While Penn was inventing new words for parties (what the hell is a "snarty?") in Philadelphia, I was getting (Irish) jiggy with it amongst hordes of leprechaun–garbed partiers in Dublin. So what are the real sights and sounds (s/o Street Beats) of St. Patrick's Day? We're taking you from 34th Street to Grafton Street to find out—drunken interviews included.
10:00 a.m.: Day starts at our hostel. We get free breakfast (toast and Guinness, yum) before we get our faces painted by Caolainn, a hostel employee. I ask Caolainn what her favorite Irish song is, a question I will repeatedly ask as I stumble around for the rest of the day. She tells me it’s “Come Out Ye Black and Tans,” an old Irish rebel song from the 1920s about the British soldiers who wore black and tan uniforms that had come to quash the uprising. I thank her for my lovely Irish flag face paint and slaughter the pronunciation of her name.
10:30 a.m.: I have a plan to smuggle more Guinness. So I go to the hostel counter, ask an employee named Alexandra what her favorite Irish song is as a distraction ("Galway Girl," original, by the way) as I swipe another cup of beer. Success.
11:00 a.m.: We head to the parade and stop by Temple Bar, one of the most famous (and touristy) places in Dublin. Green outfits, Irish Flags and American accents galore.
11:30 a.m.: We’re standing in line waiting for the parade. I can feel someone breathing on my neck, and I am involuntarily pushed up against some poor woman’s bum.
12:00 p.m.: Parade has started north of the river. It is now a waiting game.
12:15 p.m.: Fifteen minutes pass. Rations are disappearing and morale is low.
12:30 p.m.: Everyone I am surrounded by is substantially less sober than I am. I’m sober on Saint Patrick’s Day in Dublin, why haven’t I been deported yet?
12:45 p.m.: Are you there, God? It’s me, Angela. Where’s the parade?
1:00 p.m.: Parade is here, but it’s weird. Giant raven float passes by while Evanescence’s “My Immortal” plays in the background. Also, it’s raining.
1:30 PM: We are dripping with rain and I can’t feel my fingers, so we leave the parade and go to a random cafe to eat and warm up.
3:00 p.m.: We end up at Bad Bob’s, an Irish club with five floors of utter madness. I’m starting to think the Irish actively avoid this holiday as drunk people with a multitude of accents that aren’t Irish crash into me. Then we meet Val, a drunk Irish woman who professes her love for us and Ed Sheeran’s “Galway Girl.” Me too, Val, me too.
5:00 p.m.: The group strolls into Temple Bar after navigating through road block after road block. A weird amount of Penn people are there, so the FOMO feels better. The Irish seem to love Ed Sheeran, as Temple Bar alternates between classic bangers and new Ed Sheeran songs and dub him “the Englishman who is an honorary Irishman.”
8:00 p.m.: Finally, a dinner break. Up until this point I’ve consumed only beer and bread—literally. Just a lot of Guinness and two barely substantial pieces of toast for breakfast.
11:00 p.m.: We head out to Dtwo, a nightclub on the big club street, Harcourt St. If I had a Fitbit, I would be so pleased with my athletic prowess. Take that, third floor of Pottruck!
11:30 p.m.: Still in line… but manage to ask a random Irish guy (hi to Sam Keegan!) about St. Patty’s. He avoids Temple Bar (oops), loves rugby (Six Nations is on at the moment) and loves the song “Sean South of Garryowen.”
11:45 p.m.: We’re in! I bump into pretty chick Lorenna from the Outlands and she tells me that she loves my top. Nothing like some old fashioned bathroom girl–bonding. We take a picture and she tells me she loves "Galway Girl"—but the original version, not Eddy’s.
12:00 a.m.: We are reunited with our friends Katie and Kyra (actual Irish people). It’s tradition at this point to ask what their favorite Irish song is. Apparently, it’s “Take me Home, Country Road,” which, though it’s also a song by country singer John Denver, is popular as an Irish anthem.
1:00 a.m.: The rest of the night is fun, blurry and filled with fiddles. No, really. People were doing Irish jigs at the club. I attempted to jig. I failed miserably. I somehow made it back to my hostel and lived to tell the tale.
And that’s a wrap!
Pro–tips:
Bring your fake. A lot of bars won’t let you in if you’re under 21, probably due to crowding.
Don’t try to smuggle alcohol in. There are police guarding all of the roadblocks and checking bags for alcohol. I saw a man throw away a precious, unopened liter of Jameson. It was the saddest sight I’ve ever had to witness.
Get into the Irish music! Be like Ed Sheeran. Who doesn’t love Ed Sheeran?
Photo: LenDog64 / Flickr
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