Dublin, Ireland

Trinity’s shadows & whiskey warmth

The first chapter of my sabbatical began not with a leap into the unknown, but with a return. Ten years had passed since I last wandered Dublin’s streets, and yet the city welcomed me as if no time had passed. This time, I arrived with a slower rhythm, a clearer gaze, and a quiet curiosity for what I had missed.

Some sights were new to me, though they had stood for centuries. I finally stepped into the Long Room, where light filters through tall windows and dust dances above ancient spines. The Book of Kells, luminous and intricate, seemed to hum with stories older than the city itself. At the Jameson Distillery, copper stills glowed like relics of alchemy. The Guinness Open Gate Taproom offered a more playful kind of pilgrimage, one of foam, flavour, and invention.

Other places I returned to with different eyes. The bell tower at Trinity still cast its long shadow across the square. The Old Customs House stood serene by the river, its dome catching the light like a held breath. The weather was unusually kind, softening the city’s edges and making space for wandering. Georgian streets, the Liffey’s quiet shimmer, cafés where time seemed to pause.

Dublin may not overwhelm with monuments, but it charms in layers. In the warmth of a pub, the rhythm of a street musician, the quiet dignity of stone and sky. It is a city that invites you to linger, to taste, to listen. And for those who travel not just to see, but to feel, it offers more than enough.