Drink Guinness in Ireland ✓

October 22, 2015

I arrived in Dublin at 11pm and my to-do list was simple. Okay, okay.. my to-do list was to try a real Irish Guinness, maybe two, maybe three.

I found myself at a pub called Temple Bar in Central Dublin, and I was starving. The Temple Bar is apparently famous because a man set the world record here for playing live music on his guitar for 114 hours straight, which is quite impressive when you think about it. “Guinness, please!” I said to the bartender. “Oh, and do you guys serve food?” I asked, hoping the cute bartender would tell me that they had many forms of Irish potatoes and I could try them all. But he looked at me and shook his head.

“What ya need food for?” He slid the pint across the bar. “There’s a pork-chop in every glass!” he promised, pointing at my frothy perfect pint of Guinness. I nodded my head and sat back in my chair while a man played the fiddle. This was filling enough.



The next day I combined a day of sightseeing with a pub adventure my Italian friend and I curated. Our exploration consisted of a 1,000 year old pub where Robin Hood used to frequent as a guest, a pub where Bill Clinton once hung out, a pub in someone’s house, and finally, the first pub to have electricity. By the end of it, I was zonked.



No, I’m totally kidding! By the end of it, I was hoping to find some live music. So when I walked into the last pub to find these fine fellows, I was thrilled:

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I’m not sure you can get more Irish (unless you’re a leprechaun) than drinking Guinness with fiddle-playing, Gaelic-speaking Irish men, one of whom was named, I kid you not— Paddy O’Ryan. He let me try his fiddle, and by the end I was named lead singer of their band. As lead singer I found myself standing on top of a table, singing words I don’t recall and stomping my foot to the beat while the bar clapped. Cheers! 

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A few hours passed, and when the bar finally kicked us out I said goodbye to the band and the next morning my friend and I rented a car and drove five hours to Dunquin. Dunquin is a tiny town on the Dingle Peninsula as far west in Ireland as you can go… I’m talking next stop Boston. Of course, as one does in Ireland, we hit a roadbahhhhh-lock along the way. These sheep were so cute I wanted to jump out and pet them.

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When we arrived at the cottage it was on a sheep farm overlooking the ocean.

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In Dingle, I went for runs:

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Well, it looks like I’m walking here. But it’s the only photo I have.

Sat on a donkey while a man played the flute.

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Cycled through rain and hail in Killarney..

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Wanted to borrow this snaggle-toothed pup in attempt to herd my own sheep friends..

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Sipped french press coffee and ate homemade scones at this table with the worst view.

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And discovered more awful views..

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And that was Ireland!



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