I’m not a city girl.  Ask anyone who’s walked beside me along the streets of Dublin, they’ve undoubtedly heard me marvel at the structures that seem impossible to me, stop and take photographs of the most obscure objects while completely missing the giant monuments, and yes, complain about my anxiety, annoyance, and general distrust of urban hubs.  Most of my Day 1 of Dublin was occupied searching for a park (which, by the way, I never found–though I discovered some other wonderful places on my quest).

One thing, however, did strike me about Dublin.  It was one of the same features that struck me about Armagh upon my arrival: the doors.  As our bus snaked through the lesser-known portions of Dublin, we passed what, for lack of the correct word, I can only describe as townhouses, all brick and identical except for their marvelous doors of many colors.  Despite the great drab of some parts of the city, the brilliant colors persist–purple here, green there, a splash of fire-engine red, and so on.

The many doors that appealed so finely to my artist’s eye are more than just a pretty sight, though.  They are reflective of the diversity Ireland’s capital city.  People speaking many languages, dressing as they please, and eating everything from Vietnamese food to Gelato and traditional Irish cuisine plow through the streets like the own them–and they do.  This great acceptance of varying culture is a defining quality of most larger cities, but in Dublin it holds special meaning.  Many places in Ireland are still very Irish, and still living in fear of the past.  Dublin not only commemorates it’s past, but also celebrates it’s future and accepts the natural diversity of a globally connected community. Like the doors of Dublin, the city is spattered with bright splotches of culture.