Passing a pub in Dublin
With political correctness run amok these days, I suppose it’s not proper to highlight the stereotypes of a region or culture, but as a casual observer of the earth, I’m not concerned about who might be triggered by my ramblings. I’m more concerned about understanding why things are the way they are. So after three months of careful observation, I can say with certainty, that the people of Ireland have a drinking problem. Some of them, perhaps even a lot of them, could be regarded in other cultures as heavy drinkers – alcoholics even.
Day one in Dublin, back three months ago, I ventured out early to take some photos. I was approached by a very nice local, who happened to be buzzed out of his mind, and who chatted me up, telling me with a healthy mix of nonchalance and pride in himself, that he was in from Belfast for the weekend and that he was an alcoholic. He was the first of many people that I would meet over the next three months who would wear their drinking issues with pride. There was no shame here. Whereas I would go out of my way to deny a blackout, they would ramble on about their adventures with the bottle. As far as the stereotypes of Ireland go, you’re only likely to find the shamrocks and the leprechauns in the gift shops, but the drinkers are everywhere – and with them so are the pubs.
Dublin, and frankly, all of Ireland, is the epitome of pub culture. In the great Irish novel, Ulysses, James Joyce’s character, Leopold Bloom is quoted as saying, “Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.” Before we analyze that sentence, let’s first make note of the sentence structure. That’s not old English that we’re reading. I’ve struggled through a couple of Joyce novels back in the day and it never occurred to me that the trick might be to read his words with a drunken slur, as though it’s last call at someplace called O’Shea’s or O’Hanlan’s and you’ve been deep in conversation with some stranger about anything and everything.
“Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.”
Recently someone developed, via computer, a roundabout map that could navigate through the city without passing a pub within 35 metres. That’s the best they could do.
Not only are the pubs everywhere, but I found them all to be thriving. I’m told that wasn’t always the case. During the economic downturn a few years back, the pub industry suffered. People had no money, consumer confidence was down, and it forced many a business to close, and many a barkeep out of work. The 2008 depression is a thing of the past, but much like the political troubles of the 70s and 80s, its weighs heavy on the mind of the people. (By the way, I love that they refer to the IRA bombings as the troubles.) Brexit had just happened before I arrived, and Trump became president while I was there. I think we’re all bracing ourselves for something to change in this world, but for Ireland, I think they see it as a given that they will be caught in the middle.
Dublin meets pretty much all the criteria that I look for in a city. They have a good art scene, one that seems to appreciate both the classical and bohemian varieties. They take pride in their history, and it seems there has been a lot of spit and polish applied to the buildings and sidewalks. I’ve seen some photos from as recent as twenty years ago, and it kind of looked like a dump. The people seem to have a very wicked sense of humour. Sarcasm is of the ‘take no prisoners’ variety and they seemed to be laughing at my jokes. And most importantly, Dublin is very walkable. I didn’t take a bus once, although they were plentiful (and rather crowded). Trains are easy to navigate, and taxis are everywhere.
I walked two kilometres to work each day. My hotel was in the Custom House neighborhood. I would cross the River Liffey and continue south to Baggot Street. I never took count of how many pubs I passed on that route, but I can say that on the trip home, they were all packed with people, any day of the week.
The harp logo that represents the Guinness Brewing Company was displayed everywhere, about as common as No Parking signs in the city. Guinness is, without a doubt, the most celebrated thing to come out of Ireland and the word is that it just doesn’t live up to it’s taste if you aren’t drinking it in Ireland. I’m not a fan of beer at all, and this one is a particularly bitter swill to me, but we can’t argue with the mighty masses who carry on about the science behind it, why it has to be stored in just such a way, and that you must drink it by holding your arm with your elbow so that your forearm is horizontal with the glass. It’s all such bullshit. It still tasted like crap to me.
I hired a tour guide in Northern Ireland, a guy who actually drives the cast of Game of Thrones around. He told me all about growing up during the ‘troubles’ and what it was like to chauffeur Peter Dinklage around, but I think his most fascinating factoid was about Irish pubs and Guinness. “If you go into a pub and they aren’t drinking it,” he told me. “Then you shouldn’t drink it either.” Apparently it meant that the barkeep wasn’t storing it properly – or worse, they weren’t pouring the correct way. A few weeks later I did the tour of the famous factory where I got the rundown from the experts, and I also got a certificate of achievement stating that I can now officially pour a Guinness.
Guinness is one of the most recognizable symbols of Ireland, and therefore it goes without saying that it’s got to be one of the most influential companies in the country. I broached this question with a few people and it opened some fascinating conversations. While no two stories were alike, it appears this pub culture is more than some quaint little oddity that the locals partake in. It’s a full-blown racket.
Guinness may be the largest brewer in Ireland, but it’s not the only one. Names like Kilkenny, Smithwick, Beamish, and good old Galway Hooker, are also popular on the bar taps just about anywhere you go. And there is a regional rivalry among them. Murphy’s brews its own lagers in Cork, as well several imported brands, and some of the locals that I spoke with tend to favour it over anything coming out of Dublin. Kilkenny is favoured in Kilkenny and Galwayans tend to favour their Hooker.
The beer companies (and the whiskey distilleries) may rake in a lot of cash, but I’ve learned that they aren’t the true power brokers. The publicans (those guys that own anywhere from one to one hundred pubs around the country) are an intimidating lobby group. Some of them are even high profile politicians themselves. There is a fraternal order among them, sort of like a union environment, which, not coincidentally, is another thing that still flourishes in Ireland. Despite all the abandoned castles in that country, history seems to have started in 1916, when the common man began to rise up against the aristocracy. It’s a ‘we stand united’ kind of mentality if you believe the billboards. I don’t think the locals really care too much anymore.
The socialist mentality of the publican set is contrasted by a rather conservative set of values. Abortion is still very illegal. Making headlines while I was there was a recent case of a woman who died because she was too ill to get to Manchester to terminate a fatal pregnancy. I attended an abortion rally near the Ha’penny Bridge and I was disappointed by the turnout. Literally everyone that I talked to on my trip thought that this law was embarrassingly outdated, but they told me that it’s the publicans don’t seem to want it, and word is that they would shut any politician down who tried to campaign on the issue.
Publicans seem to be a little out of touch with common wisdom. They support the Catholic church (hence the abortion stance) and they’ve fought tooth and nail to push back equal hiring legislation. Some pub owners seem to feel strongly that only an Irish-born citizen is fit to serve in their establishment. Someone explained to me that it was required so that they could appeal to the tourist trade. On another note, Ireland became the first country to vote in gay marriage by referendum and therefore the will of the people (led by drag queen Panti Bliss). It’s quite an accomplishment, but I heard that it wasn’t supported by the publican lobbies.
The publican lobby group have been known to dictate which beer companies get into their pubs and what prices they get to charge. I found out that one European beer company was forced out business in Ireland because they attempted to price gouge their beer in select non-Irish owned establishments. Publicans apparently don’t take kindly to that sort of thing.
They even use pricing and other tactics to discourage consumers from buying alcohol in stores. People don’t normally pick up a six-pack at the local market, at least from what I could tell. I suppose it’s available, but the prices are apparently too high. You are better off going to the pub if you wanted to get a proper pint.
And why sit alone and drink when you can do it with some of the best conversationalists in the world? I loved hearing one guy go on a rant about Queen Victoria. “That fecking bitch!” I am a Sinead O’Connor fan, but I was warned by a few people to keep my distance. “She’s just not well, is all,” someone confided, as though they knew her personally. I went to Searson’s Pub twice with a co-worker, and both times I lost her attention to a Rugby player who happened to walk into the bar. (The sports guys tend to hang around the high-end part of Ballsbridge in Dublin, in case you’re wondering.)
Everyone had not only an opinion, but an experience with the Irish Travelers, which was great because I was absolutely fascinated by them. These conversations always started off on a politically correct note with a statement that they were ‘good people at heart,’ followed by a rant on how they couldn’t be trusted, etc. The first time I laid eyes on a traveler, it was in a bar in Galway. I broached the topic with someone and they pointed to one who had just walked in. We watched as this happy-go-lucky, but somewhat inebriated chap, and the brood who followed him, were promptly escorted out. “Seems a bit unfair,” I said to my newfound friend. “It’s the way it is,” he told me. “They bring it on themselves.”
Notice that I won’t be linking any sort of citation for the claims that I make in this blog. I honestly started off trying to do that, but I couldn’t find anything on the Internet to corroborate any of these stories that I had heard from the locals. As I thought about it, and as I struggled to create this entry, it occurred to me that it would be disingenuous anyway, to let a little thing called facts get in the way.
The Irish are fantastic story tellers, and they’re fun! Everything about them, right down to the accent, demonstrates that they have a chip on their shoulder about some other guy, or some other country, but never about you. They hate the English most of all, and there’s still a distrust among the north and south, but they’d prefer to put that behind them. Many of them have lived a bit of hard life. The country has a whole history of getting pooped on by their neighbors, and if the current trajectory of the Eurozone has anything to say about it, I’m expecting them to get pooped on again.
The older folks are quick to point out that the country has changed pretty fast in the last couple of decades. On the plus side, it’s stepped up it’s economic game a little bit. The cities are cleaner, crime is down and people seem to be working. But the culture is moving forward rather recklessly, as they see it, and they tend to worry about that. The Catholic church seems to be losing its prestige. The myriad of scandals has begun to chip at the papal stronghold, so that attendance at mass on Sunday mornings is at an all-time low and the people are warming up to the idea of an agnostic lifestyle. The country has also been sold to the tourism industry. Tour buses are packed to the brim, taking their cargo on all-day trips to the cliffs and castles around the country, making certain that all stops include a gift shop or two.
The one constant that hasn’t shown signs of weakening is of course the pub culture. Whether you’re at Temple Bar, fighting and puking with all the backpackers, or in a small town with a barkeep who’s ancestor’s name is emblazoned the establishment, or in a cozy out of the way place, where locals listen to live Irish music, you can be guaranteed a pint at a fair price and at least one person with an interesting story to tell.
