Journalist

18 years working as journalist and editor for the main Guatemalan newspapers and several local magazines. My fields: art, culture and history.

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braliem9jousc@gmail.com

Friday, 1 July 2016

My very first time


 
“This will be your room”, said K. He was panting after helping me to lift and carry on upstairs my heavy luggage.

“Let’s go for a pint”, said later and his words sounded like heavenly music for me.
 
We walked up some blocks on St. James Street, to the limit where its name changes to St. Thomas St. I really was exhausted but gained the enthusiasm to taste a real pint of Guinness for first time. Yes, tired but I was excited. Before, I only drank from cans, paying even 8 or 9 euros for a single can. Crazy, I know.  

On our way, K showed me the main brewery’s gate and told me about Arthur (yes that Arthur… who else?) and the storehouse. Suddenly in a corner he said “here we are”, and finally I was in a pub, a real one, ready to order the first round.  

Before my flight, I read about how locals are watching the drinking way of all foreigners. Inside my head there was an endless little voice whispering: “wait some seconds before start or swallow it”.  



It was amazing to see how the beer turned from a brown-stormy foam into a dark but clear liquid. From where I come, you only take a beer from a bucket and drink; if you wait too much  to say cheers is because there is a crowd ordering in the bar. So, I also found interesting the ritual to serve a pint, wait almost a minute and then, filling up the glass.

Oh, I also need to speak about the size of containers. A pint (500 ml) is an unusual glass in my country. We have jars (330 ml).

Numbers, measures, memories, readings… all was happening at same time in my mind when K woke me up from my stupidity saying SLAINTE!!! Around everybody was talking loud, some guys seemed tipsy and music was perfect for a cozy atmosphere.

It was my first evening in Dublin, at Arthur’s. Eventually I visited again the place to know more friends. I still was a very shy drinker that night. No had no idea that some months later I will gently invited to leave a pub, in Galway, for being drinking “even more than an Irish”, but, well… that's another story.

Slainte.