1. The Brazen Head Pub, 2. Sammi and Lindsay with their empty Guinnesses and mine still half full
It took me the whole day in Dublin to recover from my London New Years. An early morning Ryanair flight and an afternoon nap later, Sammi, Lindsay and I went downstairs at our hostel to read. A group of Russians named Olga, Ivan and Peter (I can’t make this stuff up) introduced themselves and asked if we wanted to go out. We said yes, but after we ate some much-needed dinner.
We went down the street to the Brazen Head Pub, the oldest in Ireland. We settled in by the fire to warm ourselves to our first pints of Guinness. I put the glass to my lips and it made a thick foamy mustache. Once the black brew slid down my throat, I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
Just not my cup of tea, I suppose. After dinner, we met up with the Russians in Temple Bar for more drinks and some Irish music. I heard the singer strum the opening lines of Damien Rice’s “The Blower’s Daughter” and it could not have felt more authentically Irish.
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