Years ago I read a book by Paul Theroux called Dark Star Safari: Overland From Cairo To Cape Town. It was a harrowing read. At one point the author is in Nairobi, in Kenya, when he witnesses a thief being chased down by a mob, who catch and kill him. The author picks up a parasite in the last days of his trip that he struggles to shake off, long after his return home. He says something along the lines of “you, the reader, can be an armchair traveller, reading the account of my journey in comfort” or words to that effect. I remember thinking how grateful to him I was that I could curl up in my armchair, comfortable and safe, allowing him to do the dirty work.
Dublin isn’t Cairo, nor Cape Town, nor Kenya. I sat on the streets of Dublin City for about twelve months, over nearly two years, and made an account of what I saw, in words, like Mr. Theroux, and in watercolour sketches done on the spot, unlike Mr. Theroux. I did it because I was full of ambition and drive, and I wanted to do it, despite feeling somewhat nervous about the scale of the project when I first discussed it with my publisher (from whom I moved on to another, who ultimately published the book).
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