Tourists helped by Ireland’s friendliest

How do you spot a tourist in a city full of strangers? Look for the person with furrowed eyebrows stopped in the middle of the street, pouring over a tattered city map with all the major landmarks drawn as cartoon icons.

In most places around the world, these confused visitors would be looked upon with annoyance, even disdain. In Dublin, however, they are the injured birds chirping in despair, and the city’s residents are quick to take them home and nurture them until they are ready to fly again.

More than the actual city itself, I was impressed with the welcoming demeanor of Dubliners — even during St. Patrick’s Day weekend, a time sure to attract plenty of clueless tourists. From the moment I stepped out of the airport, I found that most people bent over backwards to help.

With a reputation of being a convivial and affable group — especially after a few pints of Guinness — the Irish rank at the top of Lonely Planet’s “World’s Friendliest Countries” list, and for good reason.

During my first encounter with my Irish hosts, I asked a bus driver which line to take to Grafton Street, where my hostel was located. I expected only a short reply but, instead, received an offer to be driven to my destination.

This simple gesture of kindness alleviated the anxieties I felt after a maddening Tube, bus and plane ride from London.

Unfortunately, when I was finally dropped off on Grafton Street, the hostel was nowhere in sight. I stood for a full minute trying to figure out whether the numbers on the buildings increased when I turned left or right, only to have my thoughts interrupted by two young men.

To be approached on the street at 11 p.m. on a Thursday night by two men might not bode well for a girl out and about in Los Angeles, but in Dublin the practice is almost as innocuous as it would have been if the conversation occurred during the day on a crowded street.

Apparently, “Where do you need to go?” and “Let me show you” are phrases employed on a daily basis.

The two boys chivalrously offered to walk me to my hostel, which turned out to be a lot farther down the street. When I inquired about their plans for the night, they suggested a nightclub they were headed to and drew a large “X” over where it was located on the map. After settling into my bunk, I decided to stop by.

Even at 1 a.m., Copper Face Jacks — a venue popular among the local 20-somethings — was still packed with people. One man, despite his slurred speech and wavering balance, launched into a whole history of his family’s involvement in Ireland’s struggle for independence. Another pulled me aside and taught me a few steps to the Irish jig.

It seems that the Irish are a proud bunch, more than happy to introduce their city and share their heritage with interested tourists. Throughout my trip, all it took was a confused look or a simple gesture for someone to stop what he was doing and point me in the right direction.

On a walking tour I took the following day, the guide — who was born and raised in Dublin — offered some insight into why this might be. She told stories of historical failure after failure, resulting in the development of a twisted sense of humor among the Irish.

Throughout its history, Ireland has been invaded by the Celts, the Vikings, and — most notably — the English, against whom they have fought long and hard for independence.

During Easter 1916, the Irish launched a rebellion against England. The rebels couldn’t rally enough fighters to storm Dublin Castle, however, and decided to postpone the battle. The next day, they changed their minds again and stormed the castle with a mighty force of 10 men and nine women.

Having met no opposition, they easily took over the seat of British power in Dublin. But, with victory within grasp, the rebels foolhardily retreated, thinking the lack of opposition to be a trap.

Although the 1916 rebellion ultimately failed, Ireland eventually won its independence in a 1921 truce with the British, which was met with controversy.

In response to a failed city initiative in 2004, pranksters placed a plaque on the city’s O’Connell Bridge commemorating the heroism of fictional Roman Catholic priest Father Pat Noise. When the Dublin City Council revealed the hoax and tried to remove it, the public left flowers and tributes beside the plaque in protest.

Perhaps it’s because of these failures that the Irish are able to meet any situation with a smile and a boisterous laugh. Or maybe their altruism simply stems from trying to save innocent bystanders from catching the un-luck of the Irish.