souls move quickly in Dublin, their gaits shortened by the pace of their day or the stoutness of their stature. it’s a chore to move between them as they zig zag along O’Connell Street, their faces surprisingly not buried in their phones, but usually in clustered conversation with others.
it is forever spring here, the dampness protruding like veins across the moist earth. it’s too warm for snow, too cold for sun. the pewter skies permanently hang in the ceilings of schoolchildren running through the greens.
we ourselves wandered through Oscar Wilde Park, stopping to swing with our hair in the wind, and to pose with flirting statues. across the street, parsnip soup and the National Gallery of Ireland beckoned.
gliding through the rooms depicting Irish artists, sommkid found herself immersed in Jack Yeats, displaying street life and country customs. the vast European collection included Vermeer, as well as Caravaggio’s “The Taking of Christ.” artwork just doesn’t look the same these days. we gawked in awe.
a breezy stride through St Stephens Green offered fresh air and proper playtime, a break from the cultural immersion.
we traversed north to Trinity College, and while ultimately entering, we bypassed the exquisite library and it’s Book of Kells, and opted for Dublin Castle instead.
because castles of course is what sommkid is all about.
we danced in the drawing room and twirled in the throne room. our hairs stood on edge in the viceroy’s rooms; the darkness of air protruded from the walls like thick mist. tragedy happened all around here. for such a long time.
the sommelier, who has been down for the count, met us for an early dinner full of leeks and venison and Irish borne steak. it’s Christmas time in Dublin, so the lights and trees and tinsel parade the glistening streets. the dew is constant and slickens the pavement beneath us as we walk back to the hotel.
Nollaig Shona, Baile Átha Cliath!
