I didn't do that.
It was Irish wind, that. We had flown for an hour across the turquoise sea, across the patchwork fields of Southern England and the glistening Severn Estuary. Tiny cars, factories, houses and towns had glinted beneath the wispy clouds as the Boeing 737-800 had rumbled above. Finally, the plane had screamed to a halt on the roaring runway, the seatbelt sign had bing-bonged off and a crowd of Irish people and I, had filed out into the sunlight at the top of the steps.
This is my third capital city break so far: Dublin, the great shining city on the Liffey. It's not like Cardiff or Edinburgh, the two I've done already. I know you'll find this hard to believe but it didn't really compute until I arrived here - that this is actually a foreign country! I had always said I wanted to visit the UK's capital cities; for some reason, Dublin was also always part of the plan. In my mind it's part of us, and yet it so clearly isn't - a paradox which I think might run through the heart of it this weekend. And so anyway, I am here in this weird, familiar, strange yet homely city.
I descended the steps along with everyone else (imagining myself shaking hands with a suited dignitary whom I suspect would have ushered me towards a bank of imaginary microphones). Then anonymously, I followed everyone else into the terminal, without a word.
Moments later, I was through immigration, folding away my passport and suddenly given the freedom of Ireland. And yet, as the terminal doors swung open, I had to check that I hadn't accidentally wandered into a parallel universe. On this side of the terminal, the side with buses and taxis (instead of gigantic aeroplanes and moving staircases), a shower of rain was just fizzling out, and the concrete was wet with shiny puddles as though it had been raining all day!
Welcome to Ireland! said a massive sign. Indeed.
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"This is Cathal Brugha!" called the bus driver, back down the bus in a lilting Dublin accent. I leapt to my feet and pushed the button. A Japanese couple did the same, both slightly disappointed that I'd reacted faster. My bag bounced on my back as I stumbled up towards the dusty double-doors. It was rather like being on a bus in the 1990s.
The doors hissed open and I thanked the driver and leapt out, marching confidently in the direction I thought was right.
I had to stop after only a few paces...
There, arms outstretched and with beatific smile upon his little face, was Plastic Jesus, looking straight at me from the inside of a Perspex box. It looked for all the world like he was trapped in there, as though he'd wandered in to make a phone call and couldn't get out - presumably for theological reasons.
Apparently he was there on the pavement, to 'bless our taxi drivers' which I think must absolutely be true, because I've heard taxi drivers often calling out his name in times of great need and trouble, especially amidst the substandard driving skills of (what appears to be) every other road user. They could use a blessing, those taxi drivers.
So could have I, looking for my hotel. The Irish road-naming system seems to be that every other street gets a road-sign and you'll just have to work out the rest yourself. The sky went weird and green and I felt a few spots in the air, so I found a map, found the road I thought I was looking for on it, and trusted my famous navigation skills. About half-an-hour later, I was accidentally back at Plastic Jesus, who grinned and was no help at all. I'm pretty sure he was just trying to get me to take a taxi.
So, here I am then. I don't know much about Dublin yet. Hopefully it will unfold a bit more tomorrow. So far, I'd say it's genteel, but not as genteel as Edinburgh; it's thrusting and dynamic in some places, but without the youthful ambition of Cardiff. It seems to have its fair-share of grot and sparkle like any major city. There are fabulous old Georgian fanlight windows, there are kebab shops with neon signs. There are porches and pillars and tall, square windows; there are boarded-up fronts and demolition sites. But maybe I'm being unfair so far.
One thing is for sure though: I'm glad I brought my raincoat.
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