last retail sweep of the south side of Dublin, and the last few centimeters of unused space that remained after she packed us up this morning will soon be gone.Also gone is most of our stash of euros, that magical money that is small and pretty to look at and doesn't seem quite real. The 1 and 2 euro coins are thick and remind me of the foil-wrapped chocolate coins in childhood Christmas stockings. (But I've checked. There is no chocolate inside euro coins.)
Elsewhere in our lives, we are reluctant shoppers most of the time, venturing out into the marketplace when we need something but never shopping for recreation. We did not spend much money at all on this trip... until Sunday, the day designated as Jo and Annie's Official Big Holiday Shopping Extravaganza. Oh, the Irish swag we gathered! Oh, the heavy bags we swung from each arm! Who knew there were so many pleasant ways to part with our money in Dublin?
Now, if I were to itemize, it might ruin the Christmas surprise effect for a few folks who may be reading this, so I'll just say that Ireland is known for producing marvelous woolens and tweeds and pottery and jewelry and... well, that's all I'm saying.
Sunday was a joyous day--clear, not too cold, lots of Christmas shoppers on the streets, holiday music playing everywhere. Well not everywhere. One jewelry shop was playing Space Oddity, the Bowie song I referred to in my first blog entry. Hearing it at the end of my trip amused me. The Polish shopgirl with the piercings (not containing jewelry from her own shop, incidentally) said the staff doesn't want to get sick of holiday music too soon, so they're putting off playing it for as long as they can. Amen to that, sister. I'll take Bowie over Bing any day. (Come to think of it, Bowie recorded Little Drummer Boy with Bing. How about that?)We had Sunday brunch at the restaurant upstairs at the Kilkenny shop because, well, we like it there. They offer a lunch comprised of slices of cold roast turkey on a plate with a choice of three freshly made salads next to it. Yummy things like shredded carrots and sunflower seeds, new potatoes in olive oil and garlic, shredded red cabbage and apples, fresh fruit salad, and on and on. Plus pots of good tea and slices of dense brown bread. Happy tummy time. In fact, it was so good that we went back again today for lunch, only Jo opted for tandori chicken with sides of cauliflower gratin and braised cabbage. I had turkey and salads again, including bulgar wheat and cucumber with cumin. Major yum.
Today there was an elderly gentleman dressed in tweeds over by the window, ostensibly reading the paper but nodding off into varying degrees of unconsciouness that eventually had him limp and snoozing in his chair. I was a little concerned but Jo said he was still breathing. He'd come to with a start and then doze off again. I can think of worse places to take a nap than upstairs in the restaurant at the Kilkenny shop.
Yes, there pubs everywhere in Dublin, and tourists do come here just to pub crawl. Pubs play a significant role in Irish literature and Irish life. But after some experimentation, we have decided that we are not pub people. For starters, we don't drink, and we don't like being in close proximity to people who have been drinking. And pubs are about lots of social interaction, while we are for the most part quiet people who prefer to observe strangers rather than engage with them. Also, traditional pub fare isn't very appealing to either of us, and the nouveau pub fare we've seen is more like American food we tend to avoid at home anyway. Sweet mother of prayer. Could we be any more boring? Perhaps not. But we've decided that going to pubs isn't much fun. We walked into the Stag's Head yesterday, took in the legendary Victorian decor, made our way through the crush of people drinking at or near the bar, and exited out the back door. So much for that.
So pubs in general get two thumbs down, but interesting restaurants are another story. We ended up yesterday at Yamamora, a busy Japanese place full of people far more hip than we, where we couldn't get a table on Saturday night. We bypassed the sushi menu and ordered hot and tasty dishes containing chicken and vegetables, although it was difficult to see any of what was served because they dimmed the lights dramatically just after we were seated. Ordering was a squinting crapshoot, but we were both happy with the meals that arrived. Mine had a nice ginger flavor going on and interesting veggies buried underneath, and Jo's was served with a little side bowl of miso soup that she liked. It was good to rest awhile and share a hot meal at the end of a busy shopping day. But the distracted wait staff contributed to the harried feel of the restaurant, and our waiter seemed a little put out that we didn't order drinks, starters or dessert. Oh well. I think you reach an age where snooty waiters and overpriced menus stop being impressive and start being ludicrous. I'm definitely there. I think Jo may there with me. Alas, we will never be hip foodies. Just foodies.I do admit to being occasionally intimidated, however. Today we went walking at pink sunset to find the Shelbourne Hotel, the headquarters of Dublin poshness since the Victorians built the
place on Merrion Square. Just going through the revolving door and into the lobby in my Reeboks had me feeling hopelessly schlubby. In a bar off the left side of the lobby, behind a side 
table laden with pots of gorgeous red amaryllis and poinsettias and bundles of cinnamon tied with red ribbon, were lots of fashionable men and women, the latter in high heels, little trendy dresses and an air of ennui, having drinks. Across the lobby, past the gorgeous big fir tree all done in big red and gold balls and little white lights, was the entrance to the legendary tea room. Attempting inconspicuosity, I listened to the piano music and took in the linen-covered tables full of mostly women--the sort that might have once been called dowagers, perfectly groomed, with their well-behaved if bored children and grandchildren--all seated on pale upholstered chairs, having tea and cakes and sandwiches. I was thinking, wait, what year is this? Jo loitered patiently at the foot of the lobby staircase while I wished I was dressed more appropriately and had a reservation. Little sigh. (Note to Babs: Next year, you are coming to Dublin, and we are going to the Shelbourne for tea.) We took some pix outside, but it wasn't the same. A random courier guy kindly offered to take our photo together as we stood somewhat pathetically on the sidewalk, looking past the big window wreaths into the warm illumination of the Shelbourne Hotel. Big sigh.
Carrying our bags from the last bits of Christmas shopping, we walked along the square back to Grafton St, where we saw two different sand sculpture artists at work. One was sculpting a puppy lying on a rug that was so real I did an actual double take. We saw a big English sheepdog--a real one--sitting obediently next to a similarly well-behaved German Shepherd outside a 
jewelry store. I heard a busker playing the guitar intro to I Feel Fine, a Beatles song I like so much that it's on my iPod. (I have heard a lot of my iPod playlists here in Dublin. Either the Irish have good taste or I'm not as hopelessly unhip as I feel.) Jo spotted a #43 Steelers jersey on a young man up ahead (Go Troy), so we kind of stalked him to get a photo. (Not too many Steelers fans here in Dublin. Go figure.) Jo had an 
unfortunate collision with an iron post on Grafton when she was looking the other way, walking and talking at the same time. The medical reports aren't back yet, but we think she'll live. The street was crowded and bright under a dark blue sky. We were taking it all in, knowing that we won't see any of it for a while, at least.From Grafton we headed across Exchequer to George's, in search of a hot drink. We found a little place called Cafe Bar Deli, which we have decided was named for the owner, a Mr. Bardelli, who put together the lovely little Italian menu we saw at the bar and is making his fortune in cosmopolitan Dublin. (Or not.) We sat at the marble bar (no deli) awhile and ordered a coffee for me and a tea for Jo, and we decided we might come back later for dinner because the menu looked quite nice and we liked the music playing.
And here we are now, back at the flat for our last evening in Dublin. Jo has come in while I'm blogging away here and announced that everything is packed. That girl can pack suitcases like
nobody else! When we were outside the Shelbourne, Jo had a call on her Ireland cell phone from John Nolan, confirming that he'll be picking us up at about 4:45 a.m. tomorrow. Wow. It's time to go home already.Later that night...
Well, we went to Cafe Bar Deli for a late dinner, and it was wonderful. We're both wishing we'd discovered the place sooner. Jo had her favorite spaghetti bolognese, and I had pasta tossed in a lemon infused olive oil, a little tomato pesto, cubes of roasted eggplant, and some chopped toasted hazelnuts, and topped with raw rocket (arugula) and shaved parmesan. (I know, Kyle, doesn't it sound fabulous? It was!) We sat and talked about Ireland and how much we have enjoyed our time here. We're both ready to go home, but walking back up Dame St for the last time was bittersweet.
I feel as if I just got here, and I feel as if I have been here for years. I think I could love Dublin. To know for sure, I may just have to come back.
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