A Portrait of the Island from a Young Man

Last night, I showed my dad all around East London at night. We went for a walk across Millennium Bridge and Tower Bridge (which we could see from our hotel window). Another night in London was a welcome treat.

First thing this morning, we walked to the Tower Hill Underground station, took the tube to South Kensington, hopped off the Circle Line onto the Piccadilly Line from South Kensington to Heathrow Terminal 1, trekked through the terminal, checked our bag, converted some pounds for some euros, and bippity-boppity, we were at our gate for an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin. Not bad for one morning, eh?

Ireland is a place that has always fascinated me. About half of my ancestors are from this pastoral isle, making this sort of like a trip back home to a home I’ve never been. This very famous island only inhabits around 6 million people: 1.4 million in Northern Ireland, and 4.6 in the Irish Republic. America has become the main home for Irish people, rather than Ireland herself. But here we landed in this lightly populated, green-embossed country, eager for adventure.

After our taxi ride from the airport to our hotel in Dublin, we set out on the town. We passed by St. Stephen’s Green on our way to Grafton Street, which is where we stopped for a bite. Following our dinner, we made our way north on Grafton street, past Trinity College, in and out of a souvenir shop with a couple prizes, and to the River Liffey. This river separates North Dublin from South Dublin. From the bridge we crossed, we could see a massive metal pole north of the river, stretching as high as any skyscraper. We learned that it was called the Monument of Light.

Close to this monument was the statue I was eager to see: James Joyce. This early-20^th century writer, author of such greats as Dubliners (1914) and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916), is one of my favorites. All of his books and short stories took place right here in Dublin, the city where Joyce was born and grew up. In one of his books, Joyce wrote about a place in this city called Sandymount Strand. He said while walking along it, it felt as if he were walking into eternity, never seeing the shore. So, like every fan of James Joyce would do, I took my parents 30 minutes outside city center to the massive coast of Dublin Bay.

This was my favorite part of Dublin. The tide comes in and goes out like at any beach, but this tide goes out over a kilometer, to where at low tide (when I went), I couldn’t even see the Irish Sea from the sand! It truly was like walking into eternity along Sandymount Strand. Crush, crack, crick-crick. Joyce had his hometown pegged.

Dublin certainly feels like it has retained the early-20^th century feel more than cities like London and Cardiff have. This may be for a number of reasons. The city is a bit dirty, and the buildings and boats look rather run-down. Unfortunately, it’s a fairly economically depressed area, with many impoverished residents. But at the same time, Dublin is as safe as a city of 1.4 million can be! I reckon that’s the Irish way, though. You can be down in the dumps all you want, but leave others out of it. And Dubliners really couldn’t be friendlier! The people in Ireland, Wales, and Northern England have made the people I’ve dealt with from Southern England look as unfriendly and rude as can be! I had thought the entire UK was that way, but I stand corrected.

In these ways, Dublin has kept its rustic past, whether its people wanted to or not. The future for Dublin is tense and uncertain. With Facebook and Google moving their UK headquarters to this city recently, it’s clear to see that Dublin is really trying to become competitive on the European map once again. And I, for one, truly hope it succeeds.