A Real Adventure In Ireland
Nollaig Shona / Merry Christmas!
James Joyce once wrote that real adventures don’t happen to people who stay at home. “They must be sought abroad,” he wrote in Dubliners.
And so, we made our way to Ireland on a recent search for Joyce’s so-called “real” adventure.
One of the most fascinating things about Joyce, the beloved Irish author, is how well he crafted the inner life of his characters. The silent monologues, the overthinking, the way his character’s felt and how they interpreted those feelings. The fear of change, of loss, of stagnation, of wasting, and of other people. But also the wishing, the dreams, and the hope of a better life, if only one could be brave enough to seek it.
It makes for a captivating read because it feels so … accurate.
It amazes how different the world of Dubliners is from the world of today, but also how much the same its characters’ inner workings are to those of people today. Or, at least, I found similarities with my own. Joyce’s characters are relatable and their stories feel personal. When reading Joyce one can develop a kinship with some of his characters despite the alien-ness of the world in which they exist. The past, even as recent as early twentieth century Dublin, is a different planet, yet we remain more alike than different despite the generational chasm.
This could, by the way, just as easily become a commentary about technology as much as mindset or anything else. About how the rate of change in the technological world is exponentially outperforming the rate of change of our biological machine, and how ill-equipped we are to handle the pace. We are, in terms of biology, still very much the same as Joyce’s characters. We just have fancier, ubiquitous, and potentially more dangerous toys.
Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age.
— James Joyce
Alas, this is not a commentary on technology or mindset even, but one on travel. In Dublin we visited Kilmainham Gaol and Trinity College, we eyed the Book of Kells, we shopped and dined and people-watched on Grafton Street, we walked St. Stephen’s Green and across the Ha’penny Bridge, we ran through Phoenix Park in the wee hours, and we most definitely pubbed. For late November, the weather was decent, or so we were told, and it even snowed, which we were told was a rarity as well.
Now, despite the overall good nature of the weather during this trip, none of our international adventures are complete without at least one apocalyptic weather event. One night a deluge flooded the train tracks north of Dublin, stalling our next-morning train several hours which caused us to miss our scheduled departure from Belfast for the Giant’s Causeway. In lieu of our planned adventure, we took to the streets of Northern Ireland’s capital for an impromptu bus tour (phoned in), its Christmas market (festive, lively, and tasty), and the RMS Titanic museum (fittingly titanic in scale and impact).
In the end we made the most of that day. Good company on the doomed tour and great food helped. The biggest surprise about Ireland was how great the local fare was everywhere we ate, in fact, especially in the public houses. And if you did not know, Ireland has pubs. Lots and lots of pubs.
Our pub tour included a walk-through of the landmark Temple Bar pub to see the place in its Christmas dressing, but not to enjoy a Guinness. At more than $10 a pint, it’s too expensive here when you can hoof it a few blocks in any direction and find any number of pubs offering pints of the dark, delicious, icon of Ireland for $7 or less. And if you are up for a good ramble, there is even better Christmas dressing at a pub called The Ginger Man.
The Guinness does, in fact, taste better in Ireland. We learned at the Guinness storehouse that there are a few reasons for this: (1) they add more hops to beer that is shipped overseas in order to help preserve the beer and (2) Ireland water is superior to water elsewhere. Whether or not those things are true anymore is not worth arguing when the Guinness goes down smooth, which it indeed does when consumed in its homeland.
Beyond Dublin we hiked in the Wicklow Mountains, gazed at the endless Atlantic Ocean atop the Cliffs of Moher, strolled through the streets of Galway and Kilkenny, spent a morning with a shepherd and his talented sheep dog, Spot, and marveled at the emerald countryside as it rolled past the massive windows of our coach.
It was easy to spend a week in Ireland. The friendly people and familiar language, its fascinating history and natural beauty, the cozy pubs with comforting food — all of it made for a pleasant experience overall. Can a “real” adventure also be a comfortable one? I wonder what Joyce would say about that.
Hey, it certainly felt like one to me, and that’s real enough.