As I lean against the snot-green wall of a pub smoking someone else's cigarettes, a toothless man comes up to me and offers me a “good price” for the little bag of white powder he holds in his dirt-encrusted palm. I must look like I'm in need of a pick-me-up. I'm in Temple Bar.
The Lonely Planet guidebook saves one of its more inflammatory entries for Dublin's self-proclaimed 'Cultural Quarter', saying that, “by 3am, the only culture on display is in the pools of vomit and urine that give the whole area the aroma of a sewer.”
The Irish Independent talks of, “scenes of debauchery which would have Caligula running for cover”. Scathing words indeed. Where did it all go wrong for Temple Bar – or was anything ever right with it in the first place?
It is not a place to hide from that most crucial element of our culture, the area primarily consists of pub after pub after pub, with a restaurant or two thrown in for good measure.
You certainly won't go thirsty – as long as there's a hefty few bob in your pocket that is.
A pint of Guinness – generally one of the least expensive drinks you can get in an Irish pub – can cost anything up to €5.50 in some establishments, with other drinks being even more ridiculously priced.
They're unashamedly aiming their product at the ‘sure we might as well, we're on holidays’ demographic. And if that fails there's always the ‘we're too hammered to give a shit’ crowd.
John, a Temple Bar busker, suggests that this is essentially the accepted meaning of what a cultural quarter is: “it's like Barcelona's Cultural Quarter, it's more or less just another name for the place where all the pubs are.”
He agrees that the pricing is far too high, saying that it's “a shocking rip off, even worse than it is in the rest of the country right now, and that's saying something”. He adds, “you definitely won't find many Dubliners going out around here.” As well as its watering holes, Temple Bar also markets itself as a great place to eat out. It is certainly multicultural in this respect – there's Japanese food, American, Mongolian, Italian, the list goes on. Oh, and Irish too. One pub, boasting an “old world charm”, has a traditional menu “with dishes dating back to 1800.” Among these dishes you'll find a “Special Gaelic Steak”, “Emigrant's Corned Beef” and “Bunratty Castle Pork”. Most eateries would be happy to say that their meat can be traced back to the farm that it came from, but this place takes it to a whole new level – it sounds like Cúchulainn himself provides them with their beef. And isn't it a wonder they don't get into trouble for slaughtering pigs on the grounds of Bunratty Castle?
Moving on through the streets, past the giant foam-suited leprachauns (aren't they supposed to be small?), there's Club M, which is currently advertising a ‘Playboy Night’. How cultural.
On one stretch there are three consecutive identically named Temple Bar Trading Company gift shops. When the shop assistant in one of them was asked why there was a need for three in a row, he explained, “they don't all sell the same stuff. One sells t-shirts, one sells Guinness stuff, and the other sells everything.”
Begging the question; if one sells everything then what's the point of having the two smaller ones? There's also a craft shop called Konfusion (see what they did there?) just off of the main square.
An apt name in an area that doesn't really seem to know what it is supposed to be. Tacky tourist trap or haven of creativity? A place for getting hammered or for reflecting on the arts? Its Jekyll and Hyde nature is confounding. If the loutish pub scene and the tourist gimmicks are the Mr. Hyde of Temple Bar, where exactly does Dr. Jekyll reside? There is indeed another side of Temple Bar that should not go unmentioned.
Back when leaning against that mucous coloured wall, there is a second-hand book market in sight just up the street.
Further on there's an artisan market with dozens of stalls, all packed into Meeting House Square, selling locally produced foods – all a lot more 'cultural' than any Gaelic Steak.
Laura, an American who has spent a few months in Dublin, extols the virtues of the area, “what strikes people first are the cobblestone streets that give it that old Dublin feel. My favourite part of Temple Bar is the Irish Film Institute and film school. It's a shame that the restaurants and bars are so expensive but it's great on the weekend with market.”
That's not the end of it either. There's the Gallery of Photography, Temple Bar Music Centre, live music at The Mezz and more. But with one of the world's most popular guidebooks likening the area to a sewer, it's clear to see what the perceived notion of Temple Bar has become; and with the overwhelming presence of a particularly insidious variety of plastic paddyness, it's hard to disagree with them. This is unlikely to change any time soon as the slick targeting of tourists with certain expectations of what Ireland should be allows the money to continue to roll in. As Lindsay, an American tourist, put it, “you can't come to Dublin and not go to Temple Bar!"
However, the affluence of its visitors is also responsible for attracting a lot of homeless people to area, such as the afore-mentioned toothless baking-soda dealer.
How unfortunate that the unsavoury reality of modern Irish poverty should creep its way into the fantasy world of souvenirs, expensive drinks and magic steaks that is Temple Bar, Dublin's Cultural Quarter.
a.halley1@hotmail.com