Growing up in Dundalk taught me three things: the Irish soccer manager Stephen Kenny is next to God, not to trust people from Drogheda, and the lotto is cheaper up north. Moving away for college turned all that on its head, and I had to find new rules to live by in the world outside Co Louth.
Migrating to Dublin landed me bang smack in the middle of the south-Dublin heartlands, where Ross O’Carroll-Kelly is far from some literary jester. Heinomites with the lads, anyone?
I once met a man so south Dublin that he’d never heard the name Saoirse before. Or another who was shocked when I’d never heard of Dublin’s most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs
You’d meet plenty of characters living on the southside. I once met a man so south Dublin that he’d never heard the name Saoirse before. Or another who was shocked when I’d never heard of Dublin’s most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs.
Roaming the halls of the arts block at University College Dublin gave me a crash course in college hackery and post-postmodernity in all its glory. I dabbled in communism for a hot second, like most 18-year-olds who come to the stunning conclusion that capitalism isn’t particularly great. But it was living in Ranelagh that introduced me to the most formidable of Dubliners: those who dwell in D6.
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No amount of forewarning can prepare you for the bougie lifestyle around certain parts of Dublin 6. The local shops have a reputation for stocking the best of the best — and clearing my wallet. How those pensioners could afford to pack their trolleys to the brim is beyond me. And while Dublin still has a soft spot in my heart — renting there for five years gifted me a large hole in my bank account — I always felt something was missing.
Earlier this year I took a job down in Cork city despite the fact that I’d never stepped foot in the place. I soon discovered that Corkonians have a raging superiority complex — and they’re absolutely right.
The ‘real capital’, as Corkonians are so quick to tell you, is the land where a breast in a bun at Hillbilly’s trumps all and they hook Beamish to their veins in hospitals
The “real capital”, as they’re so quick to tell you, is the land where a breast in a bun at Hillbilly’s trumps all and they hook Beamish to their veins in hospitals. No, really, they can’t go more than a day without some of the black stuff.
Leaving Dundalk without the local accent was as much of a blessing as it was a curse. In Cork half the people think I’m from Dublin or the United States or am one of those children of the internet with an accent they’ve co-opted from YouTubers.
As a blow-in, I needed a while to understand the accent, but I’ve since mastered how to fit in: add “bai” — boy — to the end of your statements, say you’re “langered” once in a while, and ensure every third or fourth sentence sounds like it might be a question.
In the rental market, finding a place can be an absolute menace, but it’s a far cry from the lunacy of prices in Dublin. If Dublin is a pressure cooker, Cork is a slightly smaller cooker with just a little less pressure
Trust me, if they sniff the Liffey off you they’ll call in the Young Offenders, or maybe that fishmonger who met the queen.
Dubliners in Cork may as well be from Mars, so shouting “Mon the Town” every once in a while shows that I’m both a Louth man and, most importantly, an alpha male.
But West Brit prejudice aside, the people of Cork city are a bit like Dubliners but without all the notions — and make sure to tell them that. There’s nothing Cork people love more than to hear why they’re superior to those highfalutin folk up in Dublin.
Somehow I spent 23 years of my life without walking the banks of the River Lee — which is, incidentally, the “best” river in Ireland. (Source: Cork.)
In the rental market, finding a place can be an absolute menace, but it’s a far cry from the lunacy of prices in Dublin. If Dublin is a pressure cooker, Cork is a slightly smaller cooker with just a little less pressure.
But while the People’s Republic of Cork has lots going for it, it can never be the real capital. That title stays with my hometown
The city’s size also means you’re never too far from College Road, a street just off University College Cork where students routinely erect barriers, like in Les Mis, but for seshing. I haven’t been fortunate enough to get to a house party there yet, but I’m told I’d fit right in with my mullet and stache. Yes, mullets are cool again.
As well as being the capital of hills — seriously, you can’t go anywhere without breaking a sweat — Cork has trad venues that make Dublin’s look like diddly-eye pubs in Temple Bar. And, Cork being the home of Murphy’s and Beamish, you’ll never suffer the aroma of Guinness farts, like in Dublin.
But while the People’s Republic of Cork has lots going for it, it can never be the real capital. That title stays with my hometown. Dundalk has three things Cork will never have: Dundalk FM, Harp on tap and a decent chipper.
