This morning I get up at a reasonable hour. My grocery delivery window is at 10:30-12:30, so I want to have my coffee, get dressed, and be ready for whenever the intercom buzzes. A text from the shipping company DHL informs me of a delivery expected today by 6pm, then another text also from DHL says I’m required to pay an import duty/tax (?!). It’s the router I ordered as part of my ongoing struggle with my VPN service, in hopes that it will allow me to access streaming services directly on the AppleTV instead of always having to use my laptop. The router cost $200, and the import tax is €30, or about 17.5%. Ouch. It better be worth it!
As I’m waiting for these deliveries, I set upon the task of memorizing all 32 counties in Ireland (including the 26 in the Republic of Ireland and the 6 in N. Ireland). I figure it’s something I should know if I live here. I also search for YouTube videos with the correct pronunciation for some of the more challenging ones (e.g., Co. Laios which sounds like “leash”). I make a list of the counties alphabetically, then break them down into small sets by the first letter— i.e., there are two that start with A, four that start with C, etc. I repeat each set several times until I memorize it, then add that set to the previous one to build a longer and longer sequence. This technique enables me to keep track of where I am in the list and catch myself if I’m missing any counties. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to memorize something other than numbers or passwords, and it feels like I’m dusting off a part of my brain that hasn’t been used for a long time. It’s almost 11:00 when my phone rings, it’s the delivery person from SuperValu, they’re downstairs. Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute. The apartment keys are already in my pocket, I grab a facemask and put on my shoes, then out I go. When I open the green door to Sprangers Yard, no one is there… strange. I pull up the call history on my phone and call the same number back. The man says he’s on Crow Street, I say there’s no one here. We go back-and-forth for 3 minutes, he claims he’s at the address but obviously he’s not, so I do my best to explain where my building is. He says he’ll call me back, OK.
I continue waiting outside on Crow Street, keeping a lookout for any sign of the delivery van. One of my neighbors, a young woman in her 20s, emerges to greet a friend. I make some remark but she either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to engage, oh well. The delivery person calls back, now he’s on Temple Lane coming back around? After the call ends, my neighbor from two doors down, whom I nicknamed “Hodor” in previous posts, suddenly launches forth from the building, wearing headphones over his voluminous frizzy hair and heading intently on his way somewhere. I say hello and try to engage, this time with success. He pauses and removes his headphones from one ear.
I say, “Oh I’ve been watching the League of Gentleman, it’s hilarious… you know from your door?” (On the outside of Hodor’s apartment door is a novelty mock-up of a town sign that says ”Royston Vasey — You’ll Never Leave!” I had searched this curious phrase and found that it’s a reference to a British comedy show from the late 1990s early 2000s called the League of Gentleman, which I had started watching earlier this week after getting the BBC Player to work with my VPN service on my laptop.) Hodor acknowledges this with a nod and mild snicker. Then he says, “You’re new right? Are you the one leaving the rubbish bags outside the door? You’re to leave them at the lamppost over there,” pointing to said location on Dame Street at the closest end of our block. “Oh! I didn’t realize, no one said anything about that, thanks for the tip. Your name again is Bay-o-in…?” This is the third time I’ve tried to get his name right, and he says, “No, M____.” [something that sounds to me like May-o-in?!] / “Oh with an M?” (I say with a puzzled look on my face) / “Yeah. Cheers.” And then he turns and continues on his way. Well, at least I’m closer to figuring it out!
The grocery delivery person calls back again, he’s on Dame Street now, so I walk to the end of the block. It’s raining lightly, just a few scattered drops, and I didn’t grab a coat but it’s not too bad. Still no sign of him, then I finally spot a red SuperValu delivery truck turning onto Dame Street one block away. He sees me waving and calls, saying he’ll stop there. He unloads the green crates with blue plastic bags on to a dolly and starts wheeling them back towards Crow Street. It’s not the same older gentleman who had delivered my last two orders, he sounds foreign, perhaps Polish? (There are lots of Polish workers in Ireland.) I ask, “Did you have the Eircode?” / “Yes, but it told me to go to another street.” Apparently Eircodes aren’t fool-proof after all. He unloads the bags into the foray of my building, in a sort of awkward way like he’s new to the job, but we have a friendly enough exchange then he’s on his way.
I haul the bags up in two trips (it’s another big order) and practice repeating the counties of Ireland as I put everything away. Antrim, Armagh, Carlow, Cavan… Cork? Wait, no… Clare, Cork, Donegal…. The texts from DHL only said the delivery of the router would be made before 6PM, so I’m bound to the apartment until they show up. I start putting away some of the household items I had acquired yesterday, unwrapping the ceramic bowls from newspaper, peeling off labels, washing them in the sink.
Throughout the morning I’ve been responding to text messages from friends back in the U.S., as well as some new local folks I’ve met online. One person who had struck up a conversation with me yesterday, let’s call him M, follows up to ask how my day is going, and then asks if I would be available to meet for coffee at a place near him? I explain that I’m waiting for a delivery so probably won’t be able to make it today… then wouldn’t you know it, the intercom buzzes. It’s DHL with the router! I descend to retrieve it, then I text M back to say I’m free after all, how about I meet you there at 2:00pm? The cafe he had suggested is about a 20 minute walk away, and it’s already 1:30pm so I start getting dressed to go out as I wait for his response. Just as I’m about to head out the door he confirms that 2:00pm works.
M lives in The Liberties, an area of Dublin immediately adjacent to Temple Bar to the west. I’m somewhat familiar with the area from previous visits and in fact in 2019 stayed in an AirBNB apartment on its far edge near St. James Hospital. The Liberties is one of Dublin’s historic working-class neighbourhoods, probably best known for the Guinness brewery and storehouse, whiskey distilleries (most of which left Dublin ages ago, but some have returned such as Teeling Distillery), and tenement housing.
I head out in that direction, without having to consult Google Maps, as I know the major streets that lead there. I pass the iconic Dublin City Hall on Dame Street, and recognize the familiar clock tower that’s part of the National Duty Stamp Office.
Not far ahead, as Dame Street seamlessly becomes Lord Edward Street, is Christ Church Cathedral dating back to medieval times, with St. Patrick’s Cathedral just a short walk to the south.
I don’t turn in the direction of St. Patrick’s but instead continue further west into what’s known as Usher’s Quay, along High Street that then becomes Cornmarket then Thomas (many streets change names quite frequently without any obvious end or beginning). The dramatic spire of Saint Augustine & Saint John The Baptist Catholic Church dominates this stretch of road, in an almost surreal overscaled size as if it had been enlarged or the other buildings shrunk.
The name of the cafe that M had chosen is Tasty 8, which I later realise probably refers to postal district Dublin 8, in which The Liberties is located. I turn onto Meath Street, which is narrower than the main thoroughfares up to this point and only accommodates a single lane of traffic. It’s a vibrant commercial district jam-packed with shops, restaurants, bakeries, etc. Some storefronts are closed due to COVID but there’s still a healthy bustle.
I spot M who has already grabbed a table at the cafe. He’s a few years older, with grey hair and blue eyes. We immediately start up a friendly and jovial conversation. He’s a regular here, and the waitstaff know him by name. I order a latte to start, then after 15 minutes or so ask for a menu since I haven’t had lunch yet. They have a range of breakfast and lunch offerings, all of which sound good. I decide on the chicken quesadilla and am not disappointed (although instead of sour cream, it’s served with “garlic sauce” which is found everywhere here, easily mistaken for ranch but thicker and less tangy). When I’ve finished, M excuses himself, goes into the cafe, and sneakily pays the check. He then offers to show me his place, which is right around the corner, and most importantly to meet his two shih-tzu mix dogs whom he clearly fawns over. M lives in a quaint 2-story brick working class row home that is typical of the neighborhood. It’s down a cul du sac, which makes for a quiet and neighborly vibe. The main floor consists of the living room, kitchen, then bathroom in the back (M explains that the owner’s mother used to live in the house, which is why they set up the bathroom downstairs). It’s nicely renovated, modern in decor, and quite comfortable despite being much smaller than what most Americans think of as a house. M shows me the two bedrooms upstairs, which are small but adequate. His current housemate is moving out, and he’s actively seeking a roommate so he says if I hear of anyone looking for a place to let him know. He’s been oblique about how much the place costs up until this point, but then he shares (without me pressing) that both he and his housemate pay €650 each. Much less than what I’m paying for a 2-bedroom apartment in Temple Bar!
After sitting down for more conversation over various topics, including music (his walls are adorned with album covers from the Pet Shop Boys and Erasure), we wrap up our time together as M. has a piano lesson at 4pm; the house came with a piano and that inspired him to take it up as a hobby. He sends me off with some dessert he had also surreptitiously picked up from the cafe when paying for the check, another kind and very hospitable gesture. The Irish are just so darn friendly! I tell him next time we meet up, it will my treat. It feels good to meet people and make new connections.
As I head back toward the direction of Temple Bar, I meander through some smaller streets and notice there are rainbow flags in some of the windows of businesses and/or residences. M had mentioned that more gay people had been moving into the area, and this was living proof.
I decide to take a detour across the Liffey to run another errand I hadn’t managed to complete yesterday. By funny coincidence, when I reach the intersection before the bridge, a rainbow-coloured bus in honor of Gay Pride passes by… I manage to get my phone out just in time to snap a photo.
My errand is to track down some distilled water for my CPAP. Apparently, this is not a common item for sale in grocery stores here, but I had read online that it can be found in auto parts shops. There aren’t many of those in Dublin city centre, for obvious reasons, and the closest one is a small old fashioned place on Capel Street. As I enter I’m greeted by an elderly proprietor who has probably run the business for decades. He doesn’t hesitate when I ask for distilled water, he simply turns and heads back to the shelves behind the counter stocked with various supplies, asking if I want a 1 or 5 liters bottle (I opt for the larger size). He fetches a ladder to get a 5 liter bottle down for me from the topmost shelf, moving slowly but with surety. It’s €8, probably 2-3 times what I’d pay for the same amount in the U.S., but whatever. Only after I get back to the apartment do I notice that it’s labeled as “de-ionised” water. At first I think it’s just another linguistic difference between American and Irish English. Turns out that while distilled water and de-ionised water are both purified forms of water, de-ionised water can still contain bacteria, etc. So I guess I should boil it before using it in my CPAP?
Time flies when you’re writing a blog, and the evening is passing by quickly, so I should make dinner and settle in for the night. Plus I still have the VPN router to figure out. Until next time…
