It’s 9:45 on a Monday evening as I write this.
I’m in a pub on Patrick Street, just 15 minutes by foot from where I’m staying this week. There is live music. The pub is alive with conversation. The music is good.
Earlier this afternoon, returning from an earlier walkabout, I happened upon two artists dancing on the side of a building.
This is what I came here for.
On my way here, the sidewalks were crowded. People waited in line to get into other pubs.
Couples made out on the sidewalks of side streets. Even the main streets.
Nobody cares that it’s cool and windy here. It’s always cool and breezy here. Lots of people eat outside even so.
The soft, tangy lilt of the Irish accent is tantalizing. I am smitten hourly by nothing more than voice.
The bartender switches off the football (sorry … soccer!) game so those of us with an obstructed view of the musicians can see more clearly.
I’ll be in Dublin this week, working and taking little side trips as I can.