Readers of other pages on this site may have noted that Nella and I are non-drinkers, and there may be a certain amount of idle curiosity about this peculiarity. It does leave something of a gap in our travel coverage – we may go to an area famous for its wines or beers, for example, and we won't really have much to say about it. You may find yourself horrified and thinking, "They didn’t try any of the wine? Or any of the beer? Nothing?" If you're not asking yourself these questions, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. For those of you still here, a simple answer in my case would be that I've never liked the flavor, and I've never been interested in the effect. I've tasted a number of such beverages over the years, and have managed to struggle through a complete drink only once. More commonly, my experiences have been like one I had in college, when someone thoughtfully made me something called a Tequila Sunrise. The first sip wasn't too bad, tasting pretty much like orange juice. The second sip tasted like orange juice with a problem. The third sip tasted like something you would put out to kill cockroaches. The fourth sip, and the rest of the cup (it was served in lovely styrofoam), went down a drain in an act of mercy toward the houseplants. As for the effect, I already do plenty of stupid things on my own and don't really need any additional help with this. I'm not sure exactly why Nella doesn't drink. She's actually better at tasting things than I am, and can finish the occasional drink. But generally speaking, she doesn't drink either. I don't know if she follows the same thought process as me, or if she's just being polite, so I won't feel like I'm the only social misfit. Or maybe she has a secret thermos of Margaritas stashed somewhere...

Our children, on the other hand, do not share any of the misgivings Nella and I have about alcohol, and maintain a more affectionate acquaintance with it. Philip, for example, was very interested in visiting the Guinness Brewery in Dublin, and maybe accidentally ducking his head in a vat for a few minutes during the tour. But sadly this was not to be, as they don't conduct brewery tours, at least not for the general public. But the Guinness Brewery, located at St. James's Gate a little west of the town center, did have something called the Guinness Storehouse adjacent to it, which is sort of a beer museum with an entry fee that includes a pint of the wondrous elixir that's produced next door. Philip heard this and was sold, and resolved to wander Dublin independently for the day, following a route that would take him to the vicinity of St. James's Gate.

The Guinness Storehouse has seven floors of attractions related to the Guinness brand. There are places to eat and drink and places to buy merchandise, all things commonly found in conventional museums. But all of the exhibits here are devoted to beer, starting with displays of the primary ingredients that go into it: water, barley, hops and yeast. Naturally, Guinness only uses the finest of each. The yeast in particular is proprietary, and comes from a strain that goes back centuries.



Some discussion is also devoted to the history of the company, with its founder, Arthur Guinness, described as "the fifth ingredient". Arthur started the company in 1759, when he signed a 9000-year lease for the St. James's Gate site at £45 per annum (they saw him coming!). While the facilities have changed considerably since then, the general idea behind the beer production has not. There have been a few changes – many different varieties of Guinness have been produced over the years, most of them seasonal or otherwise limited-time-only. Apparently the bubbles now come from both nitrogen and carbon dioxide (the sixth and seventh ingredients?), which have somewhat different but desirable properties. In 1997, Guinness merged with a conglomerate called Grand Metropolitan (owners at the time of hotel interests, Pillsbury and Burger King, and beverage brands J&B, Bailey's, Gilbey's and Heublein) to form a company called Diageo PLC, which remains the parent company.

The Storehouse also has displays of some of the hardware that's been used in the process of beer production, from old-school tools and wooden vats and barrels, to more modern storage and processing containers.





Another exhibit is devoted to the advertising of the Guinness brand. For many years, Guinness did not advertise at all, content with awareness of the brand spreading through word of mouth. They did adopt a harp as their symbol in 1862 (there was a similar harp on the Irish coat of arms, and Guinness avoided trademark difficulties by having their harp face right instead of left), but didn't succumb to full-scale advertising until the 1930s, when they needed to turn around some falling sales numbers. Guinness advertising quickly became ubiquitous, in many instances featuring exotic animals (most notably a toucan).


After looking at the exhibits, visitors have the opportunity to practice pouring "the perfect pint" of Guinness, with detailed instructions, and to drink the outcome, whether perfect or not. Evidently Philip handled the task admirably.



On top of the Guinness Storehouse there is a place called The Gravity Bar, which features a spectacular 360-degree view of the brewery and slightly-western Dublin, as well as an opportunity to purchase additional perfect pints, poured by professionals.



After having his fill of both Guinness and the Storehouse, Philip left and wandered around the south bank of the Liffey, passing by some of the landmarks visited by Nella and me (I used one of his Christ Church photos on the Christ Church Cathedral page), and eventually returning to the hotel. Nella and I eventually returned as well, and after some rest we went out in search of food, settling on an Asian buffet on the north bank.

After dinner we walked back along the river, passing by the famous Ha'penny Bridge. The Ha'penny Bridge is a picturesque footbridge across the Liffey that was built in 1816 to replace a group of ferries that had gone into disrepair. The bridge was originally called the Wellington Bridge (after the Duke of Wellington), with its name eventually changed to the Liffey Bridge (the official name it still has). "Ha'penny" refers to a toll that was originally charged by its builder, an amount set to match the fare that had been charged for use of the ferries. The bridge had turnstiles at both ends for many years, but the toll was dropped in 1919. The bridge was in pretty good shape when we saw it, reflecting renovation work that had been done in 2001 by Harland and Wolff (yes, the company that brought you the Titanic).



On reaching O'Connell Street, we turned north and returned to the hotel. As usual, we needed to rest up for something we'd planned for the next day. In this case it was to be a tour we'd signed up for, to an estate south of Dublin called Powerscourt.