A Dee Tour 1

Manu and I held back our tears as we left Brighton, and jumped on a train bound for Londontown.

Brighton station

Of course, being on, near, or actually within earshot or sight of a train or plane makes Manu extremely happy. Just like that. Which really helps when you're saying goodbye.

She was very happy to take the tube on the new Elizabeth line in London, which is all swish and shiny and sparkly, just like the jewels it's namesake ex-Queen Elizabeth II used to wear before she was suddenly spirited away to the next realm, where heredity or geography is of absolutely no use to you whatsoever, oh bother.

Amazing what they can do with plastic and concrete these days. Yes, Paradise is closer than you think. It's right here, apparently, it's just that we can't see it.

When we got to Dublin everything was in Irish. Ooops, I'd forgotten about that. But in English too, luckily. English and Irish are the two official languages in Ireland, but, surprisingly, only about 30,000 people speak Irish as a native language.

Irish is widely spoken in what are known as the Gaeltacht areas, basically some western, northwestern and southwestern coastal regions. The language has Celtic origins (pronounced seltic in Ireland, not keltic), and is one of the oldest languages in Europe. It sounds rather cute, I must say.

As does an Irish person speaking English.

And guess who'd also just arrived in Dublin? My dear dear friend Michael, from Wombarra, south of Sydney, a man I've known since we weren't even men. It was so amazing to see him, the last time we rendezvoused was when we were roaming the towns, jungles and rivers of Laos, about 9 months ago.

Michael during a purplish-blue patch

Michael's mission in Ireland was to meet up with some distant cousins, and explore some of the lands upon which his ancestors roamed, back in the day when men were men, and sheep were glad.

Michael's mother is a Dee, and one of his cousins had planned an extensive itinerary to show Michael the family sites, and give him the chance to meet some other distant relatives, who turned out to be very far from distant.

And as for Manu and I, our mission was just to tag along, and to see whether all those stories of impossibly green Irish fields, of wild tempestuous seas, of crazy nights in musical pubs, and of ragtag armies of staggering bearded men who've had way more than one too many pints of Guinness, were actually true.

When we arrived in Dublin it was misty, foggy, grey, drizzly and cold. Yes, every miserable adjective known to humankind to describe the weather was applicable. In other words, it was a typical Irish summer eve.

We checked into our dorm at a hostel, and then went off to meet Gerry Dee, Michael's cousin, and his wife Monica.

We found some falafels or some other fried somethings to eat, which, along with everything else in Dublin, cost us an arm and a leg. I have to be really careful, because since I arrived in Europe I've already realised that at this rate it'll be impossible for me to return to my bike in Bishkek and keep riding, as I'll have no limbs left whatsoever.

In Dublin there's a pub on every corner, and there's one in between the ones on every corner, and then one in between the one in between the ones on every corner, and yes, you get the picture.

Yeah, there's a few pubs about. And they're all so interesting, they're amazing antique places, full of character (and of full characters), and they're all cosy and inviting, in a Dublin kinda way.

I caught this leprechaun trying to steal a Guinness at the pub.

Then I realised that he's actually Michael's cousin Gerry, so I released him, and he then proceeded to buy us all as many Guinesses as a non-Irish could drink, which wasn't that many, I'm sorry to admit. Or happy to admit, I'm not sure which.

Gerry and Monica are the most amazingly warm, generous, interesting and fun people. Gerry was very keen to show Michael many of the sites frequented by his ancestors, and they both embraced Manu and I like kin, even though we are very unIrish, and, by some weird coincidence, share a weird Polish surname. Michael has a weird and very unIrish surname too, for that matter, but no one seemed to care about that either.

So typical of the all inclusive hospitable Irish style.

Our district in Dublin is called Mountjoy, which is quite a misnomer as it's a bit of a rough area, with dodgy looking characters hanging around the laneways and street corners, lookin like dey want sometin' off ya.

The underpasses smell of piss laced with beer, there's even tents pitched by homeless people in those dark corners, and there's street dealers and hustlers. I felt safe enough in a posse, but probably wouldn't walk around there alone very late at night.

It wasn't always like this. In the mid/late 90s and early 2000s Ireland was the place where big money lived, and its hugely fast-growing growing economy was coined the Celtic Tiger. Generous corporate tax rates and relatively low wages led to the city becoming a major hub in the tech and finance industries, and many huge multinationals moved their HQs to the country. There was work everywhere, professionals flocked there, and money was falling from people's pockets like popcorn from the hands of a greedy child.

But then came the GFC, the global financial crisis, which hit Ireland like a bomb. On St Patrick's Day, March 17th, 2008, the Irish stock market crashed and burned, as a result of the meltdown in the US financial system. The financial services industry in Ireland was left in a smouldering heap, and the government (thought it) had no option but to bail it out, spending a fortune of taxpayers money doing so.

With no money left in the kitty the government then embarked on a huge austerity program, slashing spending on many essential government services. As large companies moved out, unemployment rates surged, and millions began struggling to make ends meet. A survey in 2011 showed that 25% of people in Ireland at that time had less than 20€ per week to live on, once essential bills were paid. 20€ could only buy you a few coffees.

Just for comparison purposes, about 13% of adults (and 17% of kids) currently live below the poverty line in Australia, the 15th highest poverty rate of all the OECD countries.

Just saying.

The Irish economy has now relatively recovered, and is currently on a bit of a positive march, but many people have fallen through the cracks, and the financial and fiscal crash of that time has left many long term victims.

And there's also a big problem with alcohol in the country. The Irish Health Board estimates that 70% of men and 34% of women (aged 15+) could be described as hazardous drinkers. We saw countless drunk people stumbling about being hazardous, and the pubs seem to do a roaring trade, even during the day. Weekend nights, and even some week nights, are nuts.

I don't want to overstate the problem, as of course it's quite varied, but I did see quite a lot of obviously drunk people staggering around the streets, some of them reminded me of the vodka-charged men you see stumbling around the streets in some of the ex-Soviet republics.

What the world looks like as a hazardous drinker.

We slept like tired-and-Guinness-imbued logs in our comfy hostel capsule beds, and Michael and I wandered the Dublin streets in the morning, as Manu continued to get her beauty sleep.

View from our hostel. Manu was in train heaven.

I don't think they want people to go up there.

Local cop shop

Someone nice blew Michael a kiss.

He blew one back.

Shonky deals in dingy alleys.

Ubiquitous umbrellas

Michael having a conversation with James Joyce, a very well known Irish writer, whose books Ulysses, The Dubliners and A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man are all regarded as literature classics.

The interior of the beautiful GPO building, which is historic not only for its architectural beauty, but for of its role in the Irish fight for independence from the British.

Independence

From its early history, the island of Ireland was occupied and administered on and off as a dependency of England, and then of Great Britain. It was ruled by English monarchs, and the state was dominated by the Protestant English (or Anglo Irish) minority. It's parliament was composed of Anglo-Irish nobles.

Over time land was confiscated from the native Irish Catholics, and colonised by Protestant settlers. The Irish Catholic minority suffered official discrimination under British laws. Catholicism was suppressed, and Catholics were barred from government, parliament, and most public offices.

This led to a number of uprisings over the centuries, most of which were brutally suppressed.

During the First World War, all members of the armed forces of the British Empire, including the Irish, fought for the Allies against the Germans, Ottomans, and the Austro-Hungarians. In 1916 the British Government introduced conscription into its armed forces, as the war was being fought on many fronts. The British army was short of manpower, and needed more corpses on the ground.

A large band of Irish independence fighters began a major uprising in protest at the conscription decree. The Irish fighters took control of the GPO and a number of other public buildings, but were defeated by the overwhelming force of the British after about a week of street fighting.

The Brits then executed many of the ringleaders, which led to a huge swell of support for the rebels, and their cause. Many Irish had initially disagreed with the uprising, but, when their countrymen were brutally executed, the dead rebels suddenly became martyrs. D'oh!

A war erupted, which lasted for six years, and culminated in the splitting of the country. The Irish Free State (now the Republic of Ireland), which accounts for 83% of the total land area of the island, gained independence in 1922, but the northeast corner remained under British rule, and was named Northern Ireland.

Many in the north have never accepted this outcome, and the bloody war against the British continued there for decades.

The Declaration of Independence in 1916.

I need one of these

A former church, now wrapped in glass

Waterskiing on horses

Polish stores. Poles have a long history in Ireland, and not just for holding up electric wiring and road signs. They are the largest immigrant group here, equal in number with migrants from the UK. When Poland became a member of the EU, Ireland was one of the first countries to allow Polish citizens the right to live and work there, and they came in droves.

Well, they flew or took the ferry, but anyway.

The outside of Molloy's pub. Someone smashed the front window overnight, no doubt in an attempt to swipe some much unneeded whisky.

Michael looking very Victorian

http://buymeacoffee.com/krolesh9

Go to Part 2