Have you ever had the urge to follow a portly, eccentric Irish actor into dark alleys and unknown pubs?
On a very basic level, it sounds like a terrible idea, especially for a gullible, young American woman. To be honest, I’d never thought of this question before last night. Upon entering a small room full of foreigners, Dubliners, and a motley crew of students, I barely noticed two men casually standing along the back wall. But, then, they spoke. However, spoke may very well be a terrible understatement. They performed. They preached. They grabbed each audience member by the soul and took a tango down a dance floor of Joyce, Wilde, and Shaw. And they had a pint or two along the way.
The Duke’s Literary Pub Crawl takes its naive, anxious volunteers on an alcoholic adventure to pubs and scenic spots that have particular value to famous Irish authors. Over the course of three hours, my intellectual comrades and I ventured down the streets of Dublin and into four pubs (the Duke, M.J. O’Neills, Davy Byrnes, and The Old Stand) listening to a middle-aged Irishman excitedly recall lines, bellow ballads, and discuss the importance of characters over pints of Guinness and tipsy smiles. By the end of the evening, I was sure that I was sitting alongside James Joyce, not my roommate.
As if the evening wasn’t invigorating enough, at each stop, we were asked trivia questions that would be combined for a competition at the end of the night. My not-so-secret inner nerd was overjoyed, as was my disturbingly-competitive inner athlete. Suffice to say that I was thrilled. As we ended the evening outside the Duke, my cider-hazy mind was still trying to maintain an air of composure for the competition. As the questions started, I found myself becoming increasingly excited as I managed to answer a few correctly. Five quick minutes, several unintentionally loud screams, and a happy dance later, I found myself finishing in second-place as my classmates hugged and high-fived me. My professors laughed as I was presented with my prize, a small bottle of Bushmills’ whiskey. Their faces went from happy to slightly concerned as I toasted my friends and took a long pull from the bottle. Oh, what a night to follow an old irish actor into the dark depths of Dublin. . .
On a very basic level, it sounds like a terrible idea, especially for a gullible, young American woman. To be honest, I’d never thought of this question before last night. Upon entering a small room full of foreigners, Dubliners, and a motley crew of students, I barely noticed two men casually standing along the back wall. But, then, they spoke. However, spoke may very well be a terrible understatement. They performed. They preached. They grabbed each audience member by the soul and took a tango down a dance floor of Joyce, Wilde, and Shaw. And they had a pint or two along the way.
The Duke’s Literary Pub Crawl takes its naive, anxious volunteers on an alcoholic adventure to pubs and scenic spots that have particular value to famous Irish authors. Over the course of three hours, my intellectual comrades and I ventured down the streets of Dublin and into four pubs (the Duke, M.J. O’Neills, Davy Byrnes, and The Old Stand) listening to a middle-aged Irishman excitedly recall lines, bellow ballads, and discuss the importance of characters over pints of Guinness and tipsy smiles. By the end of the evening, I was sure that I was sitting alongside James Joyce, not my roommate.
As if the evening wasn’t invigorating enough, at each stop, we were asked trivia questions that would be combined for a competition at the end of the night. My not-so-secret inner nerd was overjoyed, as was my disturbingly-competitive inner athlete. Suffice to say that I was thrilled. As we ended the evening outside the Duke, my cider-hazy mind was still trying to maintain an air of composure for the competition. As the questions started, I found myself becoming increasingly excited as I managed to answer a few correctly. Five quick minutes, several unintentionally loud screams, and a happy dance later, I found myself finishing in second-place as my classmates hugged and high-fived me. My professors laughed as I was presented with my prize, a small bottle of Bushmills’ whiskey. Their faces went from happy to slightly concerned as I toasted my friends and took a long pull from the bottle. Oh, what a night to follow an old irish actor into the dark depths of Dublin. . .
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| It was love at first pub. . . |
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