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Started with breakfast and laughs. Fuel for our final full day. We went souvenir hunting (almost bought a scarf, then remembered I don’t have a money tree). We wandered through the Dead Zoo, which is far more charming than it sounds-Victorian displays, a sense of curious wonder, and taxidermy that’s seen better days but still tells a story.
After that, we hopped to the Botanic Gardens, nature doing its thing while we soaked it all in. We walked and talked, counted magpies, and watched squirrels beg for peanuts.
But it was Glasnevin Cemetery that moved me most. There’s something reverent about standing among grand mausoleums and Celtic crosses, chasing bumblebees and coaxing ravens into dramatic poses. It felt alive, weirdly.
We stopped at Kavanagh’s Gravedigger, where I chickened out of ordering a Coddle (because once you know, you can’t unknow). Ended up with a stew that was basically the inside of a warm hug.
And then: The Cobblestone Pub. Live trad music, fiddles, guitars, bodhráns. It hit something raw in me. I stood there, whiskey in hand, eyes leaking—not because I was sad, but because I was home in that moment.
Afterwards, we slid into folklore at the Leprechaun Museum (Seanchaí-led stories and myths galore), though Sarah was under the weather and missed most of it. Ended the night gently at Zaytoon, with comfort food and the kind of chats that stay with you long after the lights go out.
