The "Commuter Christmas": An Experiment at the Royal Marine

Christmas is usually a binary choice: you are either hosting the madness, or you are a guest sleeping on a relatives' air mattress. This year, I decided to try a third option. I undertook an experiment by booking a stay at the Royal Marine Hotel in Dún Laoghaire, but with a twist.

Unlike most of the guests, I didn't book the Christmas lunch package. I wasn't there for the turkey and ham. My plan was to use the hotel as a luxurious base camp, "commuting" to Dalkey for family festivities, while dedicating the quiet mornings and evenings to street photography along the coast.

It was a fascinating few days that revealed a lot about Irish weather, the comfort of solitude, and a growing trend in how we handle the holidays.

The Royal Marine: A Grand Base Camp

The Royal Marine is an institution. Standing tall since the Victorian era, it commands views across Dublin Bay that are usually breathtaking. At Christmas, the hotel leans into its grandeur—soaring ceilings, deep carpets, and a sense of history that feels right for the season.

Staying there provided a strange, delightful contrast. I would leave the high-energy chaos of a family Christmas in Dalkey—wrapping paper flying, ovens blazing, children screaming—and retreat to the absolute stillness of a hotel room. It turns out, having a sanctuary to retreat to doesn't make you anti-social; it actually makes you a better guest when you are there.

The Emerging Trend: The "Hotel Grandparent"

While navigating the lobby and the lifts, I noticed I wasn't the only one pulling this manoeuvre. I struck up conversations with several other guests—predominantly grandparents—and realised I had stumbled upon a significant trend.

Many of the people I met were not eating in the hotel either. They were suited and booted, waiting for taxis or children to collect them to go to local homes for dinner.

Is staying in a hotel the new normal? It seems the days of multi-generational overcrowding are fading. Talking to these guests, the reasoning was clear:

Space is at a premium: Modern homes (and apartments in places like Dalkey or Dún Laoghaire) often don't have the spare bedrooms to house extended family comfortably.

The Gift of Sleep: Grandparents adore their grandchildren, but they also adore a full night's sleep on a high-quality mattress, away from the 6:00 AM wake-up calls of excited toddlers.

Autonomy: It allows for a "best of both worlds" scenario. You get the connection and warmth of the family dinner, but the autonomy of your own breakfast and a quiet evening.

It wasn't that they didn't want to be with family; it was that they wanted to be rested for their family.

The Failed Photography Plan My own "experiment" had a second objective: Street Photography.

My vision was romantic: early mornings capturing the moody winter light over the Irish Sea, and late afternoons documenting the empty streets of Dún Laoghaire.

The reality, however, was a physical battle. While the forecast for the rest of Dublin read "settled," the coast tells a different story. We were hit with a "Fresh Easterly"—a wind that travels uninterrupted across the Irish Sea to slam directly into the harbour.

Met Éireann data confirmed Force 6 gusts, which on the East Pier translates to salt spray hitting you horizontally and a wind chill dropping to -4°C. It wasn't just blustery; it was unsafe. The sea was churning with such violence that approaching the edge for a composition wasn't brave, it was stupid.

Any photographer knows that wind is the enemy of sharpness, but salt spray is the enemy of electronics. Between the gale-force gusts and the risk of being swept off a footing, the camera stayed largely in the bag. Sometimes, the smartest photo you take is the one you decide not to shoot.