In Dublin we stayed at the coolest hostel- ‘Abigail’s’ on Aston Quay. Not only did it have a huge kitchen-TV- Internet-Check In Desk area where everyone hung out together (totally reminded me of college) but all the walls were covered in modern murals. I couldn’t get over two of the murals in particular, one showing Dorothy guiltily looking into her picnic basket while a cop shakes his finger at her, the other showing Jesus about to shave his beard.
I felt really bad that the first order of business in Dublin, after checking into our hostel, was rushing to the Weir & Sons jewelry shop, but I desperately needed my claddagh ring resized. After several minutes of comforting and assurance from the kind female clerk, I handed over my ring, the payment, and my address in France. I came close to tearing up since I distrust the postal system and simply didn’t want the ring off my finger, even if it was to resize it. Sitting here blogging, my finger feels very naked…I can’t wait to have that familiar weight back on it.
We walked Grafton street a bit, the main pedestrian thoroughfare in Dublin, taking in the Irish accents, the touristy street music, the smells and sights. We’d just spent all morning and afternoon in France and suddenly we were in Dublin – it was unbelievable!
We had so much fun being typical tourists on the Ghostbus Tour that first night! We didn’t know what to expect and weren’t sure if there would be room on the tour. Sitting in the top of a double-decker bus with blackout curtained windows and scary decorations we rode through the town while a speaker at the front told various stories about ghosty sites in Dublin. The professional actor who was our speaker for the night was fantastic. He wasn’t too over the top, but he was definitely a bit showy. We stopped and got off the bus twice, to visit a church and a graveyard. We were told to take pictures and look for ‘orbs’. I don’t know that I believe my eyes, but one photo of Martha taken in the dark graveyard shows four round circles floating above her head in different sizes and greyish white colors. Whether we believed in Ghosts or not, it was really entertaining to hear all the true, gory stories of old Dublin and to visit the sites in the dark.
The remaining few hours of the night were spent in ‘The Celt’ taking in traditional Irish music. We were reluctant to find pubs in the Temple Bar area since other tourists would be drawn to them. The last thing we wanted was to be surrounded by Americans shouting the words to Don’t Stop Believing and behaving like they were in a frat house. Martha pointed out The Celt down the street from the Dublin Spire. Inside the pub, greeted by loud music, Martha watched the fiddle, (she plays violin) while I bobbed to the lilting beats. We both felt like we were in the movie ‘P.S. I Love You’ when the band started playing ‘Galway Girl’. The band members took breaks and mingled in the crowd. They sold a few CD’s and down pints of Guinness. They were regular, musical gifted Irish people who were a ton of fun to listen to and meet. A guitar, a bodhran drum, a fiddle, and a wooden flute was all it took to keep us entertained for hours till the pub closed.
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