I walk along the banks of the River Liffey and whisper its name as if invoking the Celts and Vikings, the Tudors and the rebel Irish who walked these banks eons ago. It is a storied river whose name has slipped over the tongues of monks and knights and common folk with the same ease as the river flowing for centuries past.

I am entranced by its calm beauty slipping along through the centre of Dublin while traffic zooms and people walk and sit along the wide sidewalks that follow its course the centre of the city.

I drove into Dublin yesterday, well, not quite ‘into’, having chosen to return my car and book a hotel near the airport.

Taking the bus into the city centre that afternoon, gratitude swept over me for not having to drive. When I mentioned to the bus driver who was changing shifts as we reached the stop where I was to disembark that I was in awe of the fact that he and all the other drivers could navigate the narrow streets, particularly with a double decker.

He laughed and replied, slapping his replacement driver on the back, “We’re Dublin’s superheroes, aren’t we now Johnny?”

I think they are!

When I stpped off the bus, he stpped off as well and asked, “What are your plans for the evening in Dublin?”

“I don’t have any,” I replied. “I’m just going to let the streets take me where they take me.”

“Well then,” he says. “If it’s a Guiness and good Irish music, you must go to Camden Street. There’s some quiet local pubs that will give you an authentic listen.” And he points me where I need to go.

I thank him and he walks off in the opposite direction while I make my way towards Camden Street.

Except, a narrow street calls, a stepple, another one and suddenly, I have no idea where Camden street is.

I’ve mentioned I’ve very adept at losing my way, even with google maps guiding me. It’s an artform.

Lauging at my predictabity, and eager to find somewhere to sit, I turn back towards where I’ve come, I think, and begin walking. Fortunately, there are legible street signs when walking with lots of names I was familiar with. Following the arrows, I found my way back to the River Liffey, turned right along its banks until I found the coffee place I’d seen when I’d first set out – and thought it was a restaurant.

Not being a place I wanted to sit, I crossed over, went back down the opposite side of the street and entered The Arlington Restaurant and Pub in the Arlington Hotel at the O’Connell Bridge.

I’m so glad I did!

A delicious dinner while a football game played on the giant TV screen, fans cheering and then, as the game wound down, the sound of an accordion and fiddle began to rise up over the noise of the TV.

Enchanted, I moved closer to the music and ended up sitting in a window seat. On one side of sat two young men, on the other, a single woman about my age (I’d later discover she too was born in ’53, but hailed from Australia and was on a European tour to celebrate her 70th birthday).

The two young men chatted with me for awhile, they left and Linda, the Australian woman, and I began to talk, and talk, and talk while the music soared and the night grew darker.

At one point, a tall dark haired young man with a brilliant smile approached and asked if the chair across from me was open.

“Yes,” I replied, and he promptly sat down, his smile laughing and his eyes dancing.

He was actually meeting the couple who had sat the table beside me after the young men left but flirting, no matter the age of the woman, seemed to be an art form to him. He was delightful, regaling Linda and I with tales of his time in Dublin since leaving Brazil many years before.

When he left to join his friends Linda and I thanked him for his own unique brand of entertainment.

What a perfect ending to a perfect 10 days on the Emerald Isle!

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And postscript… the first morning at the cottage, I realized I’d somewhere lost my wedding band in the bedroom of the cottage. It was the only jewellry I’d brought with me as along with getting lost, I’m adept at losing jewellry. I searched everywhere and couldn’t find it.

After I left, Pippa pulled the furniture away from the walls and scoured the rug in search of it. “It’s very much the colour of the rug, so hard to see,” she wrote in her note to tell me she’d found it!

How kind and thoughtful. She was concerned I would be worried all the way home and wanted to ensure I knew it was found and would be on its way back to me the next very next day.

A night at the Arlington