One of my favorite myths concerning the Irish, and there are many, is that of the Black Irish. Over time the term has been used to describe people of Irish descent who exhibit dark features that are not otherwise seen on the island. For years people have hypothesized that these people were the descendants of some invader to the island during its long history. While the theory is most likely true to some extent, some of the stories that have been told as proof of the theory are about as likely as a leprechaun guarding a pot of gold.
One form of the Black Irish legend says that invaders from Spain, known as Milesians, sailed to Ireland to invade the island in retaliation for the murder of their uncle ľth. The eight nephews, or Míl Espáine, (Soldiers of España) invaded Ireland to face off with the three Irish kings. After negotiating with the kings, the Soldiers of España agreed to sail nine waves from Ireland. If when they had sailed the nine waves they were still able to land on the island, it would be theirs. The soldiers set sail, but they were tricked by the kings who used magic to whip up a storm. During the storm, five of the soldiers were killed but the remaining three were able to land and thus take possession of Ireland. These kings then brought their Mediterranean looks and traits to mix with the Irish. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milesians_(Irish)
One other explanation for the dark featured Irish is even more unlikely than the magical storm and three Soldiers of España. Some argue that the black haired and brown eyed Irish men and women are actually descendants of Spanish traders or even survivors of the Spanish Armada. The theory involving the Armada is that a small number of survivors washed up on the western coast of Ireland after Spain’s mighty Navy was defeated by the English in 1588. These survivors chose to make their home on the Emerald Isle, intermarrying and passing on their dominant dark features to future generations of Irish children. While it’s a great story, some would even say something out of a romance novel, very little evidence exists to support the theory. It is unlikely that a few lone soldiers were able to make a life in a war-torn foreign land, and have a significant genetic impact. Most likely the evidence of dark features in Ireland is the result of the many invading groups and traders that visited, conquered, or settled on the island over many thousands of years. http://www.ireland-information.com/articles/blackirish.htm
Of course, I could’ve said all this at the very beginning but what fun would that be. Anyways, this brings me to the subject of this blog post. On Thursday March 17th, I travelled into Madrid in search of the Black Irish. Not the mythical Milesians or the shipwrecked Armada, but something a little more modest. I went in search of the Irish spirit in Madrid on that greatest of all Irish holidays. What began as an epic quest nearly became an epic failure, but like those three surviving Soldiers of España I eventually came to my reward. Mine though was not the entire island, just a pint of their finest brew.
My quest to find the Black Irish began not on a ship, but on a Metro train. I decided that my first destination, seeing as how it was 10am and too early to hit the pub, would be the Irish Embassy here in Madrid. Now, I confess that I’ve never before gone looking for an embassy but in all honesty I expected a little more. The Irish embassy is located just north of the Rueben Dario Metro stop on Paseo de la Castellana. The building itself is fairly unremarkable and in truth, I’m not really sure whether the building contained more than one embassy or just the Irish contingent.
Pictured above is the embassy. Note the complete and total lack of shamrocks, leprechauns, parades, and greenery. There wasn’t even someone out front handing out green Mardi Gras beads with Guiness emblems. In all seriousness, I at least would have expected some sort of recognition or sign. Disappointed, I headed back towards Madrid hoping to seek solace in a pint of Ireland’s finest.
From the embassy, I meandered down Paseo de la Castellana to Calle de Alcalà and over from there towards Sol. On the way I stopped by a Starbucks. (I know it’s not Irish, but at least they have a green awning) After Starbucks I took my coffee and headed to the Plaza de Colon (pictured). Here I relaxed for a few moments and planned the rest of my day. Ever since my first visit here, this plaza has fascinated me. In the United States we have essentially disowned Christobal Colon, but in Spain he is still celebrated, but seeing as how this is St. Patrick’s Day, and Columbus was not Irish but Italian, we’ll leave this to another time.
Plaza de Colon
Just before getting to the Plaza de Puerta del Sol, I turned onto Calle Principe and my second destination, O’Neill’s Pub. To my absolute shock and despair, it was closed. It was now going on noon, and the pub was CLOSED. What about the green eggs, Irish sausages, beer! Hoping that it was soon to open, I hung around the area for a while and actually stumble upon some real gems. Nearby I found myself in the Plaza de Santa Ana. This is one of the most entertaining squares in the city and a great starting out point for many a Spanish night out on the town. Tucked away into one of the corners of the square is a small bar called Cervecería Alemana. Translating to German brewhouse, this bar was one of the favorite hangouts for Ernest Hemmingway when he was spending time in Spain.
After exploring the square for awhile, it was now a little after 12:30, I headed back down to O’Neill’s for that all important first pint. Again I had no luck. I was now getting dangerously close to an epic failure in my search for the Black Irish. I should note here that my quest was a PG rated one. There would be no late nights of flowing Guiness, Jameson, and dancing a jig. Instead, I had to return to La Moraleja by 4pm to pick up two very active boys from schools. With only two hours remaining until I needed to be back on the Metro, I headed to my last hope, the James Joyce Pub near Banco de España.
Sitting on Calle Alcalà, the James Joyce is a delightful little pub with good Irish cheer, great food, and yes, good Irish Guiness. Most importantly, the pub was open for business. I headed in and found myself a seat near the bar. Although my server lacked a good Irish brogue, she actually only spoke Spanish, she understood Guiness and finally I had my St. Patty’s day prize. Hungry after my quest, I also requested a menu and was delighted to see such classics as banger’s and mash, beef slow roasted in a Guiness sauce, sheperd’s pie, and even lamb stew. I ordered the lamb stew and settled back with my pint in my own little corner of Ireland.
Lamb stew at the James Joyce Pub (Estofado de Cordero)
In the end I made it back in time to get the boys, content with a belly full of Irish goodness, and I even got a tacky Guiness hat to pass onto the kids. Thanks to the James Joyce, I was able to find a little bit of Irish cheer in Madrid.
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