Irish Merriment

= Temple Bar district, downtown Ireland =

Normally 5 jock-looking men dressed in florescent pink, with crimped hair, would cause serious whiplash. But tonight, no one takes particular note of the group of guys in neon 80's attire that just walked into the bar. Why? Because there is already a man dressed as a leprecon at the bar shaking his money-maker, four women dressed as fairies strumming their legs like guitars and a Guerrilla who looks like he has ants in his pants. Free spirit, jolliness and friendship are on open tab tonight in the heart of Dublin.

Shoulder, to shoulder, bars are sardined with people singing Beatles, Elton John, or whatever the master live musician might strum out next. The night looked like a sing-off competition for the loudest singer. Suddenly, one woman gets a good idea – she hops up on the couch where the airwaves seem to be clear. She belts out the next phrase while her hands, overhead, enunciate the beat. Another woman shakes her head at the crowd like my dog Lucy does after an ocean-swim. Bars and restaurants are so crammed that they are no longer a sea of individuals but have gelled into singular beings with wiggly tentacle parts.

So after my three day weekend in Ireland, I think it's safe to say that the rumor that Irish are bubbling personalities and know how to have fun, in an understatement.

The French have mastered elegance, the Italian’s have mastered pleasure, but the Irish…oh the Irish…have master the art of having a dang good time. And what brings them to such a heightened state of festive bliss tonight? Well… duh… Monday is a bank holiday.