Falling For Dublin

When I first met Dublin, I wasn’t feeling it. While there were a few appealing features (pubs, gorgeous parks, Beef and Guiness Stew), for a city I had heard so much about, overall I was not attracted. I could not see a commitment happening here: nothing stood out as charming or unique. But I was only a 20 minute train ride from Dublin, so I continued to date the city and discover Dublin slowly. That is how I fell in love with Dublin, slowly.

Thinking back on my affair with the city and the moment exactly when affection bloomed, I keep coming back to the cab ride I took to the Kilmainham Gaol. As Fate would have it, I had woken late on this particular morning and was forced to grab a cab from the train station to the prison in order to make my tour time. What would have been a 15 minute walk, turned into an impressionable five minute cab ride.

It started innocently enough with me telling the driver my destination and that I was running a bit behind. He told me I would arrive in plenty of time and asked if I knew anything about the prison. “Just the information in my guidebook,” I said. “Is it an interesting tour?” And off he went.

He began with restrained passion telling the story of the execution of Easter Rising leaders at Kilmainham. How they fought for Irish Independence even though the majority of people were not behind the cause; however, public opinion turned once the executions began and  the stories of those who lead and fought in the rising were shared.

My interest in the topic spurred him on and by the time we pulled up to the prison, he had one hand on the wheel and the other was waving about in exasperation. He was fired up. I was fired up. Off to the Gaol I went.

In Kilmainham I learned more about those who fought for Irish Independence through the decades. How often those individuals either met their death or were deported to Australia; either way, forever leaving their home. We visited the chapel where Grace and Joseph Plunkett married the night prior to his execution at Kilmainham for his part in the Easter Rising, and the cell where they had ten minutes to say goodbye to one another without speaking a word under a guard’s watch. Following Joseph’s execution, Grace took up the fight for Irish independence and spent time in Kilmainham herself. As an artist, she attempted to brighten her surroundings by decorating the walls. One illustration remains at the back of her cell of the Madonna and child. I cannot even fathom her strength.

Walking through the prison, you feel the ghosts around you. Entering the courtyard where the leaders of the Easter Rising were executed, where one was strapped to a chair to be executed because his ankle was shattered and could not stand, it is eerie and chilling. I couldn’t help imaging Joseph Plunkett standing before a stone wall with a new ring on his finger waiting to be shot. I did not take photos here. It didn’t feel right.

Kilmainham Gaol is just one physical example of the driving need from the Irish to be independent from Britain and with my eyes opened a bit, I started to see more examples of Irish pride. Pride in their language. Pride in their independence. Pride in their people and history. Pride that no matter what happened or how much time went by, their determination to stand on their own never wavered. That pride and determination is admirable and captivating.

With my eyes open, I saw Dublin in a different light and it is a remarkably unique and charming city. I feel like the statue of Dubliner Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square Park pretty much sums up the city’s spirit. Nonchalantly leaning back with a mocking stare and a cocky grin. “Give me the best you got,” he says. “In the end, I will still be here.”

And that is Dublin: cocky, determined, and still standing. How could I not fall for that?