The green blur that was St. Paddy's Day in Dublin

Nothing has ever quite tingled my drinking senses as much as the notion of spending St. Patrick's day in Dublin. So when the chance arose at the end of the ski season in Austria I pounced on it as swiftly as a drunk Irishman on a free drink. I merrily pictured myself painted green, with leprechauns frolicking at my feet while Irish lass's would continually fill my Jameson in my right hand and my Guinness in my left and I would talk for hours with the local lads about Bryan O'Driscoll being God, Thierry Henry rotting in hell and Bono being a twat. This was pretty much spot on, except leprechauns have a feisty disposition and do not frolic.

And so I found myself on a local bus at midday on the 17th of March headed into Dublin and every bar that would have us. Our crew for the day was the flotsam of a ridiculous birthday party of our hosts brother that kicked off our stay and the effects of which were still being felt. (I managed to roll my ankle in a retarded attempt at climbing stairs and throughout the day every time I stepped in a certain way it crumpled on itself.) There were seven of us who knew each other from the Amsterdam pub crawl and had used this opportunity as a reunion of sorts. We also had at our disposal two local guides, Dave and Larry, who had neglected any sleep as a precursor for the day when everyone is Irish. The twenty or so people left at the house were still recovering from the party the night before and we would only see them later that night.

First on the agenda was to find a drink, which was not too difficult, there are more pubs in Dublin than people. We started off with a Bulmers, which is an Irish cider and a delightful way to get back on the wagon. With our whistles whet, and us sufficiently disorientated we headed to the grand attraction of the parade. We caught the parade on Dame street, a wide street in the Temple bar district and soon spotted an ideal viewing point. We scaled a truck and from that vantage point could take in the parade. There were young girls in traditional Irish dresses dancing along leading different animals on tacky floats. It took us a moment to take this in and quickly made our next assessment which was to drop this parade like it was hot and hit the next bar. The police arrived on the scene to assist us in our dismount of the truck, even giving us a hand down. Apparently there was Irish dancing on St. Stephen's Green and other traditional shenanigans but we paid little attention to that and all of it on the bar scene. I do not know what any of the many bars we went to were called but they were all crammed full of revelers and raucous, exactly what we were hoping for. We quickly established a healthy pace of barhopping with one Guinness at each the prerequisite.
Dublin on St. Paddy's day is exactly what you imagine it to be, the vibe is boisterous, the people are rowdy and clad in green, the streets are humming with performers and drinkers united in celebration of Patrick and his eviction of the snakes. That is the legend attributed to this fine day – that good old Patrick rid the island of snakes a là the Pied Piper. The people of this serpent free land have since rejoiced in this absence and the rest of the world has joined in.
We set about exploring the Temple Bar district one bar at a time taking in the vibe and a whole lotta Guinness. Each bar we visited would evoke a comment from Dave or Larry on the quality of the Guinness at that particular place. My Guinness knowledge was limited; I didn’t know that the kegs need to be stored two metres directly under the bar for optimum taste, and that each bar has a different quality of Guinness and I also didn’t know that if you drink a load of it it gives you the shits. That was not a pleasant surprise. Pretty soon the day took on a ruby green haze, with a steady flow of Guinness and a constantly funny tummy. I sang Cape Town’s praises and interrogated every local about what living in Dublin is like. The responses were varied, generally everyone loves Dublin but it does have its shortcomings. The Celtic Tiger that economically exploded in the late nineties has died a horrible death and as has the general morale of the city. Jobs are non-existent and on top of that it is one of the most expensive cities in the world. The rent on Grafton street, the pedestrian shopping street, is more than any street in New York or London. This is the reasont that I managed to burn through almost two months of earnings in less than a week. No one, however, was too bothered by all of that at that moment.
Somewhere between our fourth or fifth bars, while we were having a kebab break, a passing girl stole a prized green hat off of Dan (a fellow Amsterdam pub crawler), the livewire Australian took no time to throw his jacket on the floor in outrage and gallop after the brat. As soon as his jacket hit the floor, a nearby teenage knacker, showing good initiative, grabbed it and bolted. I faked a chase and hobbled to a nearby pole while a few in our party took up the chase immediately followed by a gang of the thief’s cronies. Soon enough everyone returned empty handed and a little bemused. This first-hand experience with Ireland’s juvenile youth was a minor speed bump but soon enough we were gathering ourselves at another bar. The blur of afternoon bars settled down in the evening when we found a guy dominating old Irish songs and classic pop songs in an intimate venue called Palace Bar (I know this because I have their coaster) . By this stage we had forgotten that inhibitions even existed and were merrily joining in on all songs with arms on the shoulders of the surrounding strangers. With our voices warmed up, we gathered ourselves with some red bulls on a street corner and headed to the club and our rendezvous with the gang. The club, Pygmalion, was on a completely different level to our entire day, playing pounding techno on the darkened dance floor with a swanky lounge upstairs to chill out in. This change of scene gave us a boost to end the day and night on a high. All in all, it was an awesome day, an epic party and the perfect excuse to visit a city whose main attraction is the charm of its people.