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Underwhelmed in Ireland
If we were mystery shoppers, or at least mystery diners, we would have rated Dublin's Hard Rock Cafe as the poorest of their nine restaurants across seven countries we have visited so far this year. Given the prices, a little under $NZ40 for a salad, it could be expected the order would be right, the lettuce fresh rather than brown-tipped and soggy, and the dressing with more substance than a watery puddle in the bottom of the plate. Wisely though, it may have been in anticipation of such criticism that the Dublin cafe does not appear to participate in the chain's international customer satisfaction survey, and the waiter failed to ask the all important question of whether we had enjoyed the meal - leaving us feeling short-changed at not getting the chance to express at least some disappointment.
But if the Hard Rock Cafe left us cold, so too did our arrival in Dublin. The point, we thought, of pre-booking a rental car was so it would be ready when we arrived but clearly that's not what happens here. After a firm lecture from the woman behind the Budget Rentals counter about who would pay and how much if any damage occurred (us of course, no matter whose fault), we were dispatched to what looked like a shipping container converted into an office to pick up the car. Or rather, to shiver in the summer cold outside the container for more than thirty minutes awaiting its arrival. As it turned out there was no need for us to beat up the car, someone had done it already, and taken the hubcaps - although the latter meant that we could readily identify our car when we had forgotten its parking spot.As with the car, the point of pre-booking a hotel was so that our arrival could be anticipated, making registration efficient and easy, and if the booking had actually worked that may have been the case. But not so,the internet must be slow in Ireland as we had arrived ahead of the booking. As it turned out, our hotel was right opposite the Shamrock Football Club's home ground and this had a bearing on things, for when we went into the restaurant to settle in for a quiet dinner we were told that food isn't served on match days. Or at least that's what we think we were told. Food in the restaurant, it seems, just gets in the way of preparing for the after-match drinkers.Maybe we were just looking in the wrong places but rather than displaying signs of being one of Europe's vibrant, tiger economies, Dublin seems just like any other run down and sightly tatty working-class city, the main distinguishing feature being that is very expensive. A good hearty steak meal seems to cost fractionally under 30 Euro, or around $NZ75, a pop and even more modest dishes to be around 15 Euro so, on our budget, we were reduced to foraging on the sides of roads and begging with others outside parking buildings.But if it is too expensive to eat, then there is wonderful value in a tour of Dublin Castle where for 4.50 Euro a guide, whose mannerisms and looks closely resembled those of Ned Reithmuller, the son of a friend of ours, provided an entertaining and lively commentary. We learned that the city's name is derived from Dubh Linn or Black Pool, where the castle was eventually built after firstly the Irish ran the Viking rulers out in 1014 and then the Normans conquered them all in 1169. The castle's interior is quite exquisite and still used for state ceremonies - although a perfect opportunity was lost to behead former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher when she became the last person to have actually stayed there.
Our navigation was made easier through Dublin and Ireland with the invaluable assistance of Ken, our Australian SatNav friend. Although one thing is evident, Ken hasn't been here for a while and hasn't a clue about Dublin's one-way traffic system and other such essentials. Or maybe he is homophobic and just didn't want us to find the gay and lesbian parade which was on that day as every time we tried to find our way to its location he sent us in circles elsewhere.