Even though I am no fan of Guinness, still I felt compelled to visit its fifty-acre Storehouse/shrine while in Ireland. I guess I thought it would taste different (re: good) here at the source, but nope, not to me. However, after what I learned today, that is apparently because I have not mastered the complicated, many-stepped process of properly downing a pint of the ruby red stuff (it involves breath control, timing, etc., etc., sheesh). Weirdly, although the place was packed with about a zillion people, there was A LOT of unfinished beer left at the final tasting . . . The glass I photographed below was left sitting untouched on a table, and I was unsuccessful in finding a taker when I was done. A mystery!
Coolest factoid of the day: the original lease for the site, dated 1759, was for 9,000 years.
After the brewery visit, I wandered a bit and found an excellent little vegan restaurant on the banks of the Liffey, took photos of signs and lampposts, got pooped on twice by big gulls, discovered that the internet lies sometimes, and then headed back to my hotel. Around two this morning, neighbors adjacent to my room began a multi-houred, extremely loud argument, so I got less than four hours of sleep. I’m calling it a day now at three p.m. Gonna kick back and finish my latest Tara French novel, and that is a-okay, especially now that I’ve seen the Dublin Murder Squad headquarters with my own two eyes.
Live all you can. It’s a mistake not to.