Dublin Part Three: The City

Saturday morning my roommate and I woke up early to head into the city of Dublin. We were ready to hit all the tourist sites- St. Patrick's, Trinity, the National Gallery. As soon as we got into the city (around nine in the morning) it began to rain. I didn't have an umbrella with me, so I bought one from the nearest shop. It had the Guinness logo all over it. Now I looked like a true Irish girl.

The rain was pretty cold and miserable, but it didn't last the whole day. It was only uncomfortable as we hiked to Trinity college; we almost slipped on the wet cobblestones. Trinity college was beautiful, but you couldn't really appreciate it in the pouring rain, so we didn't stay for long.

Next we went to the National Post office, which my grandmother had suggested we check out. Apparently it had been destroyed in the Easter uprising of 1916 and was then rebuilt. With the rain subsiding, we tried to look for any signs of damage (i.e. bullet holes) but could find none. We continued onward.

St. Patrick's cathedral was beautiful. We were lucky; we showed up when the choir was rehearsing, and it was wonderful to sit in the pew and listen to the music. We probably spent in hour in there, checking out all of the statues and monuments inside the cathedral. When we went outside into the park (where supposedly St. Patrick himself baptized converts in the 5th century), I saw an older woman throwing a rubber ball to a fat Jack Russell. I hadn't seen or pet a dog in two weeks, and I was feeling quite deprived, so I walked over to the lady and she let me play fetch with Ziggy (that was the dog). It was quite therapeutic, I have to say.

We spent the rest of the day at the National Gallery, which was pretty cool, and then we wandered around some Irish shops before going to dinner.

That night we went to an Irish pub and sat watching the rugby game over half-pints of beer. My roommate was wearing an Ireland sweatshirt, and an old man at the bar looked at us.

"Whichteam arye rootinfer?" he asked.

My roommate and I looked at each other, bewildered. Neither of us understood what the man had just asked. Perhaps these half-pints were stronger then we thought.

"Sorry?" my roommate asked politely.

"You're not Irish then?" the man asked. "But you're wearing an Irish shirt." I then realized what he had asked: What team are you rooting for?

"I'm from Texas," my roommate replied.

The man smiled broadly; he was missing a few teeth. "I don't believe you. Texas?" This seemed to amuse him to no end.

"Mind if I sit next to you?" he asked, and before we could say anything he slid into our booth, right next to me. "I'm Jimmy, by the way," he said. For the next ten minutes he asked my roommate all about Texas, and even threw in a few George Bush jokes. It was very difficult to understand him; not only did he have a thick Irish accent, but he had been drinking a bit, too. I could only understand about every fourth word, and it was usually a curse word.

"So did either of you girls have Irish in your blood?" he asked.

"My great grandfather was born here," I said. "He actually participated in the Easter Uprising."

Jimmy stared at me. "You don't say."

"Yeah, he actually had to flee Ireland because of his participation- he thought he was going to get arrested."

Jimmy continued to stare at me. "Did your grandfather know Michael Connolly?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"If he was in the uprising, he might have, because Michael Connolly was the leader of the uprising," Jimmy said. "He used to meet with his people at a pub a few doors down- Cleary's. I'll take you girls there right now and buy you a pint."

My roommate and I looked at each other. What the hell.

"C'mon, let's go then," Jimmy said, and we got up and followed him out unto the street. A few doors down there was another pub- painted bright red, it was called Cleary's. This pub, like the last one we had left, was filled with old men. They all seemed to know Jimmy; they called to him as we passed.

"Hey Jimmy."

"Hiya Jim."

"Hey Jimmy, who're those girls you got with you there?"

"These girls are from the states!" Jimmy declared. "This one's from Texas, and this one's got a grandfather who was in the uprising!"

"Jaysus Jimmy, buy them a pint."

We pulled up stools at the bar, and the barman poured us each a pint. Jimmy, to my amazement, bought a red bull.

"This," Jimmy said, speading his arms wide, "Is where Michael Connolly sat. This is where he planned."

I looked around. The bar had red leather seats and pictures of Michael Connolly all over the place.

"Can you feel the ghosts in here? I swear, I get shivers in here, thinking about all this." Jimmy looked at me, and I saw that his eyes were filling with tears. "My father fought with them, and I continue his fight," he said. "My sons will continue my fight. We will always fight; we will fight until we are free."

He took my hand and kissed the back of it. "Your grandfather was a part of this too. We continue the fight for him, too." He clasped my hand between both of his and shook it once. "We fight for him, swear to God."

The next half hour involved stories of Michael Connolly, the uprising, and jokes about the British and George Bush. From time to time an old man would come up to us and shake our hands, and then shake Jimmy's. They all were clearly impressed Jimmy had brought two young American girls into the bar.

All in all, it was an interesting and memorable way to end the trip to Ireland. I was glad to have met Jimmy; he was a genuinely friendly person. It was also cool to go into the very bar that had so much history, a bar that my might great-grandfather himself might have gone to. I will undoubtedly always remember that conversation with Jimmy; his passion for Ireland was palpable. Plus, he bought us pints.