First steps in Dublin lead us to an Irish/Italian Cafe Bar serving homely food in cosy surroundings. Two bottles of Jameson* later we tuck into food that smells and tastes like our mothers made it.It being Friday night our habitual back street wander took us into cobbled streets alive with the sounds of boisterous fun being had just out of sight. A few men leaned on walls for support as they splashily dampened their boots with misdirected urine. Dublin is new to us, but not. Dublin feels like a mythical, hidden suburb of New York or Chicago. A concentrated, vivid place full of young people. Two of them stopped us in the street to take a selfie, perhaps thrilled that people over 40 had joined them in their night-time place. Too soon our travel weary knees called us away to a sofa and curative cups of tea. As we slept the night noises of Temple Bar kept going until they were chased away by the dawn chorus and road sweepers. Tweaking Dublin back to perfection after a bachanalian night just beyond our windows .
* Jameson bottles used as water carafes @theoldmortuary would barely function after two glasses.
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