Whiskey Tears

Strong drinks and stronger feelings in Dublin

“You were here this spring, were you not?”

The guard at border control looked down at my passport book, turning the page. “And last summer, as well.” She raised her strawberry blonde eyebrows. “Well, well. What are you doing here so often?”

Both of those visits were specifically for writing workshops. I explained this to the guard, as well as my current intentions of coming to Ireland for Christmas shopping and tourist fun with my mom. She asked me a few other questions: did I have a place to stay? Did I have a job in the states? Did I have a return flight? Yes; I do (I hate it, but that’s irrelevant); indeed. We went over the queries again before my passport received yet another green stamp and my mom and I were free to continue onward. 

River Liffey in Dublin

I first traveled to Ireland nearly a decade ago, a summer trip to Shannon where I had my breath taken away seeing the Cliffs of Moher, tried lamb stew in a pub, and wore three layers of wool in July. A couple years later, I spent New Years in Enniskerry drinking Baileys hot chocolate by the fire and walking the beautiful grounds of Powerscourt Estate. I made it to Dublin the summer after I graduated from NYU. Strolling around in a newsboy cap and Chelsea boots, I knew it was the beginning of me and the city’s beautiful friendship.

My first stop whenever I arrive is always Bewley’s iconic cafe on Grafton Street. For nearly 100 years, the bustling restaurant and bakery has been serving up strong cups of tea, scrumptious sticky buns, and the tastiest breakfast. It’s the best way to settle in. I also enjoy picking up a book from Dubray’s bookshop.

Timmy enjoying a big Bewley’s breakfast

If the weather holds, I’ll mosey up Grafton Street after breakfast and listen to the buskers. Then I’ll spend a few hours sitting in St. Stephen’s Green. Ideally on a bench where I can watch the many birds flying around. It was especially beautiful as the leaves were still undergoing their seasonal change. 

I usually try to stay out of the madness of Temple Bar, though an ice cream from Cloud 9 never hurts anyone, and it happens to be decked out in Christmas decorations right now. Murphys is another delicious spot for a frozen treat. My favorite pub is Lincoln’s Inn, the place where James Joyce met his beloved Nora Barnacle. It’s fitted with Victorian fixtures, friendly staff members, and a delicious menu full of classic Irish comfort foods. The beef & Guinness pie is perfectly filling for a cold evening. 

Speaking of Irish alcohol, a trip to the Jameson Distillery on Bow Street won’t disappoint. They offer unique tasting experiences and even a cocktail-making class. I’ve been twice, once at 10 AM (no shame). I’ve learned a lot about how the booze is made, as well as establishing I’ll be drinking whiskey cranberries for life. Additionally, no visit to Dublin is complete without a shop through George’s Street Arcade, a red-bricked shopping center filled with unique stalls. My favorites are Maktus, a bawdy card and gift shop, and Retro, which sells vintage-inspired clothes including colorful petticoats. Once all of this fills my suitcase to the brim, I’ll probably make my way back to the park for a sit and a think.

Dublin also has a way of making me consider big questions. The first time I was a new college grad, terrified over what came next. Last year, I was at my wits end at an underpaying job. This spring, I was trying to find my way back into writing and feared it wasn’t in the cards. Each trip brought me an answer, or at least moved in the right direction toward one. I had high hopes that this time the park would provide the same.

I arrived with a lot of questions. In fact, I had some version of every query I’ve ever brought there before, and then some. Do I quit writing? My job? Just…generally? Could a foreign park really provide what talking and journaling and losing sleep hadn’t? 

St. Stephen’s Green in November

Locating a comfortable, empty bench, I took a seat and started to ponder. About myself, about the world, about the future. And then, of course, I cried. Not quite in the way I cried later that night in the pub with a double shot of Jameson in my hand, but definitely more than a grown adult should do in public. What made this crying different, though, was it didn’t feel good. Instead of the usual relief, my eyes hurt. They barely shut. It’s as if they were protesting this cop-out response, almost like they wanted to push me to actually do the work of being a little positive instead of my usual overwhelmed, anxious, pessimistic self.

I wish I could tell you I took the hint from the world around me. That I wrote, that I snapped out of it. But alas... I was still crying on the flight back to London. I may or may not still be crying now.

Last week, I was fully convinced running away from my problems could bring solutions. I thought I felt better and saw a path forward. This week, not so much. I’m trying to be okay with that and to accept feeling thrown off course. I’m trying, desperately, to feel hope in whatever forms I can find, like good tea and kind strangers in bars who smile when they see your red, tear-stained face. I’m reckoning with failure to try to prevent it from wrecking me. And since I’ve just drafted this, I guess I’m not totally giving up on the whole writer thing just yet. Time will tell.

The Temple Bar decked out for Christmas

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Rachel’s Weekly Recs:

• In the airport duty free, I found a whiskey that speaks to my soul: Writers Tears Red Head. Beyond describing my usual aesthetic, this fruity single malt takes inspiration from melted milk chocolate, candied orange peel, and Christmas spices. Pretty sure if I ever mysteriously turn into a bottle of alcohol, it will be this.

• I broke two of the buttons on my jacket whilst traveling, giving me a perfect excuse to find a new one. The Maureen Tweed Coat from Branigan Weavers (mine is green) is warm, cozy, and classic. Weavers of Ireland’s website is also having deep discounts for Black Friday if you’re in the market for a special present for someone.

• Broke down and finally bought my copy of Intermezzo by Sally Rooney. So far, this book feels even more psychologically astute than her previous work, although definitely less sexy. We shall see where it lands on my overall Rooney rankings.