Durty Nelly's



Est. 1620
Limerick, Ireland


I snaked my way through the noisy throng to the bar at Durty Nelly’s. Mostly I dodged elbows and ducked under pints of ale. At last it was my turn to order, and I boldly asked for two glasses of wine. Silence! Well, at least it wasn’t a gasp. I had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. I had ordered wine in Guinness country.

Durty Nelly’s is a pub on the side of a road that eventually leads to Limerick, Ireland. Every night, locals gather for a pint (or two, or three), food, and lively conversation which is broken by the inevitable song. Judy Penney, travel buddy and co-grandmother of Tyler Lee, and I stumbled upon authentic Ireland and ordered wine. Oh, dear, will we ever learn?

And it didn’t stop there. That very first evening in Ireland, I touched a rather odd-looking leaf in the garden, and my eyes swelled shut and began spewing water like a geyser. Judy, now a dutiful seeing-eye dog, led me through the lobby, down the stairs, and along the corridor to the climate-controlled safety of our room. I recovered but learned to keep my hands off the flora.

I did much better at the Blarney Stone. The combination of drizzling rain, a gazillion narrow, steep stone steps, and the recent memory of my broken wrist were enough to convince me to shop in the factory store rather than risk my life hanging upside down off the side of a castle to kiss a rock. Judy, however, really wanted the gift of gab, so up she went. This is the same person who packed pantyhose, a fact which speaks volumes to her lack of sense in the face of practicality.

Ireland is a land of contrasts. Dublin looks and feels like any other big city; but just beyond the city limits, the country seems to return to its roots. Perhaps that is what they want the tourist to see anyway.

Old stone castles, famine houses, medieval banquets, and mead. Thatch roofs, Irish coffee, Monkey Puzzle trees, and Tidy Town awards. Carvery lunches, cream mash, scones, and mushy peas. Pureed vegetable soup, fish ‘n chips, and soda bread. The Blarney stone and the gift of gab. The Book of Kells, Waterford crystal, and itchy woolens. The Danny Mann pub, Jameson’s whisky, and Guinness beer. Jaunty car rides, wedding fireworks, and Celtic cemeteries. Dairy farms, sheep, and peat bogs. The Atlantic Ocean, Cliffs of Moher, and the Ring of Kerry.

Ireland is a mosaic of greens. Each, when viewed alone, is a separate and distinct hue. But, when viewed together, the separate and distinct becomes a magnificent blend. For me, travel isn’t really about the sights, sounds, and soda bread. It is about finding my place in the mosaic.

People travel for all sorts of reasons, the least of which is to soak up the culture of another country. Some need to leave home to grieve, some to bond, some to overcome. Whatever the reason at the beginning of the trip, the end of the trip always offers something more than ever expected. And it is this “something more” that is so addictive.

The party panties are packed, and I am ready for the next adventure.