If you find the Iveagh Gardens in Dublin, and make your way to the large sunken lawn, you’ll find yourself standing on one of only two purpose-built archery fields in Ireland, which tells you all you need to know about Victorian nobility’s leisure activities. It looks like a remarkably elegant Victorian lawn, yet buried beneath the immaculate grass lies an elephant from Dublin Zoo, interred there in 1922.

Daily Photo – The Iveagh Gardens in Dublin

On my first morning in Dublin, my hosts informed me we’d be going on a little wander through the city centre before meeting friends for a spot of breakfast. Having just stepped off a twelve-hour flight from Hong Kong in the wee hours of the morning, an amble seemed a capital idea. 

After some cursory ablutions and a short car ride, we were soon pushing through the crowds of Grafton Street and past St Stephen’s Green where we meet friends. Following a round of introductions and much handshaking, it was announced that a detour through the Iveagh Gardens was required before breakfast. Not wishing to commit treason by complaining, I happily followed.

Known as Dublin’s “Secret Garden”, the Iveagh Gardens are tucked away behind walls and largely free of lost-looking tourists. On this particular morning, apart from a lone artist sketching near the Count John McCormack statue, we pretty much had the place to ourselves. So we were free to happily discover rustic grottos, fountains, winding paths and sunken lawns all combined to create a peaceful retreat from the city outside. 

The gardens spent much of their history in private hands. One early owner, the 1st Earl of Clonmell, was apparently so keen to avoid mixing with the public that he connected the garden to his townhouse via a secret tunnel. Later, the Guinness family enclosed the grounds so they could entertain other nobles with lavish parties and drink beer presumably.

The gardens finally opened to the public in the early 1990’s. Which is just as well, otherwise I’d have had to walk a heck of a lot further for my breaky.

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Daily Photo – The Corner College & Westmoreland Street in Dublin

A while ago, while visiting Dublin, I found myself standing at one of the busiest and most historic intersections in the city. It was early evening, the crowds were streaming past in every direction, and the fading light had turned the sky a wonderful shade of blue. As photographers are prone to doing, I became completely distracted by the prospect of a good photo and paid very little attention to anything else going on around me, becoming completely absorbed in the spot where I was standing.

After all, this is the spot where Dubliners affectionately nicknamed a statue of poet Thomas Moore “The Meeting of the Waters”, entirely because the city decided to build an underground public toilet directly beneath his feet.

This is the spot where Victorian architects concluded Irish stone simply wasn’t dramatic enough, importing enormous blocks of pink Peterhead granite from Scotland just to make a bank corner appear suitably imposing.

This is the spot where deep underground vaults, once used to guard the gold and fortunes of the Provincial Bank, were later cleared out and transformed into a cocktail bar, allowing hotel guests to sip craft drinks within thick subterranean stone walls.

This is the spot where 18th-century planners from the Wide Streets Commission demolished a tangled maze of medieval lanes, deliberately carving out a grand triangular space so wealthy pedestrians could enjoy a better view of the parliament buildings.

This is the spot where millions of hurried commuters, confused tourists and perpetually late students have gathered for generations, mostly unaware they are walking directly above the long-buried course of the ancient Poddle River as it quietly makes its way towards the River Liffey.

And this is the spot where, while attempting to photograph the evening light over College Green, I became so absorbed in setting up my camera and tripod that I wandered off with my wife’s phone and wallet, leaving her stranded in the middle of Dublin’s rush-hour crowds wondering where on earth I’d disappeared to.

Fortunately, after a brief and entirely justified telling-off beside the Thomas Moore statue that included the phrase, “Where the hell have you been?”, the matter was settled in the traditional Irish fashion: with a visit to the nearest pub.