Eye on Ireland
In the green in the Green

Going home to Dublin
By MaureenBrigid Gonzalez

The air without is impregnated with raindew moisture,
life essence celestial, glistering on Dublin stone there under starshiny coelum. 
God's air, the Allfather's air, scintillant circumambient cessile air.
 Breathe it deep into thee.
(Ulysses, "Oxen of the Sun,"  page 404)

"Going home."  Two of the loveliest words in any language.  I've been living outside of Dublin since 1975.  Now, at the dawn of the new millennium, I've just returned from a visit home to my Dublin of the "raindew moisture."

From Orlando, Florida, to Dublin, it was five years since my previous pilgrimage home, and I was eager to see the updated playboy of the western world, the so-called Celtic Tiger, the mystical feline, Yeti,  Big Foot, reported upon so effusively by the world's major newspapers.

I had come back to the city that had birthed, shaped and etched my character, soul and disposition.   But our old home at 25 Eccles St., just up the street from  7 Eccles St., where James Joyce's leading man of Ulysses, Leopold Bloom, lived, was no more. When I was a little girl, I could never understand why crowds of American tourists wearing trench coats, gathered outside No. 7 to take pictures of that ugly door.  Of course, neither did my parents.  Joyce's literature was banned then and he was persona non grata. 

One day, I went over to a kindly-looking matron, pulled on her coat and told her that my house, No. 25, had a much prettier door.  She smiled and took my picture.  It wasn't until many, many years later, that I understood the significance of 7 Eccles St. and the ignorance that had separated me from sharing the experience, albeit of a famous, fictitious, literary address.

A maze of scaffolding
As always, Dublin Airport was a maze of scaffolding, construction barriers, temporary walkways, "Do Not Enter" signs everywhere.  Since I departed Dublin, I have never come home to a completed, fully-functional airport. And my latest visit was no exception.  The Celtic Tiger has been tearing up the joint and left the scratch marks on the furnishings at Collinstown.

Through Dorset Street and down Parnell Square, we passed what used to be Findlater's Church, and the old Technical College, "the Tech," which houses  the magnificent Dublin Literary Museum.   Up a block, there's North Great George's St., where as a young woman, I was in the Legion of Mary — a fervent, Catholic, do-good, organization dedicated to saving souls.  Every Wednesday night, they sent me out to save the "Ladies," on the quays. 

Of course, no one ever told me what the "ladies" did, or how I was supposed to "save" them. They all must have lived in Cabra, because I was instructed, "Give them sixpence and put them on the No. 22 bus home."  Legio Mariae  is still in business on North Great George's St., and so are the belles de la nuit  along the quays.  The decaying, stinking, tenements that flanked this hilly street like skeletons, in the '50s and '60s, now are being lovingly restored to their former Georgian glory.  This is where the new, and very impressive, James Joyce Museum is housed today.  Imagine my amazement when I discovered the door to 7 Eccles Street among the exhibits.

We checked into the Fitzwilliam Hotel on St. Stephen's Green, a modern, Conran-designed hotel that is big on minimalism.  It was strange for me as a Northsider, to look out over the Green from a vantage point I'd never experienced before.  The hotel is on the site of the old Green Cinema which always seemed to run second-rate movies starring Robert Mitchum and incomprehensible Abbot and Costello short feature films. 

Ducks in the afternoon
When we stepped out onto the balcony, we looked out over a golden pond where ducks and swans were both noisy and graceful as the age-old Dublin custom of feeding the ducks continued on into the afternoon.  Families pushed babies in strollers, old men puffed on their pipes, young lovers sat in silent rapture, and outside, the madness of unrelenting traffic gridlock.

"This city is an ongoing traffic nightmare," my brother, Raymond, declared when we arrived at his home in Stillorgan an hour late.  Traffic moves at snail's pace, and there are more traffic lights than pubs along the Stillorgan Road, and that's something new.

One of our first stops on nearby Grafton Street was to the hallowed halls of Bewley's for our morning coffee and sticky buns. The breads, buns, cakes and pastries are still great.  Our waitress, though, was a sullen young woman from the Balkans, who didn't speak English, and had no understanding of the spiritual ritual a visit to Bewley's is for a returning Dubliner.

"This is Europe, now," said Michael Flood, chairman of Dublin Tourism.  "Dublin has benefited enormously from European Community funding.  Look around you.  We're booming.  We're not exporting our people any more.  We're bringing them home, and we're bringing in workers from Portugal, and yes, even from across the water, England."

Bleached, trimmed and painted
And, he's right.  Dublin is glowing.  No longer the dull, dingy, dark, soot-stained buildings of my youth.  The city has been bleached, trimmed, painted, renovated, redecorated, and landscaped almost to the stage of being unrecognizable to a returning native.  It's no longer  "dirty Dublin."

Trinity College, the GPO, the old Ballast Office, the Bank of Ireland, as well as privately-owned historic buildings, the Georgian beauties of Fitzwilliam and Merrion squares, are shining.   Many Georgian houses, once partitioned into seedy offices and unspeakably tacky flats, have been fully restored to single-family town homes for the newly yuppified 30-something Dublinaires.

Dublin's streets are noticeably cleaner than I remembered and apart from the chaotic traffic, there's a sense of order in the air.  One of the biggest changes in the daily life of Dubliners who still use the city's public transportation, is the banning of cigaret-smoking on buses.

The Celtic Tiger's pot of gold has brought about quite a cosmetic change, too.  Heavy metal is not just a popular form of music, or something to wrap around the base of your hurley stick. 

Many Irish smiles today are banded in metal. The young, and the not-so-young, have discovered orthodontics and have the money to pay for metal braces. The pretty girls of Dublin now have straight, white teeth, just like their American cousins.

Talking of Dublin girls.  The women, God bless them, are strong and visible in all facets of Dublin's professional, social and political life.  This is nothing new.  What is new is the obvious financial independence Dublin women now enjoy.   With the youngest per capita  population in Europe, possessing the highest per capita  third level education, young college graduates command top salaries and have significant disposable incomes for home ownership, a BMW, a country place and a wallet full of credit cards.

Through the roof
The cost of living in Dublin is completely through the roof.  The little house my parents bought for $1,500 in 1953, would sell today for $160,000.  Located one mile from the City Centre, it has the fancy schmanzy  classification of "town home," which would completely mystify my parents.

Food is a major expense, too.  Because of Mad Cow Disease, beef is no longer the staple it once was.  But, pork, chicken, lamb and fish are three times more expensive than in the U.S., as are milk, bread, sugar, tea, and all the rest.

Dubliners have their body piercings, their tattoos and orange hair and dance to the same tunes as their counterparts along the Kings Road in London.  But, the Dublin pub scene still is pure Dublin.  Conversation is king.  Dubliners in their pubs are erudite, profane, poetic, vulgar, sarcastic, witty, and deadly satirical when it comes to political commentary.  What has changed in the Dublin pub scene is the food.   It's sooooo good.  They still serve Shepherd's Pie and a Ploughman's Plate, but Irish smoked salmon, Parma ham and melon, even sushi  and tapas  with chilled, fino  sherry are likely pub menu items, too.

Dining in Dublin today is a far, far cry from my days in the city.  Michelin stars are shining big and bright all over the town and Molly Malone's cockles and mussels are taking on a whole new Euro-chic.  There's an impressive variety of ethnic cuisines available in Dublin, today, unheard of even 20 years ago.  I remember having to travel clear across the city from Drumcondra to Dun Laoghaire, for Chinese food.  Today, there's a plethora of Chinese, Indian, Vietnamese, Mexican, Japanese, Moroccan, Middle Eastern and European restaurants.

"Dublin now is the No. One weekend choice of Europeans," boasted Michael Flood.  "Air access from all over the Continent is easy and affordable.  Intra-European travel is uncomplicated since national borders were dismantled by the European Community.  They come to stroll around Temple Bar, to enjoy great food, the music, and to shop and soak up the good life of Dublin.  Even ceilidhe  dancing is back in vogue, and the Dublin yuppies are learning the moves and starting to speak the Irish language again."

How or why is Dublin Europe's new best friend?  The impact of Riverdance and the continuing, global success of Irish writers and playwrights has kept the Celtic cultural fire burning; Irish pop music with such mega stars as U2, The Cranberry's, Sinead O'Connor, and the traditional Irish music of The Chieftains, have been honed and artfully presented, promoted and marketed.  Irish business is on a roll. Dublin, truly is in the global village of the third millennium.

The Celtic Tiger has roared into being because of the combination of munificent E.C. funding and the somewhat uncharacteristic wisdom of succeeding Irish governments, which laid the foundations for a secure, stable and healthy economy. 

Pursuit of asylum
Inevitably, Dublin is changing.  The city has taken on a huge cultural diversity that's not of Celtic origins.  From war-torn Africa to the gypsies of Romania and the Balkans, thousands come in pursuit of asylum from terror or financial want.  The beggars on O'Connell Bridge these days, don't ask for coins or change with a Wexford or Galway accent.  There have been a few, ugly, racial undertones. But hopefully, Dubliners can open up their hearts to those who, like themselves not so long ago, have been dispossessed and disenfranchised.

We bade farewell to dear ould  Dublin, taking a last, lingering stroll through St. Stephen's Green.  It was early morning and we had the place to ourselves.  We breathed deep of  the "scintillant, circumambient, cessile air."  We walked into the main flower gardens where the two granite fountains spouted sprays of water high into the air. 

When I was a little girl, I used to come here, sit on the ledge and dangle my feet in the dirty water.  Back then, the fountain was filthy, with all kinds of garbage, including dead birds and Guinness bottles, floating in its waters. 

Today, the fountains are gleaming. There's not a speck in the waters and even the metal lilies which spray the fountain waters have been restored and enameled in green, white and gold. 

That attention to small detail is my pride and joy.   Dublin, you're a smasher!