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The sound of the river Liffey led me into the unexplored, and the low grey Irish sky unexpectedly turned into a deeper dark without any hope for evening stars.During my long walks amist the leftovers of the christmas festivity, i never really felt alone because i’m convinced that solitude is only a condition of the soul and my soul felt uplifted by the lights, the voices and music in Dublin. Music echoed from every corner and it swept through every clinging ivy that decorated the old Irish churches; from the oldest organ of St. Audoen's Church to the biggest in Christ Church. During my wanderings around the city i was able to find vibes in the multitude reflections surrounding me, through the modern buildings on North Wall Quay the city shone with over a thousand of colours. And i was surprised to find here a building that reminded me of a designer thought can, nevertheless i appreciated the city’s will to go beyond the old canons and to blend the old with the new in such an exquisit way. My steps echoed on many bridges, one even reminded me of a snowflake in colour, the last one called Ha’penny bridge brought me to Temple Bar. I was head over heals when i finally found myself outside one of the most iconic features of irish culture: a pub. I was spell bound by the soft green light that embraced this pub and i was compelled to enter both by desperate hunger and by curiosity. I ordered a classic fish and chips and waited full of hope at the center of the wooden hall in my wooden chair. Just a couple of moments after i started digging in my supper, a strange middle aged man with a wild cubbish grey beard strolled towards my table, he looked over at the other tables and then he fixed his gazed on me. My first reaction was to avoid his stare and to continue my feast alone, but i began to feel akward. He grabbed a seat in front of me with a self assured attitude and he started to introduce himself with words that seemed to burst out from his soul like rolling stones down a grassy hill. He reminded me of a hybrid mishmash between a battered norse God and Coleridge’s the Ancient Mariner. I started to converse with this bizarre stranger. He called himself James and he was a true irish man, he was really into St. Patrick’s celebrations and he insisted on underlining the grandeur and magic conveyed by the light installations on St.Patrick’s day, far way better than those employed during Christmas. Then i asked him how was his Christmas and he answered with a melancholic smile and a lost look in his bright blue eyes. I didn’t expect to make an empathic connection with such celerity.His gaze kept falling on my dish so i decided to share it with him. He didn’t have much but he insisted on offering me one of the beers in his sack. Initially i wanted to decline his gift but he reitared on how much this meant for him to show his gratitude. He talked about his origins and his love for his country, even if he had so little he was very proud of being part of his surroundings. By the end of our meal i had come to understand that the brightest souls can be found in unexpected places and people.