– In the airport passport line we’re behind two young Irish men. The security agent starts talking to them, realizes they share an accent, and shouts, “You two are Irish! You’re in the wrong bloody line!”
– At the entrance of Trinity College two boys try to sneak by a cop with skateboards under their arm. He grabs both of them firmly by the shoulders and says to the little punks, “Not in here, boys.” One of them mutters, “Someone takes their job too seriously.”
– Walking by the Liffey, a boy of about ten goes to a payphone, makes a call, and yells, “Pick up the fucking phone!”
– Outside of Trinity College three men, one with a loudspeaker, are yelling about Merkel; they had been for some time, despite no one joining what they probably hoped would be a protest. Dublin is a political city: five seconds here can tell you that. There are about ten police officers and a police van watching them suspiciously.
– A small exhibit in the Dublin City Gallery containing at least a dozen of blank, white paintings by William McKeown. Entirely. White.
– The Barracks that became the Royal Barracks, which then became the Collins Barracks (that’s Michael Collins), and is now the Museum of Ireland Decorative Arts and History. It’s where Wolfe Tone died, now it has Michael Collins’ pistol. Next door to it is basically a warehouse with the Asgard, a yacht that ran guns for the Irish Civil War.
– A foppish Oscar Wilde statue, a lovely illuminated manuscript, ancient churches, Six Nations fans, and reggae street music on every corner.