Depressing Afternoon, Lovely Evening

Betta's friend Helen joined us for lunch this afternoon at our apartment, and then we headed to spend the day in the city center.  We stopped into Penney's, a local department store much like Kohl's - fashion for half the price.  Just like Kohl's, you can find some amazing deals, but you also have to weed through some junk.  Betta and Helen claim that they can point out what a person's nationality is based on what they are wearing.  There is a British style, Italian style, etc. which is unique and often opposing to one another. This is all lost to me because I really don't have an eye for fashion....and I think it shows based on what I usually wear. 

Just like in New York, everyone seems so well put together here: matching accessories, scarves and knit hats, and most importantly, cool shoes.  Every girl, and I mean every last one, is rocking the hippest flat boots (rarely do they have a heel) with skinny jeans.  I have only seen a handful of people wearing sneakers.  Even when people are not working, they are still wearing dressy shoes.  It makes me feel a little inadequate in my reeboks.

After Penney's, we continued on from the commercial to the historical.  Everyone at work told me that I must see Kilmanham Gaol, and this is where the afternoon began to get depressing.  The jail is now aa restored museum.  Every year, thousands of tourists and Irish alike visit the monument because it is a pivotal place for understanding how Ireland gained its independence from England.  In school, I have learned a lot about British history, but very little about Ireland, so this was all an eye-opener for me.  The jail had been used since 1796 and was home to criminals and beggars (during the famine years of 1845-50, many people purposefully commit crimes so that they could get into the jail to eat).  It was a send-off point for convicts to go to Australia.  And, most importantly, it held held political prisoners from the United Irishmen in 1798, and from the 1916 Easter Rising. 

According to our tour guide, many Irish initially opposed the revolution because so many men were already fighting in World War I and people felt that the timing was bad.  Innocent people and soldiers alike were being killed, so the leaders of the rising turned themselves in to end the fighting.  The public tide turned against England, however, after they learned what happened to the men and women in the jail.  The treatment of the prisoners was brutal and all of the leaders were executed for treason.

During the tour, you could actually walk inside the cells and we stood where men had died from the firing squad.  Talk about living history!  The jail is made from huge rocks and limestone so it was somehow even colder inside than it was outside.  I generally have a hard time believing that ghosts exist, but if they did, then I'm sure that Kilmanham is a place filled with restless spirits.  I can't even begin to count the amount of people that must have died within those walls.  The place stinks with misery, and although I'm glad that I went, I was definitely very happy to leave.

We took a bus back to the Temple Bar area and met up with G.  The four of us went to a pub to listen to some music.  Trad Fest was still going on, and every pub had a different set of musicians.  The evening proved to be a much more joyful affair than the afternoon, and the music definitely lightened the mood.  We sampled different places, and wound up eating dinner at the Old Storehouse.  Aside from my fish and chips, this was the first time that I ate out at a resaurant, so it was definitely a nice treat.  I ordered lamb stew and a cider, a traditional meal. 

Helen summarized the night nicely, "Good food, good friends, good music...this is exactly what I think of when I pictured Dublin."  Everyone sings along to the music half the time or sways in their seats.  It's easy to see why people can lose track of time in a pub.  We spent the evening eating, laughing, and trying (and failing) to attract guys. 

I only interacted with one guy....and that was because he spilt beer on my jacket.  "No worries," I said as I brushed down my coat. 

"Oh, you're Canadian," he replied, "I frickin hate Canadians." 

"I'm not Canadian, so you're in luck," I said in return. 

"I'm just joking, just joking.  You can be Canadian....but I don't like maple leafs."

He continued to believe that I was from the great white north for the rest of the evening.  I'm pretty sure he was too drunk to notice.  I still need to get used to Irish sarcasm.  So far, I have yet to hang out with any actual Irish people.  It's definitely hard to meet people in a new place, but I'm glad that I can spend time with my roommate because the pub is a place for friends. 

  This is a horrible picture but this is a circle of musicians.  They are playing the fiddle, the guitar, the penny whistle, the uillean pipes, the violin, the harmonica, and the bouzouki)