"I didn't do anything!" -Angry, emphatic drunk Irishmen to his angry, emphatic drunk friend

Upon arrival to Dublin, Brice and I were a bit bewildered.  After losing my boarding pass minutes before our flight was due to depart, I frantically and reluctantly purchased one from the impossible to find Ryan Air customer service desk for a hefty fee of 40 GBP.  We were both excited about our trip, however, so this was not going to put a damper on it.  Arriving in an unfamiliar city under darkness is somewhat of a discomforting experience.  Whether it’s the idea of not knowing where you are, or just the enhanced vulnerability that is brought on by darkness, it’s never enjoyable.  Luckily, we found our hostel decently quickly but not before I was hilariously offered a ‘new IPhone’ right on the sidewalk.  I’m sure that guy was legit. Despite the fact that it was already midnight, we met up with our friend Andrew and thought it’d be a good idea to do a bit of exploring before we called it a night.  We head straight for the Temple Bar district, not to do any drinking per se (we had had a long day of traveling) but realistically just to get our bearings and to see a bit of Irish culture.  We had been warned that the Thursday we arrived was Arthur’s Day, an Irish ‘holiday’ which nobody could seem to explain, but we deduced was clearly an excuse for the entire city of Dublin to head to the bars and delve into as much Guinness and Jameson as possible.  Upon arriving in the Temple Bar District, we were completely blown away at what we were witnessing. 

I have been to Las Vegas before, but this was like the oddest mix of Irishmen conducting a Mardi Gras-like celebration while fighting friends, vomiting on the sidewalk, and being as loud as humanly possible.  Now I’m no prude, I’m all for having a good time and perhaps our shock was enhanced by our unfamiliarity to the area and exhaustion from traveling, however this scene was bewildering to say the least.  I used to think that Americans had a drinking problem until I encountered the Irish inclination for booze.  The spectacle throughout the District was a performance in itself.  The cacophonic blend of glasses breaking, fights breaking out (in strong Irish accents, I may add), and the click clack of women’s high heels provided quite the potpourri of sound.  As a sober onlooker, I found it interesting that all these people were completely unaware of the entertainment they were providing as one entity.  Clearly not the highest form of entertainment, in the moment, I attempted to make the most of what could have been interpreted as an incredibly discomforting and sad situation of society.  When or if heading to Ireland, I would recommend avoiding the Temple Bar District.  Head out to the countryside town of Dun Laoghaire where the sounds are made up of crashing waves on the beach and birds in the sky, a tad more enjoyable. 

by Ben Parnes