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Far
from a Pint of Plain
You may or may not know that the highest point in
Dublin, from where you have the best view out over the city, is Gravity
Bar in the Guinness Storehouse. Needing a new perspective on the city
and life, I took a walk one day out Thomas Street onto James' Street.
It was a very satisfactory visit in many ways. Originally I had thought
there was nothing I wanted to learn about Guinness so I would be able
to skip through the museum part and spend the sunny afternoon examining
the rooftops and the Wicklow mountains. But those guys at James' Gate
make you work for your free pint at the top and it was almost dark, so
delayed was I in the museum.
Museum is such a two dimensional word to describe the experience. This
jewel in the crown of the Guinness empire is the slickest, most stylish
display of information I've ever seen. In focusing all this space and
energy on one humble pint of stout they're trying very hard to tell you
something about themselves and about Ireland. What they're telling you
is vaguely interesting, but what's really fascinating is the way they
tell it. The Guinness Storehouse is an interesting symbol of modern Ireland
in all its traditions, hopes and complexities. Of course it is also all
one big advertisement for Guinness and all its works, for which visitors
pay on the pretext of it being historically or culturally important. It
is only six pounds for students and they don't make you prove you actually
are a student so I really do heartily recommend a visit. You'll marvel
and laugh, ooh and aah and you'll certainly enjoy it.
The entrance is quite oddly located in the middle of what seems to be
a maze of cobbled side streets off James's St. There are no cars but one
or two horse drawn carts carrying bags of grain are stationed near the
entrance. I'm really not sure if this is all part of Authur's grand plan
but the atmosphere is of late 19th Century industrialism. Just in case
we miss the effect, old tram lines sit idling about, blissfully unaware
of the advent of LUAS nearby. Later on, inside, we learn that in 1759
Arthur Guinness signed a 9000 year lease at £45 per annum rent (now presumably
Euro 57.14) for a disused brewery at James' Gate. You're starting to think
he probably got his money's worth on the deal taking into account how
well the whole business has taken off. Then you enter his old storehouse
and the exact enormity of his success hits you like someone throwing a
pint in your face.
The whole experience is quite sensual, almost overloading, and the deafening
swishes and swirling of liquid is disorienting at first, especially if
like me, you expected it to be a dingy old warehouse with a few pictures
of sealions on the wall. However, once you find your bearings and accept
it in all its tackiness and pomp, it becomes wonderful good fun; a kind
of Guinness themed playground for adults. Computer screens flash snippets
of information, sounds come from nowhere and smells envelop.
Among the hops and barley sandpits and mock waterfalls I learned that
'baere' is an Anglo Saxon word for barley from which came our modern word
'beer'. 'Bouzah' is an ancient Egyptian word for beer from the old Nile
City of Bousiris. It is from this word we have 'booze'.
The purpose of this section is to introduce us to the four basic ingredients
of Guinness: water, barley, hops and yeast. Much is made of the magical
blending of these parts and emphasis is always put on how natural the
process is.
Arthur himself is considered almost as one of the ingredients. We're encouraged
to 'get to know him' but whoever he was has been obscured behind crowd
pleasing gimmicks such as this gem of a quote describing the drink which
bears his name: 'better than other beers, including English beer'. Again,
it's the way this is done that fascinates. Guinness is a world brand,
one of the things Ireland is best known for abroad. It's fitting that
its home should be a symbol for the Ireland we live in: techno-happy,
rich, stylised and keeping one eye carefully on our past, lest we lose
the run of ourselves in all this fecking' confidence.
Aside from all the advertisement and homage paid to the greatness of Guinness,
probably the most interesting part of the building is the cooperage section.
There's some great old footage from sixty years ago or so of a master
cooper making barrels. Unfortunately this is shown on a screen which sits
on top of a barrel and your neck hurts if you watch it from beginning
to end. It's as though nothing but lip service is paid to the craft of
the cooper, Guinness being these days, transported in metal kegs. It's
also a pity that this section is so far along in the tour that all you
can think of is that pint waiting for you at the top.
When I did eventually get to the top and Gravity Bar, I was exhausted
and my head spun with all I'd seen. I sat back waiting for my pint to
settle and pondered the experience with as it said on one of the flashing
screens, a 'justifiable sense of pride', not so much regarding Guinness
but the Ireland it tries to represent. There was a time when we, in Ireland
couldn't have conceived of such a place. I know it's a brash marketing
exercise. It's not high culture and it's not even very interesting folk
culture, but I love the fact of its existence the wider confidence it
signifies, the unapologetic celebration of success.
There is no finer place in Dublin City to sit back, survey the scene and
think about what it means to be Irish.
by
Laura Mackey
30th January 2002
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