Journal •
People Watching at Sandymount
Leading up to Open House Dublin, we partnered with Fighting Words to offer a series of creative writing workshops led by architecture writer Eimear Arthur.
This piece was written by one of the workshop participants, Bonnie Grogan.
It’s a Saturday morning in September and I sit and wait for the sunrise while I watch the people on Sandymount Strand.
As I watch the water ebb in and out, an elderly couple walks towards me and they stop to chat. I hear how they hate retirement but being able to stop and chat to people and walk in Sandymount Strand makes it all more bearable. This morning they are feeling energetic and are taking the 3km walk from the Poolbeg Chimneys to the Poolbeg Lighthouse. I think to myself — God, retirement must be awfully boring to spend your days walking.
I spot my neighbour running the strand, regardless of weather, to get a few moments for herself away from her busy life.
Next I hear a boy call out, “Here Tod, come here, Tod”. I look over to see a boy about age 13 playing with his dog on the beach in the damp wet sand. He had a hurl and a sliothar and he was striking the ball back and forward with his dog. I observed how he didn’t even have to keep an eye on his dog because he always knew he was following by his side. It was clear they had a deep connection.
I watch a father and daughter, walking together deep in conversation, not noticing anyone else around them.
Beside me I watch a photographer setting up his equipment getting ready for the sunrise.
I start to feel a warm glow on my face, and from the corner of my eye, I see a bright light coming from the horizon. The sun has started to rise. It seems like every shade of orange is reflecting from the sky into the sea of Dublin Bay. I watch everyone gather around to admire it. I watch everyone around me stop and pause to take this moment in. The only sounds here I hear are the soft, gentle camera clicks, songs of birds and waves crashing against the rocks. Within minutes, the sun has risen over Sandymount.
All of a sudden the moment seems to have passed and the silence and stillness lifts, the sounds seem louder and everyone starts to move again.
The father and daughter walk towards the photographer and I to look at the images on the camera. I can see the daughter is keen to leave, and I ask them their plans. They tell me about how once a month they come to Sandymount before sunrise and walk along the beach and chat, before going to a cafe on Sandymount Green. She always chooses a steak sandwich. A steak sandwich for breakfast, that’s a weird choice, I tell them. They answer back about how she don’t really like traditional breakfast and prefers a nice steak sandwich with toasted sourdough bread, onions, lettuce, and peppercorn sauce with a side of chips. I watch them leave and I hope she will enjoy her unusual choice of food — I know I couldn’t, I’m more of a baked beans type of guy.
Just as I get up to leave, the sliothar lands at my feet, with the dog shortly after it. I sit and pat the dog before the boy comes over. The boy apologises, but I say there is no need to. I hear about his Jack Russell dog, Tod, about how these are his last few days, so they are spending them enjoying all the things they like to do together. I say goodbye, and wish them both well.
As I watch the boy and dog walk to the rocks I think about what Sandymount means to people. For some it is a place to spend your last few days; a place to run and escape everyday stress; a place to photograph memorable moments; a place to walk away your retirement years; and overall a place to make memories, connections and follow traditions.
