Dublin

Somewhat ironically, Irish identity has become inextricably linked to the act of leaving.

The excellent Irish Immigration Museum in Dublin explains that virtually since people have begun inhabiting this island, they have been leaving: for reasons of persecution, prosecution, proselytism, education, hunger, employment, marriage and opportunity.

This was most pronounced during the Irish Famine of 1845-50. Between those who died here and those who left, mainly to America, the Irish population was reduced by more than a quarter. As a result, today there are 7 times as many people in America with Irish heritage than there are people in Ireland.

Despite their habit for departing these shores, it was arriving, not leaving, that was easier than it's been anywhere on this trip- the border force official at the airport barely flicked his head up to register my face before scanning my passport and slapping it back on the counter.

This, compared to the Hungarian official last week who pointed at my passport photo and asked "Is this you?" I confirmed that yes it was me, or it had been, 8 years ago when the photo was taken. I don't quite know what would have happened if I'd said no, or how I would have proved my identity if he'd pressed me further- given that this is what my passport is generally for. It seems a bit like one of the questions US immigration ask: "are you a terrorist?" It'll catch someone out eventually I'm sure.

Contrary to my experience elsewhere in Europe, it wasn't Dublin's grand old buildings or museums stacked full of art that made an impression on me; it was its people.

The rich social history of Ireland and the worldliness gained from having friends and relatives spread all over the globe combine here to form a consistent blend of friendliness, kindness and good humour unmatched so far in my travels.

It showed through everywhere.

On the Dublin-Belfast train, the ticket collector greeted each proffered ticket not with a begrudging nod and a "thanks" but with "fantastic!", "brilliant!", or "wonderful, thank you", and a general exuberance and enjoyment of life that belied the unholy time of day.

The server at the cafe in Belfast also deserves a mention. When I ordered a latte with my breakfast, she asked if I wanted "in nae?" After she patiently repeated this several times I realised that I did indeed want it now, rather than wait and have it with my food. Simple really.

The bartender at Temple Bar talked happily about where to end the first pour of a Guinness, the correct temperature for beer lines and ideal shape for glasses (Guinness changes their glass shapes slightly every year, did you know) on my way to the bottom of several expertly-poured pints.

I met a man called Leo at the beautiful waterfall in Iveagh Gardens. He had created his own walking tour of Dublin themed around the Iveagh Trust, its buildings, parks and history. He was a tourist in his own city and had printed off 4 pages of notes on the various landmarks he would pass as he went. As he left he handed me the notes and I spent a lovely afternoon joining some of his dots together, though sadly I couldn't get to them all.

Even the man in the self-checkout area of a Tesco Express went well beyond his brief- I thought the machine was a left-to-right not a right-to-left operation, so accidentally put my unscanned items straight in the bagging area, prompting the usual flashing lights and police sirens designed to roundly humiliate would-be petty criminals such as myself. He came to my rescue and I made a cheap gag about having been in Europe for a few weeks and needing to learn to drive on the left again, which he very generously found funny.

This is the last in my "city series" of my recent European adventure. I did stop off briefly in Liverpool on my way home to Derby from Dublin, but I spent the majority of it catching up with cousins (technically second-cousins, but who's counting) over a fistful of pints and frankly, that was far too much fun to share with the internet.