Legends lie.

We didn’t mind that there were no red haired girls to greet passengers at the airport. The taxi into the city was a rip off, but most cities are like this.

Then we saw the streets and our hotel. There was litter everywhere. And from the hotel window, we could breath deep the smell of car exhaust and pollution from the River Liffey.

We tried the Guinness, but its an acquired taste apparently. Everywhere we looked the twin religions of pubs and churches competed for sheer numbers. A battle for the nations soul, won long ago. That night we learned racism was alive and well, and they could have taught the Romans a thing or two about debauchery and vomitaria.

7 Euros for a coffee and croissant was not enough to drive away hung over patrons on Sunday morn, and the morning sun had no warmth. Everywhere surrounded by signs of tourism, green postcards and leprechauns. Legends of past, now surely gone. Sold and traded for a steel grey future. Where is our modern St. Patrick? For his land is now covered in serpents.

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