East Coast Beachhead

One week ago today we took the train to Dublin. I would have taken a picture of the scenery along the way but the windows were so dirty they wouldn't have come out. We wandered around the city for a bit, whereupon my friend took a digger in the classic way: wow look at that beautiful building ... klunk. It's hard to see the curb looking up. At that point we thought it best to get off our feet for a bit, so we ate lunch. I will say the food here is quite good, and compared to the skyrocket prices on almost everything else, it's pretty reasonable. I had a Heart Attack Special which they call a "mixed grill": one pork chop, two bacon, two sausage, and two black puddings (don't ask).

After lunch Uncle was hell-bent on returning to a pub he had been to last time he was in Ireland. It was an out of the way place, and we sure did go out of our way to find it. I've found that the Irish have at least one thing in common with the Japanese: they really don't like to come right out and say "no." Although, as my uncle later observed, there are probably very limited circumstances where one should just blurt out "no." Anyway, everyone we asked for directions to the pub was pretty sure they had an idea where it was. No one admitted they didn't know this pub from that one, in a town where it's been determined it's not possible to walk across it without passing a pub.

There seemed to at least be a majority opinion that it was near Stevens Green, which is a public park. After walking halfway round it, we were directed a few blocks down a street just off Stevens Green. Honestly!

After we settled in, Uncle wanted to move to the bar. It makes it tougher to converse, but again, he seemed to be on a mission. Once there he starts chatting up the bartender. Then I remember that the whole reason of coming to this bar was to see if the same bartender would be working from when he came last time a year ago, and whether such bartender would remember Uncle's wiseass friend. Typical to Uncle's style, he doesn't come right out and ask. He chats him up first. Attempting to help, I ask the bartender about his unusual name.

"Is [name] short for something?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. Then he walked over to the next customer, smirking.

Eventually he returned and told us (named after some obscure saint, of course), but that trick made Uncle take to him even more. I think the bartender appreciated that we didn't mention it again until he felt like telling us. Hey, he keeps playing, we keep playing, right? Anyway, by the time we're set to leave we've chatted about bartending and tourists and his kids and taxis and who knows what else. He was the same bartender as before, but did not remember Uncle's friend, by the way. He had mentioned that his daughter was at the same university as me. As we're leaving he takes down a card and writes her name on it. Uncle didn't react then, but this impressed him in a huge way. "Giving you his daughter's name! Never even metcha before!" To be fair, however, there was no phone number...

I also liked the bartender's line about his daughter. He said something about how well she's done in school and in dance. Uncle said, "she must be very smart."

The bartender said quickly - "but she doesn't need it, she's in love with life."

Walking out the door we can see Uncle's very pleased. "Now you've got a beachhead on both coasts," he declares.

It's then that it dawns on me that his idea of a beachhead doesn't have to do with getting me moved in, oriented to the campus and the city, but with getting me a home bar. He considers Richardson's to be the west coast one. We had stopped in there twice, once when we first arrived, and then another time to meet up with Uncle after unpacking everything to my room. I had said he didn't have to come unpack; it would be boring and the room is so small it would barely hold two people trying to work, never mind three. Did he want me to drop him at his B&B for some R&R, maybe read his book?

"I'd just as soon you drop me at Richardson's," he said with a smirk.

So yesterday, on my way home from Richardson's...