BAR BINGE, MERRY PLOUGHBOYS AND GRAVEDIGGERS

For a long, long time I've been wanting to go pub hopping in Dublin, much to the amusement of those who know that I simply detest the taste of beer. Never mind, I would shrug. Now I can say with much amusement, it needn't be beer; it has to be apple cider. If that sounds tame, wait till you go through a bottle or two. For one given to chugging glasses of apple cider from Himachal Pradesh, the Irish variety is certainly much up there. Don't know if it was the fact of being on a family holiday, the ambiance and the cool climes or whatever, but one actually looked forward to it right from the morning! First there was Bulmers and then Rekorderlig, whatever the brand the apple cider held sway. There's orange cider, apricot and more but apple remained the queen bee.

 

 

 

Every Dubliner and every visitor to the city will tell you that Temple Bar Street is where all the action happens. You're telling me! The spouse in all his wisdom and his proclivity to be close to the arena of action and his aversion to travelling from the outskirts to the city, booked the service apartment right on top of the iconic (or notorious depending on your spiritual incline, this time literally!) 175 year old Temple Bar (established in 1840!) The irony is that we could never go in for drinks there, not for lack of want, but simply because the damn bar seemed to be choc-a-bloc from morning to late night, make that to morning, because it seemed to be packed with merry makers twenty-four/seven. The only time that the raucous revelry was absent was from 5am onwards to a few hours. But don't worry there was enough music, or rather clangour of another type, to wake the dead - the rolling away of empty metal barrels by the hundreds to be carted away and their replacement. Every morning in a foggy state from the window, straight up, I looked down on the military like operation and attempted to count the barrels, I gave up every time. Doing additions in a sleep deprived state  is not a suggested task especially to one severely maths challenged.

 

 

Whatever the time of day or night, every attempt to find even standing space in Temple Bar was in vain. What was initially irritating but later fun was to see the little open courtyard of the bar every time one went up to or down from the service apartment and have people, in several stages of intoxication, wave at you especially if you were armed with a camera. Well there has to be some magnetic charm about a bar that has the entire area named after it, Temple Bar Road.

 Call it poetic irony or whatever, I just loved the fact that diagonally opposite The Temple Bar was a pharmacy, called what else but The Pharmacy!  It had a bright facade and hanging basketful of beautiful colourful blooms and on its glass panes on either side painted in bright yellow was the legend, you are my sunshine. Yep, very true, what with all the hangover cases walking in for some relief and the till going ping ping.....

So, on the first evening, realising that getting into The Temple Bar was a herculean task, we moved on looking for another pub with good music and that took us to Fitzsimons. The live music was really good but once again the crowd and the huge of group of young women indulging in extreme decibel merriment, had us moving to the terrace ( a wee respite there!). Incidentally, during the time we were there groups of women, young and middle aged and gangs of pre-bridal parties seemed to be really, really letting their and more down. Their sense of joyousness and unmitigated fun was totally infectious.  In fact, at one point right in the middle of the road, a little away from The Temple Bar, a  pre-bridal gang had hijacked a street band demanding that he sing their lyrics which was a one-liner shouted at the top of their voice - 'for she is a horny bitch' all the while running a wobbly circle around the one in the centre who wore a sash proclaiming bride-to-be! All wore bright pink short dress with black slashes proclaiming 'friend of the bride.'

If you are in Dublin then it goes without saying that the Guinness experience is a must. Call it a tourist trap, call it done to death, call it whatever, there is always a first time and the first time is memorable. Sure you have to contend with hordes of tourists, sure you know you are becoming a sucker but sure you know you have to do it come what may, after all there must be something to Guinness to last over 250 years and still remain at the top! Despite telling oneself not to be taken in, the first sight leaves one laughing. The damn building is shaped like a humongous pint of Guinness!  And one learns that if filled it would hold 14.3million pints! There's all seven floors that takes one from its origin, its making and all that. But as anyone who has been there will tell you, the itch is to get to the Gravity Bar on its top with a 360 degree view of Dublin. The bar is naturally packed to the gills but if you bide patience, you will find a favourable place to take in the view while quaffing Guinness. Naturally, it was apple cider for someone!

    

 

No, that's not Daniel Radcliffe or Harry Porter!

My personal favourite in the Guinness house was one graffiti that went:

Soon one lost count of bars. Whenever, wherever one felt like it was into a bar. Felt like constantly humming an old Hindi song but of course with some variations in the lyrics:

bar bar dekho, hajar bar dekho

key dekh ne kee chij hai hamaree dil-Bar........ 

Han jee han aur bhee honge dil-Bar yaha, lakho dilo kee ba(ha)r yaha 

talee ho. (Sorry) Talli ho!

 

After the bar bar trips to the bars, it was time for the Merry Ploughboy, a traditional music pub very far from the Time Bar Road. This was a booking done before we left for Dublin and my initial misgivings that it could turn out to be yet another tourist tamasha were unfounded. That tourists would be there is given but what I loved was that half of the people that night were locals including a big group out to celebrate someones birthday, quite past her prime. Merry Ploughboy is located at Rockbrook, about an hour's drive from Dublin, and the gateway to the Dublin Mountains and Wicklow National Park.  It's quieter and more countryside. The Merry Ploughboy here is Dublin's well known ballad group and boy, do they deserve all the kudos. Liam Henechan, Tom Shanahan, Ivan Smith and Gareth Campbell turned out one lilting after another traditional Irish song and music, some foot tapping some soulful but all heart rendering. And when they  sang, 'bring back my Bonnie to me....... ' almost all the audience sang along. It made me think of Mother Cecil and her piano back in my schooldays and her hard rap with a ruler on the knuckles if you didn't keep time. What was totally hypnotic was Ivan Smith's solo drum playing. The magic that Ivan created with his Bodhran, the hand held drum so similar to our dafli, was an other world experience, one held one's breath in sheer awe. And silver haired Tom Shanahan, who took the friendly jokes directed at him by his band members with the right spirit, had everyone swooning over his solo pipe playing. Incidentally the pipe called  Uilleann (couldn't pronounce it at all) might look similar to the Scottish bagpipe (so familiar to us thanks to the army bands) but is played in a different manner.

With the spirits flowing, yes me and my cider again, and huge servings of Irish fare it was a truly great evening, made all the more so by the Merry Ploughboy dance group who put on a breathtaking show with their spectacular footwork . It was a evening that is really memorable with that warm glow of happiness. Time when you thank the one above for his blessings and look forward to more.

But the pub I loved best was John Kavanagh's The Gravediggers.  It has been with the Kavanagh family for over eight generations and today it is run by Ciaran Kavanagh, who doubles as the chef and his wife, Anne Kavanagh who turns out yummy desserts. Situated at the North Dublin suburb of Glasnevin, it is so called because it is right next to one of the biggest cemetery and the gravediggers head for the pub after a day of hard work. It is a simple establishment with old wooden furniture and Anne Kavanagh is clearly the woman-at-full-speed zipping around taking orders, serving and picking up the dishes, all these with a cheery smile and welcoming demeanour. The Gravediggers in fact is split up between the bar on one side and the lounge on the other.  It is clearly not in the touristy circuit and thank god for that.  In fact, Anne claimed that we were the first Indians to ever set foot in the pub! That of course, gave us a kick. We got to know of the pub from a friend of a friend, an Irish educator presently teaching a course in Ahmedabad. Ironic isn't it to imagine an Irish man in a prohibition state!

The afternoon we walked into The Gravediggers, we seemed to be the only outsider. The fully packed place had quite a few families around with angelic little Nina giving her family, particularly her dad,  quite an exhaustive run of the place as she refused to sit still and did everything from attempting a cartwheel to insisting on sitting on the high bar stools adopting a very adult manner.  As I looked around I tried to make out if any among those present was a gravedigger but gave up, besides we were in the lounge section. Incidentally, it is a cash only place, no credit or debit cards. Despite being tourists and total outsiders one felt so welcome and included what with Anne keeping a constant stream of conversation as she moved around with her amazing speed and everybody else throwing smiles and hellos our way. Now that's a place one can really dig!