On my final morning in Belfast, the sun was shining, and the air was warm. My Uber driver chuckled when I commented on the weather. He said, “It probably won’t stay this way. We get more than two hundred days of rain. Sometimes just a short downpour, but often the whole day.”
Belfast’s Central Train Station was modern and easy to navigate, and the ticket to Dublin was surprisingly inexpensive—about $20 for the two-plus hour trip. The train itself felt brand new, smooth, quiet, and comfortable.
Halfway to Dublin, a couple boarded with their dog, who seemed anxious about the journey. I reached over to give him a reassuring pat, and his owner said, “Pookah, be nice.” I stared at her and asked, “Did I hear that right? His name is Pookah?” She nodded. I told her that my dog is also named Pookah. Neither of us had ever met another dog with that name, and the coincidence sparked a conversation that lasted all the way into Dublin. Their Pookah was a sweetheart, happily giving me kisses and making me miss my own Pookah even more.
A taxi took me from the station to my hotel, tucked into a quiet neighborhood close to the city center. After a short rest, I set out to explore. I’ve visited Dublin several times, but not in a couple of decades, and the changes were striking.
Grafton Street is still the city’s premier shopping area, stretching from Trinity College to St. Stephen’s Green. Once a mix of independent shops and Irish department stores, it’s now a pedestrian-only high street dominated by international brands. The buskers and street performers remain, and the elegant Georgian façades have been preserved, but the storefronts are a global roll call. Where I once browsed quirky local shops, I now found (and ignored) mostly familiar names, Disney Store, Levi’s, Tommy Hilfiger, Victoria’s Secret, even a McDonald’s.
The food scene has also transformed. Twenty years ago, Dublin’s dining choices were predictable: pubs serving fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, and Irish stew; Italian restaurants offering mediocre pizza and pasta; the occasional Chinese or Indian spot. Fast forward to now, and I was astonished by the variety of cuisines. I ate lunch at a Japanese restaurant and had fresh, delicious sushi. I passed Middle Eastern kebab shops, Mexican taquerias, Vietnamese pho houses, Thai, French and even fusion spots.
Later, I treated myself to coffee at an outdoor table of a fancy Italian pastry shop. While sitting there I was entertained by a local character: a seagull (they’re all over the city). He landed on a just abandoned table and plunged his head into a box filled with the remains of a cream pastry. He emerged, chowing down the treat, while a moustache of cream remained on his bill.
After more strolling, I wandered into St. Stephen’s Green, at the end of Grafton Street. At just twenty-two acres it’s tiny compared to New York’s Central Park, but the feeling is remarkably similar. Passing through the gates, the city noise faded, replaced by greenery, water, and winding paths. As the air grew chilly, I decided to call it a day and head back to my hotel for a pint of cider and a light meal to end my first evening in