Right, let’s start with this, because it needs saying loud and early: Temple Bar is not a bar.
It’s a district. A few cobbled streets crammed with pubs, tourists, overpriced Guinness, buskers playing Ed Sheeran on repeat, and at least one person shouting “Sláinte!” without knowing what it means.
There is a bar called The Temple Bar, but that’s just the cherry on the chaotic cake. People think it’s the original, or the main one, or that everything else is named after it. Not true. That bar came after the district was already called that. Clever naming. Great marketing. Eye-watering prices.
Let me walk you through what this place actually is, and how to visit it without losing your dignity, your wallet, or your will to love Dublin.
So Where Did the Name Come From?
History time. The name “Temple Bar” has nothing to do with religion or boozy monks.
In the early 1600s, a man named Sir William Temple built a house and gardens in this area. The word “Bar” refers to the old custom of calling embankments or riverside paths ‘bars’ — as in London’s Temple Bar. So “Temple Bar” is just that: Temple’s riverside bit. Nothing sacred. No legendary pint. Just urban planning with a side of landowning ego.
It was marshy land back then. Flood-prone. Not exactly nightlife central. But over time, it became a maze of streets, homes, workshops — and by the 18th century, it was bustling with trade.
Then it got rough. Then it got forgotten. Then the 1990s came along, and Temple Bar got reborn — rebranded as the cultural quarter. And by “cultural,” I mean pubs every five metres and lads in Viking hats at 2 p.m.
The Temple Bar Pub (Yes, the Red One with the Flower Boxes)
You’ve seen the photo. Everyone has. It’s on postcards, fridges, fridge magnets, jigsaw puzzles, probably tattoos somewhere.
The Temple Bar Pub, with its bold red front and always-busy beer garden, is ground zero for tourist pints. But here’s the truth: locals rarely go there. It’s expensive. A pint will run you €8–€9, depending on the music, the weather, and how lost you look.
Is it pretty? Sure. Is it full of craic? Absolutely. Will you meet a lad from Ohio trying his first Guinness and yelling “This is LIT”? Probably.
If you’re curious, go in. Take your photo. Have a pint. Then leave before the credit card starts crying.
Is Temple Bar Worth It?
Look — I guided people through this area for years. Some loved it. Some looked traumatised. It depends on what you’re after.
If you want:
- Live music (usually covers)
- Stag and hen party spotting
- Pubs open early and late
- An atmosphere somewhere between carnival and minor chaos
Then yes, Temple Bar will serve you well.
But if you’re after:
- Authentic Dublin pub culture
- Quiet corners
- Reasonably priced drinks
- Conversations with locals not dressed as leprechauns
Then it’s not the place. And that’s fine. Dublin’s got range.
Where Locals Go Instead (Close By)
You don’t have to go far to escape the madness. Within walking distance:
- The Long Hall (South Great George’s Street) – Classic Victorian pub. Mirrors, snugs, and zero nonsense.
- Grogan’s (South William Street) – Toasties, pints, artists. No music. Just talk.
- The Stag’s Head (Dame Court) – Beautiful pub. Slightly hidden. Better Guinness. Less volume.
- The Lord Edward (Christchurch Place) – Old-school, multi-floor, pure Dublin.
And if you want a late-night spot without the Instagram crowds, try Whelan’s on Camden Street. Music, yes. Tourist trap, no.
Temple Bar Survival Tips (Because You’ll Probably Go Anyway)
- Don’t buy plastic Guinness hats. You’ll regret it by the next street.
- Eat before you go. The food nearby is either overpriced or soggy.
- Watch your phone and wallet. Pickpockets love a distracted pint-holder.
- Go early afternoon if you want to see the area without the night mayhem.
- **Leave when people start singing Wonderwall.**Trust me.
Temple Bar is like a theme park version of Dublin. It’s loud, messy, and overpriced — but it’s also weirdly charming if you catch it on a good day and keep your expectations realistic.
You don’t have to love it. You don’t have to hate it. Just know what it is: a shiny, overamped caricature of the real thing, useful for a pint and a photo. And then — for the love of all that’s holy — go find the real Dublin, which is quieter, older, and just down the road.
Next up? I’m thinking we go deep on the Spire. Or maybe how to find a proper pub with a loo that doesn’t feel like a haunted crypt.
Let me know.
