The observation tower was, indeed, open, and, while we waited for the next tour to be taken up, I had a look at the old factory and surrounding area.  What had once been a mass of derelict buildings was now a modern complex of stately apartments and holiday flats.  Across the street a massive construction project was underway leading one to believe that, for this area, the present was brighter than the past, and the future would be brighter yet. 

When I ducked inside a nearby courtyard to sneak a photo, a local man on a bicycle at a cashpoint machine noticed me. 

"It's some beautiful architecture, isn't it," he said as he rode past me. 

"It certainly is," I agreed. 

At length, the tour guide rounded up the ragtag batch of foreigners who comprised our tour group, herded us into the elevator and brought us to the top of the chimney.  There, in 360-degree splendor, was Dublin. 

It is, as I've noted earlier, not a particularly beautiful city, but the amount of construction is amazing, and confirms that it is pulsating with life, eager to put it's past behind it and, like the Rod up to God, reach for what is beyond.  In the distance, clear of the massive cranes, church steeples, row houses and countless unseen pubs, rose the pristine Wicklow mountains.  There was the Ireland of myth and song; the Ireland of emerald fields, stone cottages and country lanes, the Ireland I fell in love with and fell in love in, the Ireland I will always hold in my heart and head, the Ireland I will always want to return to. 

But next time, I think I'll give Dublin a miss.