Berlin and Dublin: Erdinger and Guinness – part 2

Some guys of Nexus, my fraternity, had gotten free tickets to Dublin and had decided to organise a
fraternity trip to the capital of Ireland. I still had enough savings left after Berlin, so after having spent
barely three days in Berlin I took off to Dublin to join my fraternity there. Since they had arrived
there a couple of hours before me I was forced to find my way to the hostel, Paddy’s Palace, myself
to drop my luggage and try to locate the guys. The extremely energetic girl at the counter of the
Paddy’s Palace informed me that they had spoken about going to the Jameson’s distillery, which
was later confirmed when I texted some of the Nexus guys. The hostel was on the North-Eastern
side of the city centre, about five minutes walking from the river. I decided to walk to the Jameson’s
distillery so I could get a nice first impression of the city. The contrast between the beautiful houses
alongside the river and the tiny red brick workman’s houses in Church Street is fascinating; there are
so many examples of a great historic wealth and examples of Eastern-European-like poverty next to
each other, and I could see why this city, always covered under thick grey clouds, has produced so
many famous writers. I took a left in Church Street and entered the Jameson’s distillery where I was
informed that the tour my friends participated in was just finishing the whiskey tasting. I already had
a ‘quick twenty’ – that was how they called it when everybody put €20,- in the pot for a quick couple
of drinks – and some whiskies to catch up with them.

After high-fiving the bunch of them they finished their Ginger Ale and Jameson’s (a good
combination with some ice and lime) and we went to the Hard Rock Café in the Temple Bar area for
a quick twenty and to T.G.I. Friday’s after we got hungry. That was a bad call, but what else would
you suspect going to an American chain restaurant? The food was so lousy that one of the guys had
to force himself to eat his chicken wings, which came with an awful sour and spicy dip sauce, and
he kept on producing sounds of suffering throughout the process. To cheer him up we decided that
today would be his birthday and when he had left to the lavatories I went to ask the personnel if
they could surprise him with something nice later. The Jameson Burger which all of us had ordered
only increased our regret of going to that restaurant even more and we were ready to pack up when
the T.G.I. employees, awkwardly dressed up in red and white striped shirt and a random supposedly
funny head coverage, showed up at the table with the special dessert, sparklers stuck in ice cream,
for the birthday boy. Try to imagine the surprise on his face when he exclaimed “guys, haha, it’s
somebody’s birthday … no fucking way … you didn’t?!?!”

On our way to the famous Temple Bar some Irish beauties were spotted and we started a
conversation with a group of six hot chicks who, as so many of the Irish girls, were not wearing any
pants. Before going out Irish girls generously apply fake tan and make-up and put on the sluttiest
possible costume, usually consisting of extremely high heels and a dress that barely reaches the
bottom of their nice Irish butts and no panties or whatsoever underneath – and it is awesome! While
some of us (including me) kept on whispering “ze dragen geen broekje!” the others were playing the
girls more sophisticated, which appeared to be fruitful as the girls asked us to come to a club called
The Lost Society with us. We walked with them in the direction of The Lost Society but then turned
round, which immensely frustrated the most corpulent member of our crew, to go back to the
Temple Bar to get a little drunk before going to the club. Temple Bar is the most typical Irish pub with
very friendly personnel who tap perfect pints of Guinness, as well as Heinekens for the stout-fearing
rest of the group. Surrounded by the Irish culture even the grumpiest among us – our group leader
was still mad at us for leaving the Irish chicks – got jolly and so we chanted “In Dublin fair city, where

the girls are so pretty, I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone…” and “I’ve been a wild rover for
many’s a years, I’ve spent all my money on whiskies and beers!” and all the other drinking song we
had learned in our freshman years. Suddenly a confused guy was standing next to me, not a member
of our fraternity, and he was looking around frowning. It took him a couple of seconds to recognize
me after I slapped him on his shoulders and cheerfully addressed him, “Dude! What the hell are you
doing here in Dublin, man?!” It turned out that he and a crew of fellow Public Policy students had
also collectively decided to use their free tickets to Dublin. I informed them that we were planning
on going to The Lost Society, the Nexus-guys were already putting on their coats, so we could meet
there. We met them again while boarding two days later.

The long queue in front of The Lost Society would take us at least twenty minutes. I tried to convince
the other that twenty minutes wouldn’t be so bad, but they decided they rather went to another
place called The Palace we had heard about. The Palace bouncers were though on the two guys in
our company who were below 21 and instead we went to The Duke on the other side of the river
but that place turned out to be closed on Wednesdays. By now, we had been walking for over an
hour and we were frustrated but we decided to try one more place we heard about, Dandelion,
but not before giving Molly Malone, standing with her cart full of cockles and mussels flaunting her
merchandise between Trinity College and Saint Stephen Green, a real good hug. Dandelion was
terrific: the upper floor located a quiet bar but the basement hosted a drunken and sweaty crowd of
jolly Irish lads and Irish girls wearing nothing but little glitter and tigerprint dresses, slowly swaying
from left to right because of their way too high heels and the considerable amounts of alcohol they
must’ve consumed already. The music ranged from cheap R&B with dance beats underneath to
cheap dance music with PitBull screaming over it, mixed with the most popular house-tunes. Our
quick twenties would not help us here so most of us just potted a considerable amount to get a
couple of rounds of wodka&Red Bull and Bacardi&Cola’s before hitting the dance floor. Conditions
like these – the energizing mixers, the cheap music and all the slutty sexy girls around me – stimulate
my inner teen and I couldn’t help but smiling all the time. We fist-pumped, we approached some of
the swaying girls without any success (I was unable to speak with my jaw dropped to the floor) and
we drank till they dropped and then a little more and before we knew it the music stopped because
the son-of-a-bitch deejay apparently called it a night. We took a cab back to the hostel but when we
arrived there three of our crew were missing. One of them arrived half an hour later and explained to
us that they had gone by foot. At some moment, he explained to us, the other two had been playing
around with a garbage container and while he had tried to tell them to stop because it would cause
trouble they had not listened to him so he had continued alone. A few minutes later one of them
called us… from the police station. The police hadn’t appreciated the drunken tourists messing up
their town and had turned them in, so they asked us if we could come to pick them up and pay bail.
Pranking is more or less a tradition in our fraternity, but this time they had fooled all of us.

I woke up first the next morning. The rest was in a coma so I showered, brushed my teeth, dressed
and went down to the lobby just in time for a free all-inclusive but awful hostel breakfast. The instant
coffee was apparently so bad that the energetic girl at the counter offered me some of her own
supply of instant coffee. In the meanwhile one of my friends had joined me in the lobby to check out
the WiFi and the free coffee so we both had a coffee from the girl, which was truly the most horrible
coffee I have ever tasted but the sweet smiles she gave us made up for that. When more of the
group joined us in the lobby we went to a breakfast bar in the neighbourhood where we had coffee
and toast while we waited for the lazier ones of the group to wake up and join us. Around noon we

went out in the drizzling Dublin rain and we headed to Trinity College, our first stop of a long sight-
seeing tour which included some historic churches, a Guinness lunch for me and a coffee lunch for
the others, and the old Kilmainham Gaol prison where the British had imprisoned and executed many
leaders of the Irish rebellion. When you go to Dublin, visit this prison and do the tour, it is definitely
worth your while! By the time we exited the prison it was already half past four so we hurried to the
Guinness brewery, the highlight of our day programme. The old Guinness brewery and storehouse is
also a must-see, not because of the entertaining museum which will learn you all about the brewing
process and the heritage of Guinness which we rushed through, but because of its rooftop bar with
360⁰ panoramic view where you can enjoy a delicious Guinness while overviewing nightly Dublin. The
ones who had previously proclaimed that they didn’t like Guinness had to agree with me now that
this was a magnificent experience. When the bar closed at six we took a cab to the hostel to change
into our fraternity attire – after all, Thursday night is our weekly fraternity night. The Chinese all-in
buffet the taxi driver had recommended wasn’t all that great but it was still better than the T.G.I.F.’s
and we had good laughs about two of our fellow fraternity members feeding each other fruit and
about a black overweight family of seven who were enjoying their special weekly dinner there (they
had tried very hard to dress up nicely) and were exploring the boundaries of ‘all-inclusive’. We were
still hungover and tired from the night before and this time it was nobody’s birthday, but we still had
to do the traditional Thursday night drink.

We walked to a deserted hotel bar in the Temple Bar area which another fraternity member had
recommended to us. It was perfect for the traditional Thursday night fraternity drink. The personnel
didn’t mind us singing there so we sang our song and mexed (a dice game which involves a lot of
drinking) for an hour or so till all of us felt like either going to the hostel or going out. In situations
like these peer-pressure is a blessing. We split up and took two cabs to The Palace. When I arrived
the first half of the group had already made it into the VIP-room but the second half wasn’t allowed
in so we went to inspect the dance floor instead, it was brilliant: a couple of friendly Irish lads and
hordes of no-pants-wearing Irish girls. I made a huge side-pot with my friend and asked him to get
wasted with me and be my wingman, which he instantly confirmed. “Kijk gast, zij draagt ook al geen
broekje!” (“Look dude, she isn’t wearing any pants either!”) we kept on saying to each other after
having spotted an even sluttier and sexier example of fine Irish breed. Another fraternity member
came to request me to try to hook up with a certain beautiful girl he had laid his eyes upon but he
couldn’t begin talking with her because he had a girlfriend. She was swaying from right to left in the
middle of the dance floor looking gorgeous. Even though I got turned down by the girl I was overly
excited and energetic and soon after we had spent all of our money on beers in plastic bottles and
rum-cola’s, I and my friend were bouncing on the stage overviewing the dance floor again. A girl
who was wearing a self-made Pussy Riot cap suddenly turned to me, as I was dancing like a maniac
to Benny Benassi’s Satisfaction, and asked me “are you crazy?” I opened up my eyes wide and
responded “yes, are you?” She confirmed that, which for some strange reason really turned me on,
and we danced like complete idiots for another hour or so before we kissed and she told me she
really had to go. It was time for me to find the rest of my fraternity anyway. After having searched
the whole club two times I found them back and we agreed to stay a little longer, but two rounds
later we finally took a cab back to the hostel. It was around four when we arrived at the hostel.

The next morning we had to take a 7:30AM taxi to the airport. When we arrived there, still
completely shit-faced, I finally found my fellow Public Policy students back in the boarding gate. One
of them was lying face-down on the cold airport floor unable to answer any of my questions. I slept

during the flight and only one and a half hours later we arrived at Maastricht-Aachen Airport.