Grace.
After arising and putting on my only clothes (those my fellow travelers would learn to love and loathe), I moved quietly to the window, easily drew the curtain to the side and looked out on the view that at night was a blur image of buildings lit with unbecoming lights and a river casting an impressionist image of the Dublin nightlife, I found that with the grey of the morning light came a new and slightly neurotic city. The hustle of the cars along the avenue, the unknown drivers unknowingly being looked down upon from the second story of a hostel window, the fast and eager pace of those walking along the thoroughfare, the shouts of car horns, the noisy talkings of the street, all blended together to make the city feel manic and important–to make the city feel alive. All this from the second story of an unassuming hostel. All this before I’d eaten breakfast.
Breakfast came with a splash of milk onto an assuming bowl of Rice Krispies. It went quickly enough and before the plastic spoon hit the bottom of the empty porcelain bowl we were out the door and slowly ambling towards the haven of highs, the glory of greats, the hither-be-known synonym of sheer awesomeness: The Guinness Storehouse.
The streets grew silent as we neared the Storehouse, as if in anticipation of a momentous event, the city–our city–had frozen in time and only we six were able to move gently through to our awaiting serendipity. We found the Storehouse to be generally empty upon arrival, and after looking at the map, we calculated the exact time it would take us to claim our free pint of Guinness. It was to be a long hour.
The Storehouse is a collage of sights, sound, and smells. Throughout the seven levels one finds the smell of roasted barley at times overpowering, at times strangely sweet, and always altogether (for lack of a better word) intoxicating. Each level is devoted to a specific characteristic of the Guinness Trademark, but because I am doing this solely by memory I will not go in to labored detail. Just know that it has a heavy devotion to the entire brewing process, advertising, Guinness throughout the ages, and (possibly the most fascinating part) barrel making. It is well worth the 9 euro admission price, if for the simple fact that you get to drink a pint (or two) at the top of the world.
It must be said that as we neared the top level (the level at which the fabulous freebie is given) the remaining floors were moved through in something one could easily call haste. It being nearly noontime our lips felt the subtle tingling sensation of dryness, our tongues, ever eager for something to taste, licked our lips in anticipatory delight, our minds thought not of what was before us but of what was to come. We were thirsty.
As we ascended the final stair that led us to the Gravity Bar—a circular room with 360 degree views of Dublin, hardwood floors, cleverly placed modern chairs and tables, and a homey feel in a modern atmosphere that could only be accomplished by contrasting the revolutionary design of the building with the famous antiquity of the Guinness Trademark—our eyes fell upon the bar in the center of the room bustling with busy bar matrons and stocked with the only Taps that one could possibly want or need: Guinness taps.
We handed our tokens to the barman who quickly (some might say too quickly for a proper pint of Guinness) poured our pints, and, after letting them settle, finally let the cool goodness rush down our throats. It is rare to find subtle ecstasy in something you expect, but this was my feeling upon the first gulp of Guinness. It was cool not cold, refreshingly light, and as smooth as ever. It was a rare event: a perfect pint. But it was not just what’s in the glass that made it a perfect pint, but, also, what surrounded it. The air was filled with joyous language and happy tidings. A palpable happiness hung easily throughout the room. And when you are in good company with people you enjoy in a place you want to be, nothing in life can be sweeter.
We sat at a fashionable chair and table number and after another free pint (a man was kind enough to give his tokens to us) decided from the Storehouse we would go to Phoenix park. A decidedly missed attraction, Phoenix Park is the largest park in Europe and after grabbing some food we made our way to this rolling expanse of green grassland. We sat on a bench at the entrance to the park and quietly ate our food, watching the occasional local couple slowly amble by, hand in hand, enjoying the sunny autumn day. After finishing, two of our group decided to do some shopping in town while three of us ventured into the park.
After arising and putting on my only clothes (those my fellow travelers would learn to love and loathe), I moved quietly to the window, easily drew the curtain to the side and looked out on the view that at night was a blur image of buildings lit with unbecoming lights and a river casting an impressionist image of the Dublin nightlife, I found that with the grey of the morning light came a new and slightly neurotic city. The hustle of the cars along the avenue, the unknown drivers unknowingly being looked down upon from the second story of a hostel window, the fast and eager pace of those walking along the thoroughfare, the shouts of car horns, the noisy talkings of the street, all blended together to make the city feel manic and important–to make the city feel alive. All this from the second story of an unassuming hostel. All this before I’d eaten breakfast.
Breakfast came with a splash of milk onto an assuming bowl of Rice Krispies. It went quickly enough and before the plastic spoon hit the bottom of the empty porcelain bowl we were out the door and slowly ambling towards the haven of highs, the glory of greats, the hither-be-known synonym of sheer awesomeness: The Guinness Storehouse.
The streets grew silent as we neared the Storehouse, as if in anticipation of a momentous event, the city–our city–had frozen in time and only we six were able to move gently through to our awaiting serendipity. We found the Storehouse to be generally empty upon arrival, and after looking at the map, we calculated the exact time it would take us to claim our free pint of Guinness. It was to be a long hour.
The Storehouse is a collage of sights, sound, and smells. Throughout the seven levels one finds the smell of roasted barley at times overpowering, at times strangely sweet, and always altogether (for lack of a better word) intoxicating. Each level is devoted to a specific characteristic of the Guinness Trademark, but because I am doing this solely by memory I will not go in to labored detail. Just know that it has a heavy devotion to the entire brewing process, advertising, Guinness throughout the ages, and (possibly the most fascinating part) barrel making. It is well worth the 9 euro admission price, if for the simple fact that you get to drink a pint (or two) at the top of the world.
It must be said that as we neared the top level (the level at which the fabulous freebie is given) the remaining floors were moved through in something one could easily call haste. It being nearly noontime our lips felt the subtle tingling sensation of dryness, our tongues, ever eager for something to taste, licked our lips in anticipatory delight, our minds thought not of what was before us but of what was to come. We were thirsty.
As we ascended the final stair that led us to the Gravity Bar—a circular room with 360 degree views of Dublin, hardwood floors, cleverly placed modern chairs and tables, and a homey feel in a modern atmosphere that could only be accomplished by contrasting the revolutionary design of the building with the famous antiquity of the Guinness Trademark—our eyes fell upon the bar in the center of the room bustling with busy bar matrons and stocked with the only Taps that one could possibly want or need: Guinness taps.
We handed our tokens to the barman who quickly (some might say too quickly for a proper pint of Guinness) poured our pints, and, after letting them settle, finally let the cool goodness rush down our throats. It is rare to find subtle ecstasy in something you expect, but this was my feeling upon the first gulp of Guinness. It was cool not cold, refreshingly light, and as smooth as ever. It was a rare event: a perfect pint. But it was not just what’s in the glass that made it a perfect pint, but, also, what surrounded it. The air was filled with joyous language and happy tidings. A palpable happiness hung easily throughout the room. And when you are in good company with people you enjoy in a place you want to be, nothing in life can be sweeter.
We sat at a fashionable chair and table number and after another free pint (a man was kind enough to give his tokens to us) decided from the Storehouse we would go to Phoenix park. A decidedly missed attraction, Phoenix Park is the largest park in Europe and after grabbing some food we made our way to this rolling expanse of green grassland. We sat on a bench at the entrance to the park and quietly ate our food, watching the occasional local couple slowly amble by, hand in hand, enjoying the sunny autumn day. After finishing, two of our group decided to do some shopping in town while three of us ventured into the park.
