Ravings of a Textual Deviant

Saturday, 3/10

Saturday was probably the nicest morning of the entire trip—sunny, slightly warmer, and a bit less windy than the previous week. The first part of our last day in Dublin was spent wandering around the north side of Dublin, just north of the river, and making our modest contribution to the local economy. We got some photos of James Joyce’s statue, and that of Daniel O’Connell, as well as the GPO and the base of the Spire of Light. We wandered into a few fabric stores, one of which was called “Hickey’s” (not making this up), had a bagel in one of the innumerable shops, and found ourselves on Bachelor’s Walk, right along the river. Purely by chance, I found a bead store, and as I have recently begun thinking that I may need to take up dealing to support that particular habit, I had to go in. (In the “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing” category, the place ships to the US if your order is over a certain minimum.) We crossed back over the Ha’penny Bridge, dropping in on the Forbidden Planet science fiction/comic shop as we headed back into the southside. We wandered through a square and checked out a couple of the funky little shops.

That afternoon, we hied ourselves off for a last does of edification at the National Museum of Natural History, which is, without a doubt, the creepiest museum I have ever been in. It’s as much a museum museum as a natural history museum, if you get my meaning. It doesn’t seem to have changed very much from its opening in Victorian times, and is packed full of insect-y things pinned into glass cases; pale, squishy-looking things in large glass jars, and a staggering array of fauna and sometimes, their detached heads, taxidermied within an inch of their…well, lives, isn’t really the right word, is it? All of this is documented by cards that have been neatly typed on now-antique typewriters, or documented in the excruciatingly neat handwriting of a corps of forgotten but dedicated and anal-retentive taxonomists.

The ground floor highlights Irish wildlife, complete with massive skeletons of the extinct Giant Irish Deer, a large, disproportionate-looking giant sunfish, and an eel that choked on a frog. A basking shark hangs from the ceiling, and there are in-habitat displays of some of the mammals and birds. I couldn’t help but hear the Arrogant Worms’s “Mounted Animal Nature Trail” playing in my head.

The first floor (which is one floor up from the ground floor, as is common in Europe) is a general exhibition of “international” animals, which is where a staggering array of megafauna have been stuffed and crammed into cases. Several of them are also out on daises, such as the giraffe and the walrus, along with disembodied heads mounted on all four sides of the square pillars that stretch to the lower gallery. From the open ceiling three stories up hang the skeletons of two whales that beached themselves decades ago. The southern wall features a display of birds that died along the Irish coast in the course of their migrations. Or should that be attempted migrations?

The Lower Gallery, which is simply a walkway all around the perimeter of the second story, shows the evolution of vertebrates. There’s an interesting display of nests, as well as the skeleton of the dodo that was the model for the drawings in the original printing of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. Unfortunately, the model appears to have been rather overweight and not in the best of health at the time is sat for the picture.

The Upper Gallery, a walkway all around the perimeter of the third story, shows the evolution of invertebrates, with beautiful seashells in cases next to parasites best not thought about. It also has the only contemporary exhibit in the museum, which shows the photos of animals that are now extinct in Ireland, but still found in other places. The photos were taken by various Irish celebrities, and it had the expected conservation subtext worked into the photographers’ comments about how amazing it had been to travel to foreign parts and see these magnificent animals.

From there, we went on to Archbishop Ryan Park, in Merrion Square. It’s laid out as an English garden, generally, but also has a heather garden, playground, and display or working antique Dublin lampposts. There’s a statue of Oscar Wilde lounging on a large rock on the northwest corner of the park, along with two square columns, each topped with a small statue, with Mr. Wilde’s quotations scrawled on glass in colored marker in various handwriting styles.

Dinner that night was at Ocean, in the Grand Canal dockyards, and very pleasantly close to our hotel. Along with Queen of Tarts, it was one of my favorite places to eat. It’s small, and it was a bit too chilly and windy to eat outside, but the walls are glass, so it was the next best thing. The entire place is very contemporary, with brushed nickel, pale wood, and living room-type furniture rather than tables and chairs. The food was amazing; I had an enormous seafood salad with lots of vegetables, topped with tiny shrimp in a creamy sauce, a raw oyster, smoked salmon, and what I am fairly certain were pickled herrings. We sat looking out at the dozen or so sky cranes in the immediate area, the light-up sculpture across the dockyards, and the sunset. It was a lovely ending to our visit, and the last relaxing time we had until we arrived back in Indianapolis.

Friday, 3/9

Friday was a gorgeous day in Dublin, sunny, but windy. The day started out well enough, with as close as we got to a traditional Irish breakfast at Cafe Canale, which was on the walk from the hotel to the city center. I had scrambled eggs with cheese, white toast with butter and orange marmalade, and tea from a dented red metal pot.

By the way, in a lot of the cafes, you can order tea, or you can order a pot of tea for two for slightly less than two individual teas. I approve, not so much because of the miniscule savings, but because there is something inherently cozy and sociable about sharing a pot of tea.

From breakfast, we went over to Dublin castle for The Tour. The castle is the only museum in which photography is allowed (in most of the rooms) and I took advantage. The lower yard of Dublin Castle is now a parking lot, but the upper yard is more or less still exactly that; an open courtyard, with sufficiently few openings as to make defense a feasible thing. In fact, the attempt to storm it was made as recently as 1916, but was ultimately unsuccessful, and the GPO (General Post Office) on the north side of the Liffey was taken over instead.

But I digress.

Dublin castle has been through several iterations since the Normans first built it (interestingly enough, it was not built on the site of the old Viking fort on the Liffey—although there are government buildings on that site as well). Only one of the towers from that era is still intact; when the gunpowder tower catches fire as it did at some point in the 1600s, the effects are spectacularly destructive. Like so much of the rest of Dublin, the majority of the current structure dates from Georgian times. Most of the structure is still used as government offices, as well, so the tour only covers a fraction of the complex.

We started out in an entryway that’s larger than my living room, complete with lovely ceiling detail, scupture in niches, marble columns and floors, and the traditional Georgian paint job. From there, we went upstairs, to the landing where the coats of arms of the Presidents of Ireland are displayed. The Presidency is mostly ceremonial, but the national herald does right by them nonetheless.

From there, the tour went to the Connolley Room, where James Connolley spent time recuperating from injuries incurred during the Easter Rising, before his execution. Famously, he was not sufficiently recovered enough to stand for his execution, and was tied to a chair before being shot.

The king’s bedroom, queen’s bedroom, and queen’s dressing room were next, all about the size of a largish bedroom in a modern American house, and the usually brightly-painted walls with white trim, Georgian decor, etc. We went into the ladies’ drawing room (called the Wallflower Room by James Joyce) which was replete with petticoat mirrors, lush carpet (not period), blue brocade, and lots of gold scrollwork. The throne room, last used for its intended purpose by Queen Victoria, was next, also with lots of gold scrollwork, as well as acres of red velvet. There’s a courting couch opposite the throne, but it is now for display purposes only so I can’t speak to its efficacy.

The state dining room is big enough to accommodate a table for 60 (although it’s not in there now), and has domed spy mirrors on the wall opposite the place where the Viceroy or other High Muckety-Muck used to sit. The opposite wall has portraits of the Lords Lieutenant of Ireland, including Charles Cornwallis. Losing the Revolutionary War didn’t seem to have hurt his career any; in addition to being Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, he spend time as an ambassador and had a couple of stints as Governor-general of India. Apparently his disposition never improved, though; his portrait is hung lower than the others and partly obscured by the door in recognition of his brutality in the course of his duties.

The final room in the State Apartments was the ballroom, which has enormous Baroque paintings on the ceiling, creating a sort of allegorical homage to Irish inferiority to the British. Coats of arms of the various members of the now-defunct Order of St. Patrick hang around the room., and the Order’s insignia is prominently displayed above the musicians’ gallery.

Lastly, we went underground, and saw the remains of the gunpowder tower, a surviving postern stair, and part of the (mostly drained) moat. After the tour (which ends with a strategic exit through the cafe and gift shop) we went out back to the garden where the original black pool that gave Dublin its name used to be. The river runs underground now. The garden has some Tim Burton-esque ironwok fencing, some very nice bits of sculpture of various styles tucked away in corners, and snake-headed brick paths knotting their way through the central lawn.

As the Chester Beatty Library was right there, we wandered in, but it turns out that the place is currently undergoing some renovation, and only part of the collection, mostly religious artifacts from around the world, was on display. It was still worth the time to visit; there are 8th-century Southeast Asian Buddhist scrolls, intricate and gorgeous Persian and Turkish Korans, and biblical papyri. This is another museum in which I’d like to spend some quality time, given the opportunity and access to the full collection.

For lunch, we went over to Yamamori on Great George’s Street South; according to Mick the music teacher it’s the best Japanese restaurant in town. Housemate and I both had tempura, which was kind of oily, and I’m sorry to say that we spent most of the rest of the day in various states of gastrointestinal discomfort. Before the tempura made its full effect known, we stopped into Knobs and Knockers, the stock of which is not nearly so risque as the name of the shop would lead one to believe. We also stopped at the supermarket on the way back to the hotel, and ended up skippng a full dinner in favor of tea and apple tarts (which were not bad, for supermarket pastry).

Bet you thought I’d never get back to Dublin blogging, eh?

Thursday, 3/8

Ireland’s National Museums don’t charge admission. That’s right; absolutely free to get in…so we took advantage and went to both the National Museum of History and Archaeology, and then the National Gallery of Ireland, as it was on the way back to the hotel.

The Museum of History and Archaeology is in a fabulous Georgian pile on Kildare Street, right next door to Leinster House (where Parliament makes tea) and two doors down from the National Library. As you walk through the domed-and-lavishly-mosaicked entryway, into the main exhibition space, the first thing you’ll see is an exhibition of prehistoric gold hoards. There are masses of bracelets, torcs, dress-fasteners, sleeve fasteners, lunulae, and various other bright and shiny things. Surrounding this collection is the Prehistoric Ireland display, which includes a complete incomplete boat, weapons and shields, horns, cauldrons, tools, pottery, personal objects, and, ahem, fertility ritual objects.

Other exhibits include The Treasury, which contains a variety of objects (mostly metalworking, from a nifty little gold boat model to a very ambitious chalice) from the Iron Age, through Viking times, and up through the Middle Ages; Viking Ireland (a thousand years on, Dublin is still “that Viking city on the coast” to the rest of Ireland); and Kingship and Sacrifice, which features genuine bog bodies—many of which are nowhere close to intact…making the amazing state of preservation all the more disturbing. After the first two, I couldn’t stand to look, despite my amateur-scientific curiousity. It’s just too eerie, I tell you. The second floor features a reconstruction of a genuine Viking boat, albeit a small one, and a mural with part of the Bayeux tapestry. The Medieval Ireland exibit is also on the second floor, and features three sections, entitled Power, Work, and Prayer. The work section was my personal favorite, as it featured enough everyday objects such as tools, locks, and kitchenware, to really convey an idea of what life was like. The prayer section is much flashier, featuring all kinds of decorative objects like book shrines, croziers, chalices, and reliquaries, all embellished with metalwork and cabochons.

There are also exhibits on glass and ceramics from Cyprus, and an Egyptian collection, but I admit to having breezed through those areas in favor of things Irish…and, of course, lunch, which we had at the museum cafe. I had the vegetable quiche, which was excellent, and housemate tried the chicken korma, which is different than the American Midwestern version (surprise) and quite good. The only drawback is that this is the place that gave me the worst case of museum legs I’ve ever had in my life.

From there, we wandered over to the National Gallery, which is between Clare and Merrion streets. We went in the Clare Street entrance, which is the most modern of the four buildings melded together into one space. You tend to see that a lot in Dublin; buildings from different periods kludged together. Sometimes it works, and the National Gallery is one of them. Naturally, there’s a large collection of Irish works, but there are also lots of vastly oversized, delightfully Baroque and allegorical 17th-century works from Italy, France, Holland, and England. Marble statuary is scattered about through the entire gallery, and while i’m told there are several fine bronzes as well, I don’t recall seeing many of them. Of course, we got there relatively close to closing time, so we didn’t get as thorough a look at the collection. In the event that I’m able to return to Dublin, this is one fo the places I’ll want to revisit.

From the museum, we went on to dinner at Mona Lisa, which is just west of Trinity College. Both of us had spaghetti carbonara, which was delicious, with the pasta cooked to an exacting al dente, with just the right amount of sauce. I recommend the Trebbiano with it. For dessert, I had profiteroles with chocolate sauce, and Housemate had tiramisu; both were delicious. Finally, in order to prepare ourselves for undergraduate theater, I had an Irish coffee and Housemate had Bailey’s coffee (also both delicious).

So, form there, went on to the Samuel Beckett Theater on Trinity’s campus. for the senior class production of Phaedra (adaptedand translated from Racine’s play). If you’re not familiar with the myth, it’s very Greek and very tragic. And in my entirely biased opinion, nobody brings intensity to tragedy like undergrads. It was staged with a minimal set and modern costumes, which worked out fairly well, I think. The entire cast kept the tension high throughout the show, cranking it up a notch with each plot twist. By the time everyone was dead (oh, come on now—it’s a Greek tragedy; that’s hardly a spoiler) I could feel the tension in my jaw.

Wednesday, 3/7

Housemate and I both slept well past breakfast on Wednesday, and we ventured out of a mind to get something to eat on the way to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, where we would meet our Viking Splash tour. Viking splash is listed in the Lonely Planet “Best of Dublin” guide as the city’s kookiest tour, and as enjoyable as it was, I am first compelled to mention the cafe where we had lunch.

Usually, when I’m visitng a city with a lot of good restaurants, I like to try as many as possible. Queen of Tarts is the only place in Dublin that I exempted from my “one visit per restaurant” policy. It’s directly across the street from the pedestrian entrance to Dublin Castle (more on that later), and has the quintessential European Cafe look going; tiny space with commensurately small tables, baskets of fresh fruit that double as storage and decor; mismatched vintage-look (or possible vintage) china, and a counter and display case packed full of more sweets and savories than I could count, all of which made decision-making a challenge. Lunch for me was a spinach, brie, and pine nut tart, which came with mixed greens and foccacia. Housemate had a chicken and stuffing sandwich on focaccia, also with mixed greens. If the weather had been warmer, we’d probably have gotten takeout—as did a steady stream of people—but I was glad to get out of the wind. One look at the dessert menu convinced me that we were stopping in for tea on our way back to the hotel, which is exactly what we did. I had a plum tart (which I attempted to simulate today; recipe follows) with fresh whipped cream, and housemate had the “rustic” apple tart. Both were wonderful, and I particularly liked the fact that neither one was overly sweet. The fruit took center stage, as is, I think appropriate. Note that if you’re fortunate enough to be going there, they don’t take cards, so make sure you’ve got cash.

Fortfied, we ventured back out. We had plenty of time to enjoy the walk, and we lingered in the general vicinity of Christ Church long enough to see the chapter house ruins, the medieval “gerbil tube” to the bishop’s palace, and photograph same. From there, we made our way over to St. Patrick’s cathderal, which conveniently enough, is located right next to St. Patrick’s park. Like so much of Dublin, the park has a Georgian look to it, with one of Dublin’s millenium projects along the eastern side. This particular project blends very nicely with the rest of the park, being a red brick wall with large, arched niches that hold plaques commemorating famous Irish writers and poets. We didn’t go into either Christ Church or St. Patrick’s cathedrals; generally I don’t like to treat a functioning house of worship as just another tourist attraction. The one exception I made was to go into St. MArk’s in Venice, and while it was gorgeous, I felt quite uncomfortable intruding upon those who were there for, shall we say, business rather than pleasure. We had plenty of time to lounge around the park, watching pigeons and a Spanish middle school tour group, before our tour.

The tour itself is aboard a WWII-era amphibous vehicle, and ours was led by a lovely, brilliantly red-haired young lady in Viking get-up that I suspect is far more colorful than the original. She also encouraged us to perform a Viking roar at unsuspecting passers-by, particularly those absorbed in cell-phone conversations. Lynne the Red and Jimmy the Driver started out taking us past the Marsh Library, which is said to haunted by the ghost of founder Narcissus Marsh, still looking for the note his daughter left explaining why she was out past curfew (busy getting married to her sailor boyfriend). From there, we went past Christ Church (Ireland’s oldest Cathedral) and the bishop’s palace, which is now home to Dublinia. From there, we passed a large government office complex built atop one of Dublin’s main Viking-era archeaological sites. This was apparently a very unpopular decision, because in the single year the archaeologists had with the site, they excavated over a million artifacts. From there, we crossed the Liffey and followed the road along the river to O’Connell Street, where we caught a glimpse of Daniel O’Connell and the Spire of Dublin. The Spire is one of the most expensive and least popular of Dublin’s millenium projects, and is apparently referred to as the Stiletto in the Ghetto, among other things. We crossed back into the southside at O’Connell Street, via one of the main vehicle bridge. We saw the Hugenot cemetary, which is the final resting place of over 600 people and not much bigger than my living room. I’m not sure how they all fit, but there are some questions one simply does not ask. Other sites on the tour are Merrion Square (which we went to on Saturday), Trinity College and the Bank of Ireland, which is in the building that held the Irish Parliament before 1800. We also saw Leinster House, the current home of the Irish Parliament, where according to Lynne, they make tea. (”I was going to say ‘decisions,’ but they keep changing their minds, don’t they?”) An interesting thing about Leinster House, as well as the Taoiseach’s (head of state’s; currently Bertie Ahern) residence, is that they’re simply tucked into one of the southside neighborhoods, amongst museums and libraries, and while I’m sure security is present, it’s quite unobtrusive. From the more central part of Dublin, we headed out into the Beggar’s Bush area, and into the Grand Canal Docklands. We went past Dublin’s most expensive apartments and U2’s recording studio. (According to my Lonely Planet Guide, published in 2003, the studio is “soon to be demolished,” but I expect that by now someone has gotten it declared a national cultural treasure or somesuch, because it is still standing.) Overall, I highly recommend the tour, not so much because it’s amazingly kooky (it isn’t, or at least not by my admittedly-skewed standards) but because you get to see a good bit of the city, and it doesn’t take itself seriously.

After the tour, we headed back to the hotel, stopping at Queen of Tarts for tea, and then took a long nap. Dinner was at Gasworks, which is the restaurant attached to the hotel we stayed in. The place was absolutely packed because they were having what the bartender called a “quiz night”, so they were kind enough to serve us in the much-quieter hotel lobby. Panini sandwiches seem to enjoy great popularity in Ireland, as they were on a great many menus. I decided on a roasted-vegetable-and-brie version, with a Guiness, and Housemate went totally trad with fish and chips (also very tasty).

After a few days in Ireland, I realized that I’d been eating colcannon without really knowing what it was, so I looked it up in the cookbook that I’d bought earlier in the trip.

Tuesday, 3/6

Tuesday started out sunny, making it a perfect day for me to go on an urban photo safari while Housemate had a two-hour bodhran lesson at Walton’s New School of Music. Mick, the music teacher, enthusiastically directed me to a variety of photo-worthy sites (all of which I completely failed to find) and sent me on my way. Housemate got a lesson in Irish Economics and the Effect of the Euro on Professional Irish Musicians along with his music lesson, some of which I shall attempt to convey with a reasonable degree of accuracy.

According to Mick, over 80 pubs have closed in Dublin in the last six months, and he was quite surprised to see so many musicians of equal or greater caliber at Milwaukee’s Irish festival last time he was there. Apparently, gigging for cash in Irish pubs is Right Out these days, as a result of some changes in both tax laws and their enforcement. Used to be that a musician could make a decent living just by gigging, but apparently that’s only for the lucky few these days. Furthermore, the Euro has made a night at the pub so expensive that the locals simply can’t afford it all that often. A pint is 5 euros in most places, or about $6.50. Buying a round for a few friends is very pricy in these degenrate days…particularly when you consider that minimum wage is 350 euros a week. The liquor stores are doing a booming business, though, because for a fiver per person, you can get quite a lot of beer and watch a rugby match on TV at home with your pals. I did notice that Dublin is pricy indeed for food and drink, but at least there’s not a markup over and above that in the museum cafes, and not as much as you might expect in hotels.

My urban photo safari took me around a good bit of Dulin’s south side; that’s where most of the attractions are, and Mick had warned me that the north side is dodgy and I was best not wandering around there on my own. So, I set off south on Great George Street, and wandered past Powerscourt house. A few blocks into my stroll, I stumbled upon the national geographical survey’s shop, where I found (and purchased, of course) a nifty map of medieval archaeological sites superimposed on a map of modern Dublin, as well as two antique map reproductions. I also found (and declined to purchase) a trio of truly awful dresses in a shop window. I don’t think Irish secondary schoools have proms, and therefore, I can only conclude that some designer somewhere really, really, hates bridesmaids.

Trinity College proved a welcome escape from evil taffeta. It took me several tries, but I managed a decent shot of the bell tower, and I had a good time wandering around. The campus has the odd contemporary building and bit of sculpture, such as the Berkely Library and the Samuel Beckett Theatre plunked down amongst all the grand old architecture and monuments. While they quite obviously don’t make any effort to be unobtrusive, the modern structures have at least achieved detente with their neghbors, and I expect that in another 400 years, everyone will lump them into the same “old stuff” category.

While I did take a lot of pictures, I was just happy to have an excuse to wander around, off the clock, on a sunny day. I skirted the southern edge of Temple Bar (the main entertainment district), strolled over to St. Andrew’s, where the Irish Tourism Board has its headquarters, and ended up at the supermarket across from the music school, where I picked up some sandwiches for lunch. I arrived back at Walton’s at the very end of Housemate’s lesson, and Mick enthusiastically recommended some restaurants and venues for traditional music.

We took him up on one of his suggestions that evening, and headed to Oliver St. John Gogarty’s in Temple Bar. The decor is the Irish country village version of Hard Rock Cafe stuff-on-the-walls, and while the food and drinks were at tourist prices, it was very good food. Housemate had a lovely seafood chowder in a creamy, sherry base, followed by chicken in port sauce. I had a delicious mixed seafood dish in an herb, sherry, and cream sauce. Both entrees came with mixed vegetables, including turnips and carrots mashed together, steamed asparagus, roasted potatoes, and colcannon. Dessert was a very light, not-too-sweet, Bailey’s cheesecake for me, and a chocolate mousse for Housemate. Gogarty’s also has a few sets of traditional music every day; they advertise music from 2:30 PM to 2:30 AM, but there are breaks in between and the musicians switch out. We caught most of one set before the hour got late and the crowd and noise got to be a bit much…and the waitress started givng us the evil eye for not ordering another round.

This picture was taken at Trinity College, which like its American counterparts, obviously suffers from inadequate parking.

Monday, 3/5

After sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted, we managed to stumble out into a much lighter rain and headed into the City Centre. We didn’t get lost, but it was the first full day in an unfamiliar country, and both Housemate and I were feeling very fish-out-of-water. We wandered into a bagel & juice place on Leinster Street—one of a surprising number of bagel places in Dublin, I soon noticed. Ireland has never heard of low carb; bagels are, apparently, considered a health food. (Personally, I think it’s just a good excuse to eat more of the amazing smoked salmon. It’s better than New York lox, and I do not say that lightly!) This is an attitude I can get behind, particularly after a tasty tomato-and-brie-on-sesame-seed bagel when I most needed it. Still unsure of our general whereabouts, we wandered into Trinity College and found ourselves exactly where we needed to be if we wanted to see the Book of Kells.

Coincidentally enough, the Book of Kells was the one thing that everyone I knew who’d been to Dublin said was a must-see. Right, then. We visited the book, or more properly, books. (The Book of Kells has two roommates, the Books of Durrow and Armagh.) So, in order to see the Book(s), one buys tickets at the Trinity College Gift Shop (packed to its ancient rafters with more tourist kitsch than you could possibly shake a stick at—and yes, Mom, that is where I bought your present and Dad’s) and enters a dimly-lit exhibit area with full-color enlargements of illustrations from all three books; one other, less-renown books; a sprinkling of artifacts; informative placards about inks, parchment-making, the various scribes who worked on the Book, how to spot an error in the handwritten text; an overview of the hagiography; a video loop about book-binding, and another video loop that wasn’t running the day we were there.

The Books reside in a room of their own, in a special glass case presided over by two security guards who look as though they’ve had their fill of tourists, and bugger all, it’s only noon. There are two things about the Book(s) that I hadn’t expected, although one of them shouldn’t really have surprised me. Because the books are ancient, they’re fragile, which means that bright lighting is right out…and consequently (though not surprisingly) you get a much better look at the contents if you buy the special, commemorative €39.95 book with full-colour plates that is conveniently available in the gift shop. The other thing I hadn’t expected is that the Book of Kells has been unbound (the original binding has apparently been lost for longer than my home country has existed) and rebound into at least four separate books; two are displayed in the glass case, and one was in the Long Room upstairs. This is where the college’s oldest books are kept, and when you’ve been collecting since Elizabeth I’s reign, that signifies.

The Long Room was described to me by a coworker as looking just like Hogwarts’s library. Personally, I thought it was better lit and less hazardous, but no less fascinating. In the nineteenth century, they raised the flat, Georgian plaster ceiling and turned it into a gorgeous barrel ceiling (and added windows) in order to accommodate more books, as they’d run out of room. (I can imagine my dad eyeing the living room ceiling speculatively even as I type.) It’s a dreadful comparison to make, but if you imagine the Jedi library from Star Wars, you’ll get a feel for the size and configuration of the space. It’s much better decorated, though. It’s a quintessential scholarly library, complete with carefully-spaced marble busts of scholars and writers both ancient and modern; a collection of letters, photos, and documents that includes one of the few surviving prints of the 1916 proclamation of independence from Britain; and yet more artifacts, such as an early typewriter and Ireland’s oldest intact harp, which dates to the fifteenth century, but is apparently so often incorrectly attributed to the time of Brian Boru that a corrective placard is affixed to the display case.

Thus edified, we then devoted ourselves to the primary duty of tourists everywhere—shopping. We headed over to Walton’s music, where Housemate got himself signed up for a two-hour bodhran lesson the next day. We also wandered through Powerscourt House, which used to be one of the poshest and most prestigious residences in Dublin, and is now home to fortysome shops and restaurants. They’re posh shops and restaurants, at least. I did a lot of looking, but the only buying was at a nearby supermarket. Dublin is an expensive city, so we got some things for breakfast the next morning, rather than go to a restaurant.

That evening, we went over to O’Neil’s—which is right around the corner from Walton’s—for supper and traditional music. Supper ended up being a delicious piece of lightly breaded and fried plaice with carrots, cabbage & leeks, and four different kinds of potatoes, including colcannon—whatever that is—and more Harp. (That evening, when we got back, I looked up colcannon in the potato-shaped, magnetized cookbook I’d gotten for Dad. Like many other Irish dishes, it’s cooked vegetables mixed into mashed potatoes. The names vary depending on which vegetables, but it’s all of a piece and I can’t remember which is which.) O’Neil’s had been recommended to us by one of the students behind the counter at the Trinity College gift shop for their “carvery” (which I interpreted as cafeteria-style food service where they’ll carve the beef, ham, or turkey for your sandwich in front of you). The food was good, and I was really looking forward to the music, which turned out to be a three-and-a-half person band called No Time for Tea. (The fiddle player is pregnant.) We had seats not ten feet from the band, and what I could hear was great. Unfortunately, it was also quite limited by a dozen or more rowdy American college students sitting next to us. At the risk of sounding old and crotchety, not one of them had either an “inside voice” or any manners pertinent to attending public performances. If there isn’t a special place in hell for snotty, self-important undergrads who talk over live music in someone else’s country, I’m going to make one when I get there. I think it’ll be perfect right next to the special place for those who use flash photography during live theater.

Sunday, 3/4

The first thing I noticed about Ireland, as our plane descended through the cloud layer, is that it is, indeed, as riotously green as advertised, if not more so. As we were landing, I noticed that it was windy as well. Shortly thereafter, I discovered why it’s so green. It rains. A lot.
Now, I’m going to digress a moment to mention that getting through customs couldn’t have been easier, the luggage arrived on the same flight that we did, and the lady at the tourism board’s kiosk couldn’t have been nicer or more helpful. However, the Dublin airport is slightly grotty, and the state of the ladies’ room was both more typical and less hygienic than I’d prefer.

It was raining with great enthusiasm as we made our way out to the bus that took us into town, and I’d already regretted not bring boots with me. On the other hand, not only wasn’t it snowing, there were already daffodils, lilacs and crocuses in bloom.

I’d managed to nap a bit on the plane, but not nearly enough, and combined with an inexplicable urge to get up at 4:30 the previous morning, I was ready for the short walk to the hotel by the time the bus pulled away from the airport.

We did manage to get off the bus at the right stop. Unfortunately, my navigational skills were not up to the task, and Housemate and I spent about 45 minutes wheeling our suitcases through some impressive puddles as we wandered in a big circle, asking directions from passersby (one of whom suggested that our best option was to take a cab) before we managed to get ourselves turned around in the right direction.

By the time we got to the hotel, we were thoroughly soaked, punchy, and had acquired a soul-deep understanding of the singular appeal of a pint of…well, anything really.
Fortunately, the hotel staff was up to the task, bringing us towels, sending us in to breakfast, and getting our room ready not only in record time, but two hours before check-in at that, AND sending the luggage up.

Hot food, tea (for which I also developed a deep appreciation), a nap, and a shower went a long way towards setting us to rights, and we ventured out, refreshed in body and spirit.

And got lost again.

Not immediately; we did make it over to St. Stephen’s Green without difficulty. Across the street was the hotel that we later discovered had been patronized by Charles Dickens, Oliver Hardy & Stan Laurel, and Princess Grace of Monaco (not simultaneously, though; I’d pay good money to see THAT).

The thing about Dublin is that while the River Liffey is a definite north-south divider, the city planners have, over the centuries, entirely ignored that convenient fact not only in the layout of streets, but in naming them as well. For example, St. Stephen’s North, which borders the park of the same name, is actually at a diagonal to the north-south axis.

This didn’t have anything to do with us getting lost, mind you, but it is a convenient excuse. We managed to exit the park at the southeast corner and found ourselves at Harcourt Street with no idea whatsoever how we’ gotten there. We ducked into a convenient Starbucks (they ARE everywhere) and managed to work out how to get someplace that served food.

Or, as it turned out, would have served food had it not been after 5:00 PM on Sunday. Fortunately, the waitress at Duke’s took pity on us, and brought us delicious open-faced smoked-salmon sandwiches on lightly buttered brown bread, and two glasses of Harp.
So, at the age of 35, I had my first beer ever. I had to go to Portland (Oregon) in order to learn to like coffee, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.

Saturday, March 3rd

I don’t fear flying, so much as I loathe it. I don’t need to go on about it at length, but the last time I went to Europe, it was on Air France, and the food wasn’t just edible, it was good. (Not great, but definitely good.) And the drinks were free. This time, the drinks should not only have been free, but compulsory…and not just because of the singularly wretched food. We were seated across the aisle from a small boy who, while not quite so bad as Bill Cosby’s Jeffrey, would’ve been a brilliant understudy. Fortunately for all involved, Housemate had the aisle seat, pinning me neatly against the bulkhead and thus preventing me from assisting the little tyke in playing outside for a while. Over Greenland.

And thus the jet lag began.