"They lived and laughed and loved and left"...

So, in an event which I looked forward to for weeks and weeks, and which then flashed by me in what felt like minutes, we recently went to Dublin for a weekend. Our excuse? That it was Mum's 50th birthday, we wanted to do something nice, my prelims had just finished and we all deserved a little break. In reality, I think we just wanted to do something regardless of occasion, and getting out of our small same-ish house and village and part of the world, was certainly called for.

Having only flown once before, the excitement of getting in a plane to go somewhere we could just as easily have driven, could not be downplayed. Of course, the flight was so short that we had barely sat down and I had read but a page or two of my trashy magazine before we were being told to prepare for landing again, but it still tickled pink that 5 year old hidden inside me!

Plus, despite it being a typically 'dreich' day, I couldn't help but think that it was quite a lovely landscape to be looking down on from miles high in the sky, with fields upon fields upon fields, and clear grey sea.





The first night was one for a little bit of exploring, tired from the day of travelling and hanging around and getting a little too excited about getting to miss a day of school to go on our little adventure. Naturally, the skies opened the minute we were on solid, Dubliner's land, and we were soaked to the skin, resorting to running down O'Connell Street, tucking my camera inside my jacket on the rare moments I didn't see something I wanted to capture.

I fell in love with the beautiful columns on all the old buildings, not to mention the various statues of revolutionaries, and the vast open street;  taxis zooming up and down it endlessly. There were flags everywhere, and well trimmed trees which just made the place feel so grand and well looked after - Dublin looked so proud to be itself! Plus, everything looks better when laid against a stormy backdrop, the sun struggling with all its might to make an appearance.

Unfortunately, as it was getting late, the night simply consisted of some "Irish" food in the end, a simple trick to satisfy grumbling tums as well as sodden clothes and chattering teeth.

The next day was a slightly better affair as far as weather was concerned, and we set about walking till we dropped, making the most of the beautiful city on tired feet.

I can't say we actually did very much, but really it was perfectly pleasant to just wander and absorb it all.

I never realised before we went what a hive of literary genius Dublin was, but everywhere we turned there was some writer or other, or another fascinating aspect of culture. James Joyce's death mask in a Wee Dublin Museum, a whole exhibition dedicated to U2, and of course seeing Oscar Wilde just hanging out in the park...

Plus an abundance of quotes, each one a beacon of some kind of hope or strength or humour.
Oh, words, wonderful words.








Later on, when it began to get dusky and the mood got just that bit too tired for things to be fun anymore, Temple Bar and its assortment of eateries was the perfect place to turn to.

Then came Sunday; the day of rest, homecoming, tired eyes, minds... and a perfect wash-of-blue sky to bid us farewell as we strolled along the river to wile away our last few hours in the city.

 We saw plenty of innovative architecture, namely banks and offices, covered in glimmering blue glass.

The famine memorial, having just learned about this heartbreaking period of history, was slightly eerie and disconcerting, entirely at odds with it's location, but it was captivating and made us remember, in that moment, the many who perished all those years ago.


And then, after our short break, it was goodbye Dublin, and home we went. As a city it is somewhere I would love to revisit when I am older and can more truly appreciate the history and beauty of it, as well as the busier side we didn't get to see. If nothing else, our visit has left me with an overwhelming urge to delve into the world of the literature which originated and was exposed to me there, and reading something by James Joyce is officially on my bucket list! When he wrote such words as these, who could not want just that?...

And I think I will leave you with that, for how could I follow it?

x