“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.
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.