Photo: Courtesy of Dublin Tourism

Dublin Castle

Dublin, A City at Play

"How about I meet you at the front gates of Trinity at half five?" says Padraic (pronounced "Po-rick"), a friend and local Dubliner whom I've called from my hotel.

It's been almost 10 years since I've been to Dublin, but I remember enough localese to know that "half five" means 5:30, not 2:30, and that "Trinity" refers to Trinity College (www.tcd.ie), Ireland's oldest university and a good place to track down a lost tourist. "Oh, and avoid Grafton Street at this hour," he adds. "It's mental!"

But I've come here in search of mental, I remind him. I want to see the new, buzzy Dublin I keep hearing so much about. "All right," he sighs. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Moments later, I'm crossing St. Stephen's Green—one of the large, lush parks that add calm and color to this busy Georgian city—and stepping onto Grafton Street, a long pedestrian thoroughfare stuffed to the gills with big-name international retailers and, it seems, gazillions of eager shoppers to match. It's madness. Looking out upon the crush of humanity, I think to myself: This is what a Hannah Montana concert must be like.

And yet, as I'll learn over four jam-packed days here, it isn't just Grafton Street that's almost comically bustling in Dublin today.

Celtic Cool

Once viewed by visitors as little more than an entry point for greener Irish pastures beyond, Ireland's 1,200-year-old capital teems with renewed life and energy, a full-fledged destination of its own. For that, Dubliners can thank the "Celtic Tiger," an economy that roared to life over the past decade. Attracted by low rates of taxation and a well-educated, English-speaking population, foreign technology companies flocked here in the 1990s, igniting an economic transformation that helped turn one of Europe's poorest countries into its second-richest. (Only tiny Luxembourg has a higher standard of living among EU nations.) Today, vibrant Dublin is a mandatory port of call for everyone from Euro hipsters to big-time financiers to waves of eager immigrants. Each of whom, it seems, is out shopping tonight on Grafton Street.

Ten minutes of moshing later, I arrive dazed but exhilarated at the gates of Trinity, its dramatic spires puncturing the clear Dublin night. Ireland's premier university is home to the Book of Kells (www.tcd.ie/about/trinity/bookofkells), one of antiquity's most revered manuscripts, and oversized literary talents such as Jonathan Swift, Oscar Wilde and Samuel Beckett. Today, the school warmly welcomes students and visitors alike to tour the sprawling green campus, which provides a terrific and much-needed respite from the city's constant energy. But warm welcomes weren't always a Trinity specialty, apparently.

"The college was historically Protestant," Padraic tells me when we meet. "The lore is that the constitution still says the provost can hang a Catholic from the bell tower each May."

Hmm.

"Though I think the provost now is a Catholic himself."

And while I'll hear more about Ireland's famously contentious history during my stay here, the overwhelming impression I'll leave with is that of a remarkably, even improbably, multicultural and modern society.

That much is clear as soon as we walk into O'Neill's (2 Suffolk St.; +353-1-679-3656; www.oneillsbar.com), one of the few pubs in the city that still boasts a traditional full carvery (think Grandma's Sunday dinner, with lots of beer). Trinity students line the bar, nursing their pints of Guinness and studiously focusing on the game on TV. There's always a game on in Dublin, I soon learn, whether it's a homegrown favorite, like Gaelic football (a mix of soccer and rugby) or hurling (a lightning-fast cross between hockey and lacrosse), or one of those second-rate imports such as European football and rugby. Some Dublin pubs, like the string of watering holes along Baggot Street, cater to fans of specific teams—and only a fool would drink at another team's pub.

We sidle up our cafeteria-style trays to a chef who's busy slicing at hulking sides of ham, beef and turkey. He hails from Eastern Europe, as do most of the staff one encounters today in Dublin's pubs, wine bars and restaurants. Unlike many EU countries, job-rich Ireland opened its doors to workers from the newest accession countries, with the nation's multinational workforce swelling as a result. Poles make up the largest group of new immigrants, as evidenced by Dublin's Polish-language TV station, radio network and string of Polish restaurants.

I pick up my heaping bowl of Irish stew (chunks of beef, onions, celery, carrots and champ, or mashed potatoes) and go to grab—what else?—a pint of Guinness. Even as mod wine bars proliferate across the new Dublin, the legendary, thick, dark stout first brewed in this city retains its unassailable standing in the hearts and bellies of the Irish, as a tour of the sprawling, surprisingly inventive Guinness Storehouse (St. James' Gate; +353-1-408-4800; www.guinness-storehouse.com) makes clear. And that's when it happens: the moment when you, the tourist, do a terrible tourist thing.

"Stop!" Padraic calls out. "Wait for the second pour!" Hopelessly misguided, I've reached for my Guinness before the first pour has settled into its pitch-dark blackness and before the bartender has had a chance to top off the glass. P-draic's expression seems to be saying that I might as well have kicked the bartender in the teeth, or worse—rooted for another pub's team.

At our next stop, it goes without saying, I stick to wine. We're at the buzzy, cavernous Market Bar (Fade Street; +353-1-613-9094; www.marketbar.ie), billed as the first in a wave of popular, upmarket "gastro" bars and pubs where food is as important as liquor. Housed in a massive, renovated warehouse, the place is a favorite among Dublin's smartly dressed under-40 set, boasting a huge wine list, a tasty collection of Mediterranean tapas (the Moroccan lamb tagine is top-notch) and a "no music" policy that, while rare for this music-loving city, encourages easy conversation.

Seated with a group of Padraic's old college friends, the talk soon turns, as it often does in Dublin, to sports. Knowing that the Irish are fiercely, even obsessively, devoted to their homegrown Gaelic games, I ask them to explain to me the difference between the rough-and-tumble Irish football and regular football (what we Americans think of as soccer). "That's easy, mate," says one. "Irish football is to football what Guinness is to a Cosmo." That's all I need to know.

Field Work

"Is this where they show the Bloody Sunday movie?" a boy, maybe 11, asks me.

I'm in a screening room at the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) Museum (http://museum.gaa.ie/) at Croke Park stadium (Drumcondra; +353-1-819-2300; www.crokepark.ie; tours available), sacred ground for fans of Irish sport and just about everyone in Ireland. Not only does Croke Park host both the Irish football and hurling "All Ireland" championships, it's also a national landmark, as the site of the infamous 1920 "Bloody Sunday" attack that saw British soldiers fire upon the nationalist crowd.

In the new Dublin, however, Croke Park is a symbol of Ireland's progress and reconciliation. The premier site of Gaelic games since 1884, the newly redeveloped Croke towers above the scrappy neighborhood below. Just last year, in a moment imbued with seismic national significance, Gaelic sports officials finally allowed non-Irish games (i.e. rugby and European football) to be played on these hallowed grounds, at least while the city's football and rugby stadium, Lansdowne Road (www.lrsdc.ie), undergoes renovation.

The boy tells me he's come with his primary school class on a five-hour bus ride from Cork, Ireland, just to see Croke Park. And there they are. About a dozen of his schoolmates suddenly gather around us.

"Did you know that the 1947 All Ireland championship was played in New York?" one of them asks me, launching into an impromptu lesson on Irish football history.

I walk with them through the museum, stopping to view a display on the hurley, the aerodynamic, curved wooden stick that gives hurling its rapid pace. Standing before a case of medals heralding Christy Ring, Ireland's all-time greatest hurler, the boys are beside themselves.

"It's Christy!" they shout. And then they're off, running across the museum and into an indoor batting cage. As if moved by Christy himself, the boys take turns grabbing the hurley and giving it a mighty swing.

Old Town Tour

It's a cool, clear morning at Bewley's Oriental Cafe (78/79 Grafton St.; +353-1-672-7720; www.bewleyscafe.com), a quirky Dublin institution that's part teahouse, part bakery, part theater and a favorite of Dublin bohos harkening back to James Joyce. I've come to plan my final day in town here, hell-bent on getting my 59 euros' worth out of my three-day Dublin Pass. The pass provides free entry to roughly three dozen major attractions in the city, including tourist staples such as Kilmainham Gaol and Christchurch Cathedral and lesser-known treats such as the Dublin Writers Museum and James Joyce Centre. It's a good deal, as long as you don't mind running around, Amazing Race-style, to fit it all in.

Having had a ball in the new, modern Dublin, I decide it's time to see a little bit of the old city. So I head to Dublin Castle (off Dame Street; www.dublincastle.ie), a collection of ancient fortresses and ceremonial rooms built on the site of the original

Viking settlement of "Dubh Linn." The place also housed English viceroys in their day, who, as our bright-eyed tour guide reminds us, weren't much welcome.

The guide then beckons the group outside and down a long series of stone steps into a large, underground cellar. Here, we see a massive stone wall atop a shallow pool of water, which was the entrance to the original Viking settlement, complete with an overpass—still clearly visible—that once ran across the city's massive moat.

Because the Poodle River, long since redirected and buried under the city, now percolates up through the ground on this very spot, a new mini-moat has formed to strange and fantastic effect. I've feigned interest in plenty of old walls before, but seeing this piece of history is a genuine thrill.

This ancient corner of the city is just as it was more than a thousand years ago, but as I step outside the castle walls to the new, bustling Dublin, I realize the city is still changing, creating and moving at lightning speed—and that suits me just fine.