Irish invasion

SARAH GRAHAM decides to enjoy St Patrick's Day in Dublin and becomes surrounded by decidedly un-Celtic lilts.

They don't dye the beer green, and they don't decorate the city with the images of shamrocks and leprechauns. I guess the novelty of "the day when everyone becomes Irish" doesn't really apply in a place where everyone is Irish.

If you are planning to spend St Patrick's Day in Ireland, you would be wise to start your day the way the locals do - with a full Irish breakfast. This includes toast, fried eggs, fried mushrooms, a fried tomato, hash browns (fried, of course), liver sausage and a bit of blood pudding. This "heart attack on a plate" will coat your stomach with a layer of grease for which you will be grateful later in the day

Travelling to a country such as Ireland is always a treat because it gives me a chance to surround myself with people who speak with nifty accents but consider my Canadian brogue "exotic".

This was why I was slightly irritated when we heard more North American accents than Irish in Dublin. Considering that Ireland is home only to 3.5 million people, and that there are about 50 million Irish-Americans, I shouldn't really be surprised.

St Patrick's Day is evidently a call for Irish-Americans to return to the homeland. You don't really appreciate this until you squeeze yourself into a spot on the "Festival Parade" route, which winds through the city between St Patrick's Cathedral and Parnell Square. Then you realise that almost all of the marching bands passing in front of you are waving American flags, and that most of the pushy "band-supporting" families around you are speaking with the same unromantic accent.

Disillusioned with the fact that we had come so far only to be surrounded by North Americans, we decided to try to hunt down some authentic Irish people.

Anyone who knows anything about the Irish (and let's face it, there have been enough cheesy Irish characters in movies to expose us all to a bit of the culture) would know that the first place to look is a pub.

St Patrick's Day is a bank holiday in Ireland, so if you are hoping to get a seat in a pub you had better get there pretty early. Entire families, complete with children, pack themselves into these dark smoky rooms and settle in for the day.

Temple Bar, an area with a high concentration of bars and pubs, is absolutely packed the entire day - locals and tourists alike start flowing in as soon as they finish their breakfasts.

The day turns into a citywide party - the streets downtown are full of people, and even the River Liffey carries party floats. The place has an almost carnival atmosphere. Flags are handed out to the staggering masses, and vendors everywhere sell food, novelty hats (and who can do without a big velvet hat with a shamrock on it?), balloons and all sorts of other goodies.

By early afternoon, the atmosphere is like a university campus on the last day of classes - a surreal day of freedom when it feels as if the regular rules of behaviour are suspended. The police are present, to make sure that nothing gets too out of hand, but they generally sit back and smile as they watch everyone staggering around.

Later on, as those with families follow the sun off into the horizon, the atmosphere shifts from a giant familial gathering to more of a multi-establishment disco. As the night progresses, if you can't hear a thumping beat coming from a building, then you will probably hear the strains of Irish shanties.

If you're planning to survive an entire St Patrick's Day in Ireland, and you haven't built up an Irish tolerance for alcohol, you might want to take periodic breaks from the pub.

We decided to wander over to the world-famous Guinness factory, and see what they were doing to celebrate the day. Turns out that they weren't really doing anything out of the ordinary. Business was pretty slow because all the tourists were distracted by the activities of the festival. They did draw a shamrock in each of our two free half-pints at the end of the tour - I'm not sure whether or not they would have done that anyway, though.

While I was buying my large fuzzy slippers shaped like giant pints of the black stout, we chatted with the girl behind the counter. "It's great to experience St Paddy's Day in the actual land where the saint drove out the snakes, as opposed to North America, where we make do by dyeing our beer [and even the odd river] green," I said.

She looked wistful and said, "Someday I hope to be able to go over there and experience a real St Paddy's Day."

Does she not realise that she lives in Ireland, and that the grass can't get any greener?

St Patrick's Festival 2002