Dublin

I walked morosely and somewhat self-consciously through the streets of Ireland's capital city and pondered the singular problem that continuously assailed me on my travels. It was one that had struck me before when I had visited the place - the difficulties I encountered when presented with the task of finding a particular address in Dublin. Piece of paper? Check. Name, house number, street address? Check, check, check. Refusal to use a map? Check. This latter stipulation is essential for the full impact of the frustration I was thinking about. It seems that to find a particular address in Dublin is nigh-on impossible if one doesn't have a detailed map of the city. Find a needle in a haystack? No problem. Find a house in Dublin? "And don't try asking anyone" I thought. Asking a human being in Dublin for even the simplest directions is to invite massive time-loss and a huge footwear bill.

It takes some time, first of all, to find a person who is willing to give them. One is repeatedly struck by the arresting notion that Dublin is entirely populated by half-blind foreigners from distant shores who seem to wander aimlessly through streets the names of which they don't know and presumably rest their heads in whatever apartments or houses they just happen to end up being near at nightfall. I am certain that Dublin mothers frequently have to tell their children that daddy will not be returning home that evening because he has gone for a short stroll that morning but not to worry, a new daddy will probably be along at some stage during the early evening and to leave the table laid for dinner.

Just go to Dublin yourself and try to get directions to an address or even a street (pick a very very prominent and long shopping street for extra amusement). People will try to pretend to not actually BE from Dublin, seemingly forgetting that a life-long Dublin accent is a very difficult thing to conceal even from the most untrained ear.
"OIM NO' FRAUM DOOBLIN" is a frequent response to requests for direction. Occasionally this can be suffixed with
"OI HAAVEN'T A CLEOO"* (*"I am quite unsure of that, sir") before the would-be Samaritan scurries off down some dark alley. However, it is the people who attempt to give guidance who turn out to be the most frustrating.

It seems that the good people of Dublin are intent on the visitor to see as much of their (fair) city as possible. In a more innocent phase of my life, I had asked for directions to a particular street. Not only could I not get accurate guidance from the locals but they sent me here, there and everywhere with friendly smiles and assurances that their directions were the correct ones and I would soon find myself at my destination and to look them up the next time I found myself in the area and we could go for a pint and a lengthy chat. It was the last part that particularly intrigues me: the friendliness with which they sent me packing in what often turned out to be the opposite direction to my attended goal. There was the case of the elderly lady who had, with supreme confidence and self-assurance sent me in the exact opposite direction to where I needed to be. It was only by asking a postman that I was saved from ending up somewhere in Northern Ireland. Go to Dublin but bring plenty of time, stout shoes and an adventurous spirit. If you want to discover the city, set out (sans map of course) for a particular goal (a famous monument or landmark, say), ask a passing stranger for directions to said monument and prepare yourself for an epic voyage to nowhere.