Andreas had just unpacked his suitcase and arranged things for his first night in Dublin. However, he didn't feel like going to bed. Not yet. He went down into the cold, windy streets of Dublin. Eventually, the dim lights of a pub caught his attention; the nostalgic sign above the door said "McDaids". As soon as he entered the room, he was enveloped by the peculiar pub atmosphere created by the warmth of an overcrowded bar, Irish folk songs, scraps of rather loud conversation, and the smell of beer and cheap cigarettes. Portraits of poets and some rather bulky old books on shelves were obviously meant to provide an intellectual touch - but the laughter and jokes which Vaulenberg heard didn't sound quite like literature.

There was just one corner at the bar which made an exception to the jolly mood of the whole place. A massive cloud of smoke surrounded something which looked like the stature of a man - though he was almost completely lost in the fumes he had been producing over the last few hours. A whiskey tumbler seemed to be his only company.

"Would you like your Scotch on ice, sweetheart?" The 18-year-old waitress with the innocent look of a countryside girl sounded slightly too enthusiastic. The man underneath the smoke cloud laughed in despair. The waitress turned to another customer who was calling for attention.

"'With stupidity the Gods themselves struggle in vain'", came from in between the clouds. He gave Vaulenberg a short glance. The quote sounded vaguely familiar to Andreas:
"Goethe?", he said in order to start a polite conversation.
"No, Schiller.... actually. Somewhat close, it would seem. You into literature? Not bad, haha."
Though the laugh sounded somewhat cynical, Andreas made another attempt.
"Not quite. I'm an arts teacher."
"Oh, how wonderful! A would-be artist!"
"Oh no, more on the theoretical side."
"I guessed that much," he said and took a mouthful of whiskey.
Andreas noticed that the tumbler was shaking in his hand.
"Are you German?" Andreas was still trying to be communicative.
"Not in the same way you are," the other said, condescendingly, of course.
"I'll have to move on now."
"So you finally managed to finish your Guinness? 45 minutes, congratulations."
"Well, six whiskies in 45 minutes .... that's not bad either."