Dublin, we decided to take the Laus (pronounced 'louis') -- or really neat, futuristic tram, as we liked to think of it -- to Abbey Street for more shopping. We were a bit confused about where to catch it, and ended up waiting longer than it would've taken to walk the distance, but it was worth it: we couldn't very well leave the city without riding it, after raving about it for days. While Cee went with Jae to buy his sweetie a ring, Tea and I crashed for a bit in St. Stephen's Green.

At Salamanca

We planned to meet another friend, Aye, who was returning from Prague, at the Spire around 6 p.m., so we headed back to the hotel to freshen up beforehand. That done, Cee and I were just finishing up a pint in the lobby when Tea came running back in, telling the staff to call an ambulance. She'd just gone out with Jae a moment before, so both Cee and I thought something had happened to her. As it turned out, they'd been standing on the sidewalk for but a moment when a cyclist flipped over his handlebars and landed horribly on his unprotected head, out in the street right in front of them. Some others trained in first aid took over from Jae, telling the man not to move (once he regained consciousness), as the rest of us directed traffic around him and tried to avoid looking at the pool of blood spreading around his skull. The ambulance arrived very quickly -- within five to seven minutes -- allowing us to gratefully take our leave. He seemed to be O.K. by then; undoubtedly concussed, but moving under his own steam. Always wear a helmet, kids!

We met Aye shortly thereafter and made our way to the tapas restaurant we'd spied earlier, Salamanca. The place was packed, so we put our name on the list and went to a different Porterhouse close by. Aye was shocked when they told him they didn't have Guinness on tap -- 'til we explained it was a microbrewery. The hilarity continued when we were seated in Salamanca, however, because they didn't serve it either. As he said, we probably found the two places in Dublin that don't serve it (and it was all he'd dreamed about having since his flight had touched down). We got the story out of the waitress eventually -- apparently you have to buy Guinness in such large quantities, that it doesn't make sense if it won't appeal to most of your clientele -- and consoled ourselves with a few Murphy's (and sangria for the girls, a Paulaner for Cee).

At the Mercantile

With a few dishes a piece, it wasn't long before our large table was full of delicious morsels. Tapas has to be some of the most fun you can have at a meal, picking and choosing, and all on those small plates that slows you down before you're ridiculously full. Sated again, we set out to get Aye his pint of Guinness. The Mercantile, while not much to look at (under construction as the façade is), caught our ear, so to speak. More pints, laughs, and a bit of air guitar for good measure, followed, into the wee hours -- and Aye didn't miss his flight home the next day!

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Match day!

It rained heavily all morning, which was just as well, 'cause Tea and I slept late. (Cee got soaked on his morning walk, though.) It started to clear up in the early afternoon, so we went to a pub for a late brunch before heading to Croke Park for the 3 p.m. hurling match. As we got closer, you could see the crowds converging, with plenty of supporters of the boys in blue: Dublin.

Hurling match at Croke Park

I had this big ole grin plastered across my face five minutes after finding our seats: there was this fantastic cacophony and barely concealed tension in the air. Both these matches, back-to-back, were play-offs: this was the GAA Hurling All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal was between Dublin and Antrim, to be immediately followed by the GAA Football All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal between Dublin and Armagh; as we found out later, the latter was a real grudge match: the last time Dublin and Armagh met in the play-offs was five years earlier, with Armagh clinching the victory.

Fans pile in for the football match

We still found so many opportunities to laugh, though, like when the five-year-old behind us squeaked, "Take their heads off!" Another time, as I was just about in the lou, this giant of a man grabbed me by both shoulders, and, staring down most earnestly, said, "Is there anything blue on my face?"

As if the question weren't strange enough, his heavy accent really threw me. "Anything blue?" I said.

"Yeah!"

"U'm, no." (I decided to ignore all the little bits of paper towel all over his face; the guy had obviously been scrubbin' somethin' fierce in there.)

"Ah, bless you!" he said, taking off for the stands.

I saw him again later as the last match was letting out, and noted that he was sporting no colours while being harassed by a crowd of his friends, all dressed in blue. Cee had speculated earlier that supporters of the boys in blue had painted a rival fan -- against his will, shall we say -- and this gave weight to the argument.

I'll close out this section with a video clip from the football match. Just after it ends -- with Dublin winning, as should be obvious -- the guy in the middle of the frame turned to us and said, "We've waited five years for that!" Awesome!

At Chameleon

For our last supper in Dublin, we decided to try an Indonesian restaurant called Chameleon. Our good fortune continued as the host said that we'd have to sit on cushions and be on our way by 9 p.m. (still two hours away). We heartily agreed and were soon reclining in our cushions like so many sultans. Another fantastic meal followed, and we were asking for the bill with mere moments to spare. (And then had to walk through a significant line of waiting diners!)

The raucous Temple Bar then greeted us, in full swing by this time, and we set a meandering course. A few streets later our way was blocked by a crowd. Peering over heads, standing on tiptoe, we picked out the band and stopped to listen. Folks of inner circle were dancing as that song finished, and then a haunting tune was struck up. We were mesmerised by the crescendo, swaying, and then clapping, faster and faster, when suddenly this "Wop! Wop!" of a police siren pierced the bubble. Against the odds, they'd decided that this was their best bet of getting through Temple Bar to whatever crime was in progress. I took a hasty video of it, and, as you'll see, they did make it.



And that, other than momentarily losing the girls as we walked along the Liffey, thanks to a series of well-built gentlemen deciding that ironing in the buff in their well-lit apartments was the best way to spend a Saturday evening, was our trip to Dublin, done and dusted.