Pause, engage … at the James Joyce, rugby unites wandering souls
The best rugby-watching pub in the world is in Greece, and the best part of it is the people who go there
Sometimes we forget, being so caught up in our own psycho-political dramas and emotional crises in this country, that rugby means something to other people too, that sport is like art or music or any other handmade current of human passion: it exists to give dimension to our lives, to bring people together.
For the past month I’ve been in Greece, on an island in the Saronic Gulf, about an hour from Athens on a strong boat. Greece is a very good place, filled with good people, but it’s not a good place for watching the rugby. At least, that’s what I thought.
For the quarterfinals and the semifinals we caught a ferry to Piraeus and the metro to Monastiraki, then walked the narrow whitewashed alleys to the ancient agora, past the Museum of Illusions to the best rugby-watching pub in the world, the James Joyce, and took up our regular places at the bar on comfortable high-legged leather chairs in front of the big screen...