Gaelic Girls in Dublin - Maggie tries a pub crawl

Painting the town green...a pub crawl in Dublin

I’m not the kind of girl that has ever been accused of leaving a party too early. In fact, I’ve been known to ‘chug-a-lug’ with the best of them. So, when it came time to choose a study abroad destination, Ireland seemed the perfect fit. I could justify those drinking habits of mine cuz, ya know, ‘that’s what they do there’.

After a lengthy flight, I landed in Dublin ready to hit the town and paint it red…or green. Keep in mind, I had just arrived and everything was all so new and green to me! My first thought – I have to find out the answer to the question on every American college kid’s mind. “Do they really drink green beer?” (OK – maybe I sound a little naive, but seriously, I’ve never been anywhere! This is my first real adventure, on my own, and I intend to make the most of it.)

After arriving at my new student ‘digs,’ I met my roommates, engaged in some small talk, and quickly began sizing up which one would be my partner in crime. As it turns out – none of them!

After pleading with a few of the other girls to join me on a traditional pub crawl, I was unable to convince any of them to prop up a bar stool with me while I find the ‘craic’ in Dublin. To be fair, it was only 2.30 pm in the afternoon, and the others were more interested in sight-seeing and exploring their new city, but all that was screaming inside of me was ‘Boring! Plenty of time for that! Let’s start the party, get our drink on, and meet some Irish boys’. So, donning my finest GAP ensemble, complete with my brand new cute and comfy Uggs, I was ready to hit the best watering holes that Dublin has to offer.

Ten minutes later I’m standing all by myself in O’Connell Street, armed with only a piece of paper bearing a few recommended pub names scribbled down. Setting off in the direction of Temple Bar, (I know, I know, how touristy and clichéd of me), I’m wondering if maybe drinking by myself in the middle of the afternoon is such a great idea after all. Maybe my friends back home are right, I am a lush!

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All of those thoughts immediately disappeared once I found Oliver St. John Gogarty’s pub. The place was bumping! You could barely move in there with fellow drinkers swaying to and fro. You’d swear U2 were playing a free gig there and Bono was signing autographs at the bar.

Hearing my mid-west accent order a pint of the ‘black stuff’ over the bar, a couple of American guys swaggered over to introduce themselves, (insert mental eye-roll). Could they not see that I was here to meet some witty Irish men who were going to entertain me for the rest of the afternoon? No offense American men. You guys have the looks, but Irish men have that sneaky charm down to a T!

Wriggling myself away from the unimaginative questions from my fellow yanks such as ‘So, you like to drink Guinness huh?’, I manage to spot a free stool near the men’s bathroom, or ‘jacks’ as they like to call them over here. It didn’t take me long to realize it’s the smelliest part of the pub and I knew that I’d have to relocate before I puked. Guess there was a good reason why that stool was free!

Just as my Uggs hit the sticky floor, I bump into a handsome looking man who flashes me a great big smile. I smile back thinking he’s quite cute and hoping he’s spotted me from across the bar to come and rescue me. ‘Excuse me, you’re in my way love, I need to get to the jacks’.

Hmmm…guess not. Disappointed, I headed upstairs to see what the music was like.

A few more pints and those Uggs of mine were cutting a rug on the make-shift dance floor. I was having the time of my life – I felt like Kate Winslet in Titanic as she’s being spun around by Leo.

A little tipsy at this stage, I literally fall into a group of boys who are none too happy to pick my sorry butt up. One of them throws me a ‘Tsk, tsk, typical American’ look, but gives me a wink and helps me back up on my wobbly legs. As I’m dusting myself down and fixing my lob-sided ponytail, he puts out his hand and introduces himself as Ciaran, “with a ‘C’ and I’m a cheeky chap from Louth, but don’t hold that against me please”.

Upon hearing my American twang, he informs me that he has a weakness for American gals, lucky me! Offering to buy me a pint, we head straight for the bar where it’s less noisy and I can hear that yummy Irish brogue I’ve been dying to get up close and personal with.

A few pints later and clearly not understanding a word he is saying, his friends interrupt us with the news that they’re heading off and if he’s going to ‘get the shift’ he better do it quickly. Now, for those of you that aren’t aware of what ‘getting the shift’ is, it means a kiss. Without warning, or explanation of a shift, he lunges at me with an open tongue and his eyes tightly shut.

Before I know it, it’s over. Isn’t that always the way girls? Grabbing his phone quickly so as not to keep the lads waiting, he asks for my number, claiming if I want a ‘truly authentic experience’ of Ireland, he’s the only man in town that can show me a good time. How can I resist?

One more pint on my own and this self-confessed ‘party animal’ is ready to hit the hay, and it’s only 8pm! So much for my great reputation of being a wild drinking girl, must be something in the Guinness here.

Peeling my eyes open the next morning, I discover I have a hangover the size of Texas and a text from Ciaran asking if I would like a personal tour of Dublin sometime on the arm of a rugged, handsome Irishman. Dying to ask him which rugged, handsome Irishman he is referring to, I decide I’ll leave the cheekiness to him while I do my best to coherently text back ‘That would be swell’. I actually never say that, but since he has a thing for us American girls, I reckon I’ll throw him a bone and make his day.

Til next time…
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