Over the weekend, Betta left. She completed her internship this past Friday and caught a flight out early Saturday morning. I've gotten so accustomed to having dinner with her every day, that it was very strange seeing her go. Once you get into a routine, you feel odd having it change.
I went to work Saturday and then I attended the cinema by myself since I couldn't find anyone to come with me. The Jameson International Film Festival has been in town for the past week and half, and I didn't want it to end without going to at least one movie. The event is set up similiarly to the Sundance Film Festival in Utah or the Toronto International Film Festival. Movies from all over the world are shown every night. The cinemas highlight films that are not mainstream---very artsy movies which make a social commentary or documentaries about culture and poverty.
I figured that I should see a movie that I wouldn't normally have seen, but since I was going by myself, I really didn't want to see a film that would make me want to slit my wrists. Why would I go to see a depressing French film and be upset for the rest of the day? Instead, I went to see an American/UK film: The Eagle. It was about ancient Rome's invasion of Britain and Channing Tatum is the star. I'm not going to lie---that was the main reason I went :-)
The great part about the Film Festival is that there is someone who speaks before the film begins. Usually it is an actor from the movie, but we had the producer of the film (which was just as well...Channing Tatum is nice to look at but he doesn't seem to be the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree). He told us some of the background for making the movie and some of the director's decisions that they made. Getting the chance to hearing about the behind-the-scenes was fascinating.
For the rest of the weekend, I was incredibly sick. I was going to take a tour of the Cliffs of Moher on Sunday but I had to reschedule because I felt like the bottom of a shoe. My new roommate was coming on Monday and I figured I should spend a day convalescing so that I didn't cough all over her when we met for the first time.
I must admit that I was a little nervous about a new roommate. As I said before, once you enter into a routine, any change to the routine makes you feel a little nervous. I sincerely hoped that my new roomie and I would be compatible and I worried about our first meeting.
But luckily, I had nothing to worry about. We hit it off fabulously. I was able to pay-it-forward---Betta had prepared lunch for me and showed me around Dublin on my first day, and now I had the chance to return the favor. I made some fajitas for Veronica and I (not sure if she liked them, but she was appreciative of the food), and then we hit the town. We found where her English school is located (although I don't think she needs classes...her English is already fabulous), and we walked around the Temple Bar area, and we carried on the tradition of going to the Queen of Tarts. We found a mutual love for learning and books and we discussed family, our towns (she is from Verona in northern Italy), our careers, guys, and everything else under the sun.
I also found out that, unlike Betta, Veronica likes to go out dancing :-) She expressed the same disbelief as me about everything--"I was in Italy this morning, sleeping in my own bed, and now I am going dancing with an American from across the Atlantic in the city of Dublin. I can't believe it." Neither can I, Veronica, neither can I. It seems surreal that I get the chance to meet so many different people from so many different countries.
I found out that my Belgian roommates like dancing too. I am going to go salsa dancing with them tomorrow night.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Northern Ireland and Giant's Causeway
The day after our epic journey down to Cork, we decided to take another equally epic journey in the opposite direction: North. We left at the same time (6:30am) and sleepily boarded a mini bus that would take us to another country (technically, northern Ireland is still part of the UK and not part of the Republic of Ireland...they use pounds instead of euros as currency so be prepared!).
When we boarded the bus, our tour guide introduced himself and started singing a tune. He was very welcoming, and at first, it was cute and funny....but then it just kept going. Once he opened his mouth, he couldn't close it again. When I tell you that he did not stop talking for the whole 14 hour trip, it is no exaggeration. Dad joked that he must not have just kissed the Blarney Stone, he probably had the actual stone in his pocket. At 6:30am, I did not want non-stop continual singing of Irish drinking songs.
Mom said that it didn't bother her, but by the end of the trip, Dad and I were about to jump out of the bus and commit hari kari just to stop the noise. There might be a few moments of silence on the way home, and I would start to fall asleep, and then WHAM!
"Alive alive oh
alive alive ohh
Singing cockles and mussels
alive alive ohhh
When we boarded the bus, our tour guide introduced himself and started singing a tune. He was very welcoming, and at first, it was cute and funny....but then it just kept going. Once he opened his mouth, he couldn't close it again. When I tell you that he did not stop talking for the whole 14 hour trip, it is no exaggeration. Dad joked that he must not have just kissed the Blarney Stone, he probably had the actual stone in his pocket. At 6:30am, I did not want non-stop continual singing of Irish drinking songs.
Mom said that it didn't bother her, but by the end of the trip, Dad and I were about to jump out of the bus and commit hari kari just to stop the noise. There might be a few moments of silence on the way home, and I would start to fall asleep, and then WHAM!
"Alive alive oh
alive alive ohh
Singing cockles and mussels
alive alive ohhh
In Dublin's fair city
where the girls are so pretty
I once met a girl named sweet Molly Malone
and she wheeled her wheel barrow
through the streets broad and narrow
singing cockles and mussels alive alive oh"
where the girls are so pretty
I once met a girl named sweet Molly Malone
and she wheeled her wheel barrow
through the streets broad and narrow
singing cockles and mussels alive alive oh"
Another round of Molly Malone. When would the singing end!?!?
Aside from this minor issue, the trip itelf was amazing. We stopped at Creke a-Reke rope bridge, and unfortunately, it was closed for maintenance, but the views were still fantastic. A mist had descended upon the cliffs so that it seemed like we were driving through the clouds, and the birds would soar in and out of the waves which were crashing along the rocks. If it was a clearer day, then you could actually see Scotland across the sea.
The drive along the coast is supposed to be one of the top 10 most beautiful scenic routes in the world. Unfortunately, we couldn't see much in the morning because of the heavy fog, but it was still amazing because the rocks seemed to shoot out of the sky and the sea was raging which gave it a unique beauty.
Luckily, by the time we reached Giant's Causeway, the fog had cleared and the sun actually decided to make an appearance. There is a legend behind Giant's Causeway, as there is with most environmental phenomenon around here. Finn MacCool is like an Irish Paul Bunyon, a mythical figure larger than life.
One day, he saw a gorgeous woman off the coast of Scotland and he decided to make her his bride so he snatched her from across the sea. They spent many years happily together, but eventually her father, a Giant found out where his daughter had gone. He raged and said that he would exact his revenge against the MacCools. Finn's wife came up with a plan and they quickly organized it before her father could kill her husband. She dressed Finn up as a baby and Finn went out to greet the Giant in diapers. Finn was much smaller than the Giant but still unbelievably strong so he put up a great fight. The Giant began to think, "If this is what the babies can do, then what would Finn himself be like?" So he ran back across the ocean to Scotland and the rocks are the Giant's footprints left in his wake.
In truth, scientists take guesses about how the rocks are formed. Many think it has something to do with volcanoes and the earth shifting, but the formations are still somewhat of a mystery. I think that it is one of the only places in the world that has these outcrops of perfectly shaped octagonal rocks jutting out like giant crystals. You can walk around on them and climb to the top (bear in mind that Dad and I learned that it is much easier to go up than to come back down). At the top, wonderful brisk sea breeze ruffled your hair and tickled your skin and we could just spend hours sitting and staring at the waves.
Again, my only complain was there there simply was not enough time to fully explore the whole area. You could easily spend a few days there, taking long strolls along the cliffs or going down to the causeway and taking in the sights. I must admit that coming in the winter does have one distinct advantage---there weren't as many tourists as there might be in the summer so the whole place was very peaceful. We only had two hours so we were able to see the main feature (the octagonal rocks) and the organ (a massive wall of rock columns), but we didn't have to time to see the other notable pieces.
Afterward, we also explored Belfast for about an hour. The whole dynamic is very interesting. There are no physical borders when you reach northern Ireland, but the political borders are still there. I got a text on my cell as soon we left the republic of Ireland which indicated that I had entered the UK and would have new rates. You can tell too that signs stop being posted in Gaelic and English and use miles instead of kilometers. The United Kingdom's flag flies all over the place. Belfast is a healing city that has made major steps to peace with the signing of the Good Friday agreement in the nineties, but it is still somewhat divided.
I hadn't really understood the whole dynamic and it is still somewhat foreign to me, but I learned that many people in northern Ireland think of themselves as British instead of Irish. I didn't realize that the people who live there have so many ties to England and therein lies the rub. It's not just a matter of England ruling from a distance, the people of Northern Ireland are still culturally divided. Some cities have different names depending on which section of the town you live (Derry is also known as LondonDerry.)
Belfast is being rebuilt and has had a major resurgence in recent years. We went to the City Center and it was gorgeous. The town hall was an amazing building and they have brand new shopping centers and a vibrant city, but if you go too far out of the city center it is apparently not as nice. As we were leaving, I was able to see the Europa Hotel which has the dubious title of being the most-bombed hotel in Europe from the days of the IRA. All of us enjoyed the part of Belfast that we saw, but we were also only there for an hour.
Unfortunately, this was the last day with my parents. It was such a whirlwind tour! We tried to pack in as much as possible and I think we succeeded, for the most part. All three of us wound up getting sick after the trip...I think that maybe we did a little too much, and maybe we should have chilled a little bit more. But if a bad cold is the price to pay, then I think it was worth it because of all the amazing places we got to visit.
More Blarney
The rents and I woke up long before the sun to take a Paddywagon tour of Cork, Cobh, and Blarney (yes, that is the name of the tour company! They drive a giant green bus with leprechauns painted on the side...if people didn't know you were a tourist before, then they sure know now!)
Cork is about 3 and a half hours south of Dublin so it was going to be a long day---we were on the road from 6:30am until 8pm. It was definitely well worth the trip though because the day was packed with all sorts of new sights and scenes.
First, we were hearded together, placed on a separate bus and told to get off at the Cork station. The bus smelled like stale air and mold, and the driver kept making random stops---he would pick up someone on the side of the road and then drop him off 20 minutes later in a shopping center. What was going on? It was only later that we figured out that it was a public bus, unassociated with the tour company. When we finally got to our station, a new tour guide appeared and told everyone for the Paddywagon to get off here, so we exited sheepishly with the rest of the local bus-takers looking at us funny.
From there, our tour guide Mike picked up more people in Cork and then headed to Cobh (pronounced Cove). It seemed just like a sleepy fishing village, but don't let the view fool you---just like everywhere else in Ireland, the town was rich with history. Cobh was the final port of call for the Titanic, the site of the bombing of the Lusitania in World War I, and also the exit point for millions of Irish immigrants during the Potato Famine and onwards. It is also the only city so far that forced you to pay for the bathroom!!!
After a 3 and a half hour ride from Dublin and then another 45 minutes on the short bus, I was about to explode. I spent only precious moments in the gorgeous Cathedral at the top of the hill because my bladder just couldn't take it anymore, and Dad and I raced each other down the winding streets to find the public bathrooms on the docks. "LOCKED! Must Pay 25 cents to Enter!" the sign read. Seriously!? I did my own Irish jig as I searched through my backpack for 50 cents.
Once that was taken care of, we were able to explore the city at a more leisurely pace. The whole issue of emmigration really started with the Potato Famine, also known as the Great Famine, between 1845-52. Potato growth had failed all over Europe so everyone was struggling, but because many of Ireland's peasants relied solely on one crop as food, the failure hit them extra hard. Also, because of the way Ireland was being ruled at the time, there was an unequal distribution of food and millions died of starvation. Millions also emmigrated---they left of their own free will to look for word abroad, but many were also forced to leave on prison ships to Australia.
If you stole a loaf of bread, you were sent into overcrowded jails and then off to the newly British-ruled Australia as a penal colony. Cobh would have been the last sight of Irish homeland that many people ever saw.
Although emmigration is no longer forced, many people are still leaving Ireland by the thousands. I'm always used to the problem of Immigration that we have at home, but here, Emmigration is a huge problem. In fact, it is one of the debate platforms for the upcoming election. How do they stop Ireland's youth from leaving the country? Ireland, traditionally one of the poorest countries in Europe, had a huge boom a few years back and was named the Celtic Tiger. Massive amounts of money were poured into the country and huge growth was made (including all of the major motorways that we took down to Cork today). At one point, Ireland had 100% employment which, believe it or not, is actually unhealthy for an economy because it was unsustainable.
With the recession, Ireland was hit almost just as hard as back home (I realize the irony that I left one country to go to one of the few other countries that is actually worse!). If you ask the average college age student what their future plans include, most of them say that they plan on leaving the country to find jobs. Just under 4.5 million people live in the Republic of Ireland and the numbers continue to shrink. This is part of the problem with their massive debt crisis---a population that small can't afford the taxes needed to pay off the debt. The whole situation is mind-boggling to me since it is typically the reverse at home---people generally want to come to the US, not leave it.
Anywho, later on, we went onward to Blarney Castle. I was expecting a major tourist trap, but it was actually one of the most fun places that we visited. The castle is massive, at least five stories reach upwards, and at the top, you have an amazing view of all the surrounding towns, fields, and rivers. The stone is a bit treacherous with disrepair and thousands of tourists tromping around---the spiral staircase leading to the top has slanted steps that are wet with the day's rain. If you have vertigo, I wouldn't recommend it, but it is amazing to climb around.
Everything is as lush green as you would expect, even though it is only February. A tiny river runs before the castle and just completes the whole setting, as though you had just stepped into a fairy tale. The castle itself is an unguided tour and every nook is open for you to explore, including the massive maze of underground caves below. They say that there are pathways in the caves which lead all the way back to Cork so that people could leave the castle undetected---but no one has ever found them.
There was one girl on the trip who was by herself, so we adopted her for the day. I'm usually the one on my own around here, so it was nice to be able to return the favor. Kathi was from Berlin and we enjoyed spending the day together (in fact, a few days later, she visited the museum so I gave her a mini private tour and we grabbed coffee afterwards). Together, we explored all of the offshoot rooms in the castle, including the murder hole room (a whole in the floor where soldiers would pour boiling oil on incoming invaders), the massive family room with the huge hearth for roasting pigs and sheep, the archers' window slits, and the tiny bedrooms (now just bare stone walls). The place must have been freezing in the winter!
Today, there is no roof on the castle so the whole area has a wonderful open feel and the daylight is able to pour in (we were lucky that the rain held off for the 2 hours we were there). At the very top, you can kiss the Blarney Stone: a small rock that is part of the outside wall. A whole has been cut in the floor so you have to lie down on your back and push yourself down so your head hangs below the wall. A man whose sole job is to hold people so they don't fall) grabs you around the waist and helps you lean back so that you hang halfway outside. It is perfectly safe, but the ground still seems very far down!
Once you are able to kiss the Blarney Stone, you are supposedly bestowed with the gift of the gab for seven years. You used to get the gift for a lifetime, but it was changed to seven years---probably to get you to come back! (Don't worry---mom had wet wipes to wash off our mouths afterward....I heard through the grapevine that the guys from Cork sometimes pee on the stone as a joke. I'm still glad that we did it nonetheless because it is one of the top tourist attractions in Ireland.) The gift of the gab means that you are able to talk to anyone and instantly speak with great eloquence and charm.
"Blarney" was actually introduced into the English language because of the King of Munster who owned Blarney Stronghold. Queen Elizabeth I had wanted all the Irish lords to pay her homage and acquiese their lands to her. The Cormac McCarthy, the king, knew that he could not flat out refuse or risk losing his head in the process. Instead, he would delay by sending her massively long notes which expounded her beauty and poise as a leader, but never actually said the words that she wanted to hear. In exasperation, she finally cried that the reports were all "Blarney" and the word came into being.
A sign at the Castle explained the difference between Blarney and Baloney:
"Baloney is when you tell a 50-year old woman that she looks 18. Blarney is when you ask a woman how old she is, because you want to know at what age women are most beautiful.”
It was such a lovely day that we were able to walk through the tree groves and explore the rock glen. The glen was a the most brilliant hue of green and had trees growing wildly around and huge rocks covered with a vibrant moss were stacked on top of one another. You could guess that fairy tales and leprechauns were not difficult to imagine in a place like this. I felt like I was in a story book.
We even climbed the wishing stairs. It is a long series of steps cut out of a massive boulder. If you can climb up and back with your eyes closed and only thinking of one wish, then that wish will come true. I just wished that I wouldn't trip and fall the whole time, so I guess that the wish worked!
All in all, it was a gorgeous day and I'm so glad that I got to spend it with my parents (and Kathi). My only complain is that there wasn't enough time to see and do everything! We all arrived back to the hotel that night exhausted but happy.
Cork is about 3 and a half hours south of Dublin so it was going to be a long day---we were on the road from 6:30am until 8pm. It was definitely well worth the trip though because the day was packed with all sorts of new sights and scenes.
First, we were hearded together, placed on a separate bus and told to get off at the Cork station. The bus smelled like stale air and mold, and the driver kept making random stops---he would pick up someone on the side of the road and then drop him off 20 minutes later in a shopping center. What was going on? It was only later that we figured out that it was a public bus, unassociated with the tour company. When we finally got to our station, a new tour guide appeared and told everyone for the Paddywagon to get off here, so we exited sheepishly with the rest of the local bus-takers looking at us funny.
From there, our tour guide Mike picked up more people in Cork and then headed to Cobh (pronounced Cove). It seemed just like a sleepy fishing village, but don't let the view fool you---just like everywhere else in Ireland, the town was rich with history. Cobh was the final port of call for the Titanic, the site of the bombing of the Lusitania in World War I, and also the exit point for millions of Irish immigrants during the Potato Famine and onwards. It is also the only city so far that forced you to pay for the bathroom!!!
After a 3 and a half hour ride from Dublin and then another 45 minutes on the short bus, I was about to explode. I spent only precious moments in the gorgeous Cathedral at the top of the hill because my bladder just couldn't take it anymore, and Dad and I raced each other down the winding streets to find the public bathrooms on the docks. "LOCKED! Must Pay 25 cents to Enter!" the sign read. Seriously!? I did my own Irish jig as I searched through my backpack for 50 cents.
Once that was taken care of, we were able to explore the city at a more leisurely pace. The whole issue of emmigration really started with the Potato Famine, also known as the Great Famine, between 1845-52. Potato growth had failed all over Europe so everyone was struggling, but because many of Ireland's peasants relied solely on one crop as food, the failure hit them extra hard. Also, because of the way Ireland was being ruled at the time, there was an unequal distribution of food and millions died of starvation. Millions also emmigrated---they left of their own free will to look for word abroad, but many were also forced to leave on prison ships to Australia.
If you stole a loaf of bread, you were sent into overcrowded jails and then off to the newly British-ruled Australia as a penal colony. Cobh would have been the last sight of Irish homeland that many people ever saw.
Although emmigration is no longer forced, many people are still leaving Ireland by the thousands. I'm always used to the problem of Immigration that we have at home, but here, Emmigration is a huge problem. In fact, it is one of the debate platforms for the upcoming election. How do they stop Ireland's youth from leaving the country? Ireland, traditionally one of the poorest countries in Europe, had a huge boom a few years back and was named the Celtic Tiger. Massive amounts of money were poured into the country and huge growth was made (including all of the major motorways that we took down to Cork today). At one point, Ireland had 100% employment which, believe it or not, is actually unhealthy for an economy because it was unsustainable.
With the recession, Ireland was hit almost just as hard as back home (I realize the irony that I left one country to go to one of the few other countries that is actually worse!). If you ask the average college age student what their future plans include, most of them say that they plan on leaving the country to find jobs. Just under 4.5 million people live in the Republic of Ireland and the numbers continue to shrink. This is part of the problem with their massive debt crisis---a population that small can't afford the taxes needed to pay off the debt. The whole situation is mind-boggling to me since it is typically the reverse at home---people generally want to come to the US, not leave it.
Anywho, later on, we went onward to Blarney Castle. I was expecting a major tourist trap, but it was actually one of the most fun places that we visited. The castle is massive, at least five stories reach upwards, and at the top, you have an amazing view of all the surrounding towns, fields, and rivers. The stone is a bit treacherous with disrepair and thousands of tourists tromping around---the spiral staircase leading to the top has slanted steps that are wet with the day's rain. If you have vertigo, I wouldn't recommend it, but it is amazing to climb around.
Everything is as lush green as you would expect, even though it is only February. A tiny river runs before the castle and just completes the whole setting, as though you had just stepped into a fairy tale. The castle itself is an unguided tour and every nook is open for you to explore, including the massive maze of underground caves below. They say that there are pathways in the caves which lead all the way back to Cork so that people could leave the castle undetected---but no one has ever found them.
There was one girl on the trip who was by herself, so we adopted her for the day. I'm usually the one on my own around here, so it was nice to be able to return the favor. Kathi was from Berlin and we enjoyed spending the day together (in fact, a few days later, she visited the museum so I gave her a mini private tour and we grabbed coffee afterwards). Together, we explored all of the offshoot rooms in the castle, including the murder hole room (a whole in the floor where soldiers would pour boiling oil on incoming invaders), the massive family room with the huge hearth for roasting pigs and sheep, the archers' window slits, and the tiny bedrooms (now just bare stone walls). The place must have been freezing in the winter!
Today, there is no roof on the castle so the whole area has a wonderful open feel and the daylight is able to pour in (we were lucky that the rain held off for the 2 hours we were there). At the very top, you can kiss the Blarney Stone: a small rock that is part of the outside wall. A whole has been cut in the floor so you have to lie down on your back and push yourself down so your head hangs below the wall. A man whose sole job is to hold people so they don't fall) grabs you around the waist and helps you lean back so that you hang halfway outside. It is perfectly safe, but the ground still seems very far down!
Once you are able to kiss the Blarney Stone, you are supposedly bestowed with the gift of the gab for seven years. You used to get the gift for a lifetime, but it was changed to seven years---probably to get you to come back! (Don't worry---mom had wet wipes to wash off our mouths afterward....I heard through the grapevine that the guys from Cork sometimes pee on the stone as a joke. I'm still glad that we did it nonetheless because it is one of the top tourist attractions in Ireland.) The gift of the gab means that you are able to talk to anyone and instantly speak with great eloquence and charm.
"Blarney" was actually introduced into the English language because of the King of Munster who owned Blarney Stronghold. Queen Elizabeth I had wanted all the Irish lords to pay her homage and acquiese their lands to her. The Cormac McCarthy, the king, knew that he could not flat out refuse or risk losing his head in the process. Instead, he would delay by sending her massively long notes which expounded her beauty and poise as a leader, but never actually said the words that she wanted to hear. In exasperation, she finally cried that the reports were all "Blarney" and the word came into being.
A sign at the Castle explained the difference between Blarney and Baloney:
"Baloney is when you tell a 50-year old woman that she looks 18. Blarney is when you ask a woman how old she is, because you want to know at what age women are most beautiful.”
It was such a lovely day that we were able to walk through the tree groves and explore the rock glen. The glen was a the most brilliant hue of green and had trees growing wildly around and huge rocks covered with a vibrant moss were stacked on top of one another. You could guess that fairy tales and leprechauns were not difficult to imagine in a place like this. I felt like I was in a story book.
We even climbed the wishing stairs. It is a long series of steps cut out of a massive boulder. If you can climb up and back with your eyes closed and only thinking of one wish, then that wish will come true. I just wished that I wouldn't trip and fall the whole time, so I guess that the wish worked!
All in all, it was a gorgeous day and I'm so glad that I got to spend it with my parents (and Kathi). My only complain is that there wasn't enough time to see and do everything! We all arrived back to the hotel that night exhausted but happy.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Belfast
View of the city from the top of a new shopping center which is one of the tallest vantage points in Belfast
City Hall
Giant's Causeway and Dunlace Castle
Crek a Reke Rope Bridge :-)Giant's Causeway
Dunluice Castle --- C.S. Lewis grew up in this area and the ruins here is reputedly what he based Cair Paravel on in the Chronicles of Narnia.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Kiss my Blarney
Cobh (pronounced Cove) ---
coastal city located next to Cork in the southeast of Ireland (about 3-4 hours from Dublin
Blarney Castle ---- Time to Kiss the Blarney Stone and Get the Gift of the Gab
The Fairy Rock and the Wishing StepsThursday, February 24, 2011
Malahide Castle and Irish Dancing
After taking the DART twenty minutes along the coast, we arrived in Malahide - a town probably most famous for its castle. You enter through a gate in a stone wall along the road, and it takes about 20 minutes of a liesurely stroll before you reach the castle. The air was brisk and lovely, but the sky was clouded with oncoming rain. We walked through a dense glen of trees along a winding path and all you see are branches. The smell of wet dirt gave a beautiful earthy tone to the estate. Suddenly the trees end and there are green fields as far as the eye can see. The castle stands in the distance.
Owned for 800 years by the same family, the castle has been an integral part of Irish history since the Norman invasion. Now, the fields have been converted to soccer pitches and rugby areas, but at one time, all of the land belonged to the castle's estate. They say that the castle is haunted by not one, not two, but actually Five ghosts. With 800 years of history, I suppose you are bound to accrue a few. And the castle has seen its share of death - During the Battle of the Boyne, 14 members of the family sat down to breakfast one morning, and by the end of the next day, all of them were killed.
We were able to go into the Great Hall where the family had their last meal. The walls are filled with portraits and a massive painting about the Battle of the Boyne appropriately looks over the room from atop the fireplace. It almost feels like the people from the portraits are staring down at you accusingly - why are you all in our family's home?
The government owns the castle now and allows you to rent the room and have banquets. The furniture is exquisitely carved with intricate designs and lattice work in the a massive mahogony table and each of the surrounding chairs. A balcony overlooks the seating area so that a quartet can serenade your guests while you dine. The room is undeniably elegant, but would you really want to sit in the same chair as a man who died? I know it's my own imagination, but I wouldn't want to be in the castle at night.
The Battle of the Boyne where all of them were killed was an epic fight which pitted the Catholic King James and the Protestant King William of Orange against each other for the English throne. The outcome of the battle in 1690 was really the starting point of Ireland's troubles between the two religious sects. It's a long and sordid story which could fill copious novels, but I will try to explain in two paragraphs.
Trouble had been brewing for a while. The Catholic landowners in Ireland (which was under British rule) were being heavily taxed and not allowed certain rights. As they fled to avoid taxation, their land was given to Protestant English aristocracy who were willing to migrate. James should have been next in line to the English throne, but under new British law, James could not be king because he was Catholic. His daughter was married to William of Orange, so William was able to claim legitmacy to the throne through her.
Many Irish supported James into battle, seeing a victory for James as a victory for Catholicism. On the other hand, many Anglo-Irish supported William. The Talbot family (owners of Malahide castle) fought for James, and you already know the outcome. James was trounced in the battle and is now known as "James the shit" because he fled before a single punch was thrown. After William won, a treaty was signed which was lenient towards the Catholic dissenters, but this only enflamed the Protestants and the Penal Laws were introduced.
And yes, William of Orange is where the protestant orange and the catholic green in the Irish flag originates. He and his wife are also the same William and Mary after whom the college is named after in Virginia.
So, enough of the history lesson...now back to more important things - food! After we visited the castle, I took my parents to Howth since the town offers the best fish and chips in the Dublin area. Unfortunately, a dense fog had descended upon the coastal village and you couldn't see anything. I had to describe the cliffs to my folks and hope that they believed me since all they could see was grey.
Later that night, we went to the Blarney Inn for a delicious meal of lamb stew and the most amazing bread. The night was topped off with live music and Irish dancing. The female dancer was about the same size as my pinky finger, but its no wonder that she was so skinny -- her legs moved a mile a minute! Everyone clapped along as she and a male dancer did their fancy footwork. The wooden floor definitely took a beating as they kicked their heels and clacked across the ground. Perfect to form, they kept their upper bodies completely rigid while their legs took on a life of their own. We were lucky enough to be sitting right in front of the dance floor so we were able to enjoy the show while finishing up our dinner. The night was definitely a feast for all of the senses. We returned to our hotel room pleasantly full and content.
Yes, there is a menu specifically for potatoes! Awesome!Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tour Guide
I miss the little things about my family, like having dinner together at night or grabbing a coffee together on a Saturday morning. So, as the time drew nearer for my parents to visit, I began to grow more excited.
I couldn't wait until Thursday morning when I could have breakfast with my parents. They were taking the same flight as me, the epic overnighter, and they would land at 7am. I was practically skipping with excitement on my way to greet them at their hotel. However, several things soured the moment slightly and my skipping stopped abruptly.
As I rounded the corner to Merrion Square, I noticed a huge crowd of protesters standing outside of the hotel. I blinked twice, disbelieving my eyes. Maybe they were just passing through on their way to another boycott? Maybe they were lost and didn't know their way to the parliament building? Alas, no. The picketers were circling outside the front door, carrying signs which decried the owner of the hotel chain.
I saw two people maneuvering through the crowd, dragging their luggage behind them. Mom and Dad had just arrived and I was only a few footsteps behind them.
"That's a bad hotel. You need to change hotels," a voice said as we opened the door. Someone else handed us pamphlets which explained that the owner was trying to undercut the employee wages.
Welcome to Ireland Mom and Dad!
Apparently, my parents had already dealt with some madness before their plane even took off too. Their flight was delayed because the flight attendants were debating whether or not to kick a passenger off the plane. Two of the attendants thought that the passenger was too drunk to fly while the other attendant thought he was fine (We guess that this attendant was probably Irish. I can just picture the conversation---American flight attendant: "That guy had three drinks in the past hour. I think he needs to sober up." Irish flight attendant: "The wine at church is stronger than that guy's drinks! He hasn't fallen off his stool yet, so he's good enough for me.)
A drunk and a protest all in one morning. My parents were in for quite a trip.
We had breakfast and then Mom and Dad slept for most of the day while I was at work. When we regrouped that night, I quickly realized that it was going to take a little while for us to reacquaint ourselves. The relationship between parent and child can be a funny thing sometimes ....and it was going to take me a little while to readjust.
During my time in Dublin, I've helped set up functions for international ambassadors, I've designed activities for ESL students, I've worked with ancient artifacts....and yet, I still feel like I am twelve years old when I'm with my parents sometimes. I introduced my folks to my colleagues and it somehow seemed more like a parent-teacher conference than a meet-and-greet. I thought that I have been handling everything just fine, but apparently, I wasn't because I needed to be told how to do things.
Brush your hair. Straighten your shirt. Button your jacket.
I think, "Oh, Is that why I've been so cold this past month? I forgot that I needed to button my jacket on my own! Now it makes sense. Thanks for telling me." ....Sometimes my sarcasm doesn't go over to well when I say these things out loud though so it led to some rough patches.
However, once we were able to get past these issues, we had an amazing trip. The weather was perfect (or as perfect as you can get in Ireland), and we were able to traipse all over town.
We walked leisurely through St Stephen's Green.
We had some fun with a lephrechaun standing next to the Molly Mallone statue. The lephrechaun knew about New Jersey because of two things: the Sopranos and Jersey Shore. I'm so glad that we have such a wonderful international reputation.
We laughed at the antics of the street performers on Grafton Street.
And, I took my parents to Temple Bar on a Friday night. In retrospect, maybe I should have chosen a Monday or a Tuesday night to take them. Just like every weekend, the area was hoppin. I think that the cobblestone streets are laid out in grids to help people walk in a straight line. Everyone was already well into their cups.
Mom said, "This area seems a little unsavoury. Is there another route we can take on the way to Temple Bar?"
"Actually, this is Temple Bar, Mom."
We stopped in a small pizza shop and a guy was standing at the counter...or I should say slanted at the counter. He leaned heavily on it as though he was gripping a bouy amidst the waves. As soon as we entered the shop, he greeted us with a wave.
"This place is crazy, eh? Have you tried this pizza?" he slurred happily.
"Where are you all from? America? America?!? I fookin love America! You guys get a bad rap around the world, but I still fookin love ya! I fookin LOVE America! Facebook me!"
If you played a drinking game where you take a swig every time Pete used the F-word, then you would be drunk within five minutes. I'm not sure what else he was talking about, but I do know that he "fookin loved America" since he repeated it about 10 times.
Later, I also took my parents to the Stag's Head so that Dad could try his first Irish Guinness. As you can see from the picture, he definitely agrees that Guinness tastes much better in Ireland than it does at home :-).
I couldn't wait until Thursday morning when I could have breakfast with my parents. They were taking the same flight as me, the epic overnighter, and they would land at 7am. I was practically skipping with excitement on my way to greet them at their hotel. However, several things soured the moment slightly and my skipping stopped abruptly.
As I rounded the corner to Merrion Square, I noticed a huge crowd of protesters standing outside of the hotel. I blinked twice, disbelieving my eyes. Maybe they were just passing through on their way to another boycott? Maybe they were lost and didn't know their way to the parliament building? Alas, no. The picketers were circling outside the front door, carrying signs which decried the owner of the hotel chain.
I saw two people maneuvering through the crowd, dragging their luggage behind them. Mom and Dad had just arrived and I was only a few footsteps behind them.
"That's a bad hotel. You need to change hotels," a voice said as we opened the door. Someone else handed us pamphlets which explained that the owner was trying to undercut the employee wages.
Welcome to Ireland Mom and Dad!
Apparently, my parents had already dealt with some madness before their plane even took off too. Their flight was delayed because the flight attendants were debating whether or not to kick a passenger off the plane. Two of the attendants thought that the passenger was too drunk to fly while the other attendant thought he was fine (We guess that this attendant was probably Irish. I can just picture the conversation---American flight attendant: "That guy had three drinks in the past hour. I think he needs to sober up." Irish flight attendant: "The wine at church is stronger than that guy's drinks! He hasn't fallen off his stool yet, so he's good enough for me.)
A drunk and a protest all in one morning. My parents were in for quite a trip.
We had breakfast and then Mom and Dad slept for most of the day while I was at work. When we regrouped that night, I quickly realized that it was going to take a little while for us to reacquaint ourselves. The relationship between parent and child can be a funny thing sometimes ....and it was going to take me a little while to readjust.
During my time in Dublin, I've helped set up functions for international ambassadors, I've designed activities for ESL students, I've worked with ancient artifacts....and yet, I still feel like I am twelve years old when I'm with my parents sometimes. I introduced my folks to my colleagues and it somehow seemed more like a parent-teacher conference than a meet-and-greet. I thought that I have been handling everything just fine, but apparently, I wasn't because I needed to be told how to do things.
Brush your hair. Straighten your shirt. Button your jacket.
I think, "Oh, Is that why I've been so cold this past month? I forgot that I needed to button my jacket on my own! Now it makes sense. Thanks for telling me." ....Sometimes my sarcasm doesn't go over to well when I say these things out loud though so it led to some rough patches.
However, once we were able to get past these issues, we had an amazing trip. The weather was perfect (or as perfect as you can get in Ireland), and we were able to traipse all over town.
We walked leisurely through St Stephen's Green.
We had some fun with a lephrechaun standing next to the Molly Mallone statue. The lephrechaun knew about New Jersey because of two things: the Sopranos and Jersey Shore. I'm so glad that we have such a wonderful international reputation.
We laughed at the antics of the street performers on Grafton Street.
And, I took my parents to Temple Bar on a Friday night. In retrospect, maybe I should have chosen a Monday or a Tuesday night to take them. Just like every weekend, the area was hoppin. I think that the cobblestone streets are laid out in grids to help people walk in a straight line. Everyone was already well into their cups.
Mom said, "This area seems a little unsavoury. Is there another route we can take on the way to Temple Bar?"
"Actually, this is Temple Bar, Mom."
We stopped in a small pizza shop and a guy was standing at the counter...or I should say slanted at the counter. He leaned heavily on it as though he was gripping a bouy amidst the waves. As soon as we entered the shop, he greeted us with a wave.
"This place is crazy, eh? Have you tried this pizza?" he slurred happily.
"Where are you all from? America? America?!? I fookin love America! You guys get a bad rap around the world, but I still fookin love ya! I fookin LOVE America! Facebook me!"
If you played a drinking game where you take a swig every time Pete used the F-word, then you would be drunk within five minutes. I'm not sure what else he was talking about, but I do know that he "fookin loved America" since he repeated it about 10 times.
Later, I also took my parents to the Stag's Head so that Dad could try his first Irish Guinness. As you can see from the picture, he definitely agrees that Guinness tastes much better in Ireland than it does at home :-).
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
so tired
My folks came to visit me last Wednesday, and we tried to pack as much as possible into a very short amount of time. An amazing trip, but now I'm exhausted! They went home this morning. It's really mind boggling to me that I gave them a hug at 8am, and now at 9:00pm, they are 3,000 miles away.
In other events, I am also currently trying to fill out my federal loan grant questionnaire for graduate school, so I'm having a difficult time thinking properly. I might be going cross-eyed. I'm not sure.
I will post soon before I forgot it all....but not tonight.
In other events, I am also currently trying to fill out my federal loan grant questionnaire for graduate school, so I'm having a difficult time thinking properly. I might be going cross-eyed. I'm not sure.
I will post soon before I forgot it all....but not tonight.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Newgrange and Hill of Tara
I took a tour to County Meath today and I was blessed with some of the finest weather that I've experienced so far. The sun was shining (I think that's a first), the sky was clear, and the air was brisk. The tour attracted a mostly older crowd, but I still met some awesome people, including a few Americans.
One really fun couple were retired and in the process of "spending their kids' inheritance." They were from Nashville, and although I have never visited Tennessee and they never visited New Jersey, we were able to reminisce about familiar things. I call this the "No Place Like Home" Phenomenon. When you meet another American abroad, it's like reuniting with an old friend, even if you would have never spoken back home.
The tour focused on ancient Irish prehistory; I was finally able to contextualize some of the exhibits from the museum. It all started to click together after seeing the actual excavation sites. The first stop was the Hill of Tara--the seat of the old kings. Quite a few cremated remains were found buried in the mounds as sacrifices to the pre-Christian gods. The earth was completely remodeled by neolithic people so that the ground rolled like a sea of grass. There were hills atop hills which all encircled the highest point---this was where the king would be crowned and thus tied to the land. On a clear day, you can see 1/4 of Ireland as the view stretches for miles and miles. It's clear why this would be the coronation site.
I found out later that this giant stone was erected as a phallic symbol to demonstrate the power of the ancient kings of Tara. I guess this picture takes on a whole new meaning that I definitely did not intend!!!!
On our way to the next archaeological site, we passed the River Boyne. An epic battle (the Battle of the Boyne...very creative name) took place here which pushed Catholics out as a ruling power and fully entrenched the Anglican Church. The outcome changed the whole course of Irish history....but that is another story to save for another date. Let's get back to prehistory.
Finally, we arrived at Newgrange. I had never heard of the site until I started working at the museum, but it is actually one of the oldest monuments ever built. It predates the pyramids in Egypt and Stonehenge in England. The front facade has been rebuilt to replicate what archaeologists believe it to have looked like (although there is some controversy). Quartz stones are piled on top of each other to illuminate the sun and huge kurbstones (which are not replicas) surround the mound in perfect mathematical symmetry.
The front entrance is also original (over 9000 years old--which means that it is actually pre-Celtic). No one knows how these Neolithic peoples were able to carve such perfect concentric circles into the massive stone. You enter through the small doorway. The whole atop the entrance is known as the roof box. After you step inside and travel along the narrow corridor, the roof box actually becmes level with your feet. Twice a year --- on the longest and shortest days in order to coincide with the changing seasons --- the sun hits the roofbox opening at a perfect angle and a small ray of light slices through the darkness and shines in a razor sharp line along on the floor. As the sun rises, the thin beam continues to get brighter and wider until the whole inner area is illuminated. This lasts for exactly 17 minutes. Normally, without the aid of the modern lamps set inside, the passage would be black as death.
This is fitting since the structure is also known as a Passage Tomb. The remains of many high ranking individuals were found inside placed on small basins in antechambers. Grave goods like pendants, beads, flint tools, and other artefacts were found scattered alongside them when archaeologists originally opened the tomb.
Walking in a single file line, we made our way to the entrance. You have to turn sideways, duck, and force yourself in between massive stone walls just to fit through the corridor leading to the main chamber. As long as your claustrophobia doesn't get too high, the journey is worth the squeeze. The ceiling is a corballed vault which means that the giant slabs of slate were layered upon each other at continuously smaller angles until eventually they form a magnificent steppe dome. Smaller mortar stones are put in between the cracks to solidify it. The top piece is estimated to weigh 7 tons.
The builders of the tomb may have been from the Stone Age but they sure weren't neanderthals. The construction definitely took some serious engineering skill. The knowledge was actually lost for a while for unknown reasons after the tombs were eventually abadoned. This is where Irish mythological tales of leprechauns and fairy folk have the origins since the people had no other explanation for the mounds until archaeologists came along.
An overwhelming sense of awe comes over you when you see first-hand the inner chamber's carefully constructed walls with their intricate carving desings. I stood in the center for a while gazing open-mouthed with the beauty of what people can create....and then I wrinkled my nose, sniffed hesitantly, and curled my lip. In the tiny space within the chamber, someone had decided that it would be a perfect place to lay a big juicy fart.
It was the epic kind of fart that you can taste in your mouth and you can't escape the smell no matter how shallow you breathe. Milk could be curdeled with that maliferous odor which quickly permeated the windowless encolusure.
The peace and serentity associated with the tomb quickly turned into disgust and nausea. The solemn trance of the tomb's mystery was gone with the wind. We all made a mad dash to the exit, squeezed through the corridor, and gasped for fresh air outside.
Time may pass, but some things never change.
Germs!
I can feel the germs starting to close in on me.
Upon entering church on Saturday night, I just quickly sat at the first empty pew in the back without really noticing my surroundings. After mass began, I heard a wicked cough directly behind me. The coughing fits were so loud and hacking that I could almost feel the force from them on the back of my neck.
A little while later, en elderly woman sat beside me and I scooted down the pew to let her in. The sputtering and spewing began again, and now I could see the woman who was behind me, and I realized why it felt like she was coughing on me---it was because she was. She stood with her hands folded in prayer and her mouth wide open, hacking up a lung into the open air. I started praying that she would use her hands instead to cover her mouth!
I heard a sneeze to my left. The elderly gentleman took out a tissue which was clearly used many times before and used it to wipe clumsily at his nose. He sniffled and put the wet tissue back into his pocket.
I heard another cough and a weeze to my right. The old woman who had just sat beside me was now breathing so loudly that her air came out in words: heerrrm humm....hheeerm hummm. The congestion in her chest rattled like a pair of maracas. Shake shake shake....heeerrm humm herrrm hummm....shake shake shake. She was a one man band.
....And that's when I realized that they had me surrounded! I just sat rigid, my back straight as a board, trying to take up as little space as possible. Maybe if I don't touch anything, then the germs will stay away. I could feel the bacteria stampeding towards me from all directions though---I couldn't avoid it.
This weekend I actually did wind up getting sick. No one seems to cover their mouths around here and I knew it was inevitable. It is the danger of living in a city. Nothing makes you feel more homesick than being sick. When your throat is scratchy and your headache is pounding, you start to miss your own bed back home even more. I made myself a bowl of Lipton soup for dinner which helped both my diseases: real sickness and homesickness. Thanks for mailing me the soup Mom!
Upon entering church on Saturday night, I just quickly sat at the first empty pew in the back without really noticing my surroundings. After mass began, I heard a wicked cough directly behind me. The coughing fits were so loud and hacking that I could almost feel the force from them on the back of my neck.
A little while later, en elderly woman sat beside me and I scooted down the pew to let her in. The sputtering and spewing began again, and now I could see the woman who was behind me, and I realized why it felt like she was coughing on me---it was because she was. She stood with her hands folded in prayer and her mouth wide open, hacking up a lung into the open air. I started praying that she would use her hands instead to cover her mouth!
I heard a sneeze to my left. The elderly gentleman took out a tissue which was clearly used many times before and used it to wipe clumsily at his nose. He sniffled and put the wet tissue back into his pocket.
I heard another cough and a weeze to my right. The old woman who had just sat beside me was now breathing so loudly that her air came out in words: heerrrm humm....hheeerm hummm. The congestion in her chest rattled like a pair of maracas. Shake shake shake....heeerrm humm herrrm hummm....shake shake shake. She was a one man band.
....And that's when I realized that they had me surrounded! I just sat rigid, my back straight as a board, trying to take up as little space as possible. Maybe if I don't touch anything, then the germs will stay away. I could feel the bacteria stampeding towards me from all directions though---I couldn't avoid it.
This weekend I actually did wind up getting sick. No one seems to cover their mouths around here and I knew it was inevitable. It is the danger of living in a city. Nothing makes you feel more homesick than being sick. When your throat is scratchy and your headache is pounding, you start to miss your own bed back home even more. I made myself a bowl of Lipton soup for dinner which helped both my diseases: real sickness and homesickness. Thanks for mailing me the soup Mom!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Going Out
I got to explore the hipster side of Dublin this weekend and what a weekend it was!
After work, I went out with MJ because she heard about a Friday Night Fiver --- a movie was being shown in Powerscourt for five euro. It was a British cult classic made in the eighties: Withnail and I. Although I had never heard of it, other people were quoting the movie as the lines were being said. The film supposedly had overall meaning about growing up and was a commentary on society; however, I mostly saw it as Cheech and Chong, but with British accents.
Although my opinion of the movie is a big question mark, I really enjoyed being at the venue. Powerscourt is an upscale shopping area, but in the center is a huge atrium. In the summers, the roof opens so you are outside but still within the building. The film was shown on a huge screen on the side of a wall, and everyone sat cozily in the center admist the goings-ons of the surrounding bar areas. Pygmalian pub definitely had a hipster vibe to it with dim lights to highlight the Christmas lights strung about. The art on the walls was nouveau and chic as were the futuristic looking furniture.
It took MJ and I a good five minutes to figure out how to work the sink in the bathroom. It was a circular metal tub in the middle of the room. We kept trying to press buttons and wave our hands around under nozzles until someone took pity on us and actually had to explain. There were black buttons on the floor which I had thought were decorations, but were actually the faucets. When you stepped on them, the water came out. Go figure.
The next night, I went out with MJ again and we went over to Smithfield. This area is up and coming. It had been a section of the meaner part of town, but it was recently redeveloped. You still need to be careful getting there, but the area itself is mostly composed of young professionals. Because it is on the north side of town and far removed from the Temple Bar area, most of the people there are locals---tourists don't really know about it.
We went to a fundraiser for Upstart, a group of artists who creates artwork for the city and holds events. Podraig asked why we were giving money to people who were already taking our money on the dole (artists are not really known for their 9-5 jobs), but it was a cool fundraiser nonetheless.
The event was called Slam Poetry and American Wrestling. How do these two go together, you ask? I still don't know, but it was very unique, I'll give them that. The door to get in wasn't labeled at all (I'm glad that MJ knew where she was going). You enter into a long corridor with cement floors, bare brick walls, and just a table with ticket-takers to greet you. I can hear cheering and screaming coming from the end of the hallway. The place looks like an abandoned warehouse - a building that was begun but the construction never completed.
The yelling is getting louder as we make our way towards another entrance. As you step inside, you are greeted by hundreds of young rowdy people surrounding a wrestling ring like you would see in WWF. The crowd was all drinking beer out of cans, bottles, tea cups...just about anything really. This meant that the cheers only continued to get louder as the night wore on.
In the center ring, guys in costumes with very tiny shorts were throwing each other around in a mock fight and the crowd was egging them on as music blasted out of mega speakers. Unfortunately, very few of the amateur wrestlers actually had any real muscle (for the record, spandex does not look good with a pot belly), but they all played their parts with a lot of passion and character.
Just like in actual WWF, they even had feeble storylines holding the fight together---my favorite was when a "villian" called Lord stormed out of the back room as Mozart theme music played through the speakers. He was dressed in a red-coat officer uniform (with spandex), had "Lord" painted across his butt, and spoke with a horribly fake British accent. The "hero" was a Dubliner Every Man dressed in a green unitard. The two proceeded to wrestle and one of them even brought out a chair to smash as the audience cheered and jeered.
I included the picture because I wasn't sure if you would believe me without one!
After work, I went out with MJ because she heard about a Friday Night Fiver --- a movie was being shown in Powerscourt for five euro. It was a British cult classic made in the eighties: Withnail and I. Although I had never heard of it, other people were quoting the movie as the lines were being said. The film supposedly had overall meaning about growing up and was a commentary on society; however, I mostly saw it as Cheech and Chong, but with British accents.
Although my opinion of the movie is a big question mark, I really enjoyed being at the venue. Powerscourt is an upscale shopping area, but in the center is a huge atrium. In the summers, the roof opens so you are outside but still within the building. The film was shown on a huge screen on the side of a wall, and everyone sat cozily in the center admist the goings-ons of the surrounding bar areas. Pygmalian pub definitely had a hipster vibe to it with dim lights to highlight the Christmas lights strung about. The art on the walls was nouveau and chic as were the futuristic looking furniture.
It took MJ and I a good five minutes to figure out how to work the sink in the bathroom. It was a circular metal tub in the middle of the room. We kept trying to press buttons and wave our hands around under nozzles until someone took pity on us and actually had to explain. There were black buttons on the floor which I had thought were decorations, but were actually the faucets. When you stepped on them, the water came out. Go figure.
The next night, I went out with MJ again and we went over to Smithfield. This area is up and coming. It had been a section of the meaner part of town, but it was recently redeveloped. You still need to be careful getting there, but the area itself is mostly composed of young professionals. Because it is on the north side of town and far removed from the Temple Bar area, most of the people there are locals---tourists don't really know about it.
We went to a fundraiser for Upstart, a group of artists who creates artwork for the city and holds events. Podraig asked why we were giving money to people who were already taking our money on the dole (artists are not really known for their 9-5 jobs), but it was a cool fundraiser nonetheless.
The event was called Slam Poetry and American Wrestling. How do these two go together, you ask? I still don't know, but it was very unique, I'll give them that. The door to get in wasn't labeled at all (I'm glad that MJ knew where she was going). You enter into a long corridor with cement floors, bare brick walls, and just a table with ticket-takers to greet you. I can hear cheering and screaming coming from the end of the hallway. The place looks like an abandoned warehouse - a building that was begun but the construction never completed.
The yelling is getting louder as we make our way towards another entrance. As you step inside, you are greeted by hundreds of young rowdy people surrounding a wrestling ring like you would see in WWF. The crowd was all drinking beer out of cans, bottles, tea cups...just about anything really. This meant that the cheers only continued to get louder as the night wore on.
In the center ring, guys in costumes with very tiny shorts were throwing each other around in a mock fight and the crowd was egging them on as music blasted out of mega speakers. Unfortunately, very few of the amateur wrestlers actually had any real muscle (for the record, spandex does not look good with a pot belly), but they all played their parts with a lot of passion and character.
Just like in actual WWF, they even had feeble storylines holding the fight together---my favorite was when a "villian" called Lord stormed out of the back room as Mozart theme music played through the speakers. He was dressed in a red-coat officer uniform (with spandex), had "Lord" painted across his butt, and spoke with a horribly fake British accent. The "hero" was a Dubliner Every Man dressed in a green unitard. The two proceeded to wrestle and one of them even brought out a chair to smash as the audience cheered and jeered.
I included the picture because I wasn't sure if you would believe me without one!Now, I know what you're thinking - I thought the night was called "Slam Poetry and American Wrestling" so where is the poetry? Well, in between bouts, poets would get into the ring and say a few pieces. Their poems were all original modern works about life in Ireland. These guys were actually award winning poets and the crowd cheered just as loud for them as they did for the wrestlers. The poets were as popular as celebrities---the crowd would often join in during a few of the lines because they knew all of the words. When poetry is performed live, the words take on a life of their own. The added exuberance of the audience carried the message even better.
Again, I'm not sure how poetry and wrestling go together (except for the "slam" part), but the fundraiser somehow made it work. After the event ended, we all went out to another pub. Unfortunately, the Dice Bar was so crowded that I could literally barely move. Everyone was pressed against each other in a massive wave of people. We quickly relocated to the Cobblestone which had a lovely outdoor area--the area was actually supposed to be an apartment complex but was abandoned only after the walls were erected due to lack of funds. Instead of leaving it derelict, the pub turned it into a make-shift courtyard area. This zone was allocated for smokers, but there weren't too many there, so we remained relatively cloud free. We were able to sit out under the stars and chat until 3:30am.
What a weekend it was!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Random Observations
Random Observation 1: Scotland played Ireland in some sort of match, and I have never in my life seen so many many in kilts in one place at the same time. Huge groups of men walked down the streets in their Scottish finest. They all had their sporrans in front and fiddled with them quite often (a sporran is the purse in the front so get your mind out of the gutter...although if anyone heard me use the word purse, I'm sure that there would be a fight). It was overcast, and grey; the air was crisp and damp, and yet the men boldly walked with bared legs. Although I suppose that most of them had enough hair to keep them warm (why are girls the only ones who have to shave?!) At least, however, today was the first day without the incredible wind gusts we've been having---I hear that they don't wear anything underneath! I don't know who won the match, but I heard there were quite the riots in the streets later that night (still not indicative of a win or a loss...any chance to go crazy over here is a good chance!)
Random Observation 2: I know that a lot of smokers complain at home about all of the bans instituted in public places. I would imagine that would be quite frustrating; however, after being in a country with no smoking bans (except in restaurants), I have to say that I'm really happy we have them. I will be walking down the street minding my own business, and right as I pass someone, they will blow out a huge cloud of smoke so that I get hit in the face, coughing and sputtering. Do they get extra points for a direct hit or something? I also have a huge black mark on my shoulder bag because people carelessly swing their arms with cigarette in hand and someone dragged their ash across me. Super Disgusting!
Random Observation 3: People jaywalk in New York all the time, but here in Dublin, they have mastered the art of ignoring the light. It's actually more than ignoring--it's almost as if they have an actual disdain for safe crossing. They need more adventure or something.
For the first few days, I would wait patiently at the end of the sidewalk until the signal changed, but I soon noticed that swarms of people would pass me. Even if a car is coming, people will still make a run for it and dash across. It's like a human game of Frogger!
One day, I was standing at the edge of the sidewalk and an elderly woman with a walker came up beside me. A bus was coming down the road at a decent speed, but it was still maybe 300 yards away. The woman gave it a cursory glance and then dismissed it and stepped out into the street. She hobbled along, walker placed in front, one foot, then the other. The bus maintained its speed and the distance between the two was shrinking rapidly. I held my breath, but all I could do was stare. The woman just kept plodding along, never even acknowledging the bus with a second look. She made it to the other side just as the bus passed, the wind from the bus making her skirts swirl. That was when I realized that I need to change my habits. If an eighty year old with a walker was going to pass me, then I definitely needed to become bolder.
Random Observation 4: I always forget that the decimal point is exchanged for the comma here. The church across the street from me needed 80.000 euro to get a new heating system. I'm thinking to myself, "This area must be poorer than I thought. They can't all chip in a quid to pay for the 80 euro bill? I can scrounge up 20 euro for them!" Only later did I realize what a complete and utter moron I was. The heater costs 80 THOUSAND....not 80. I don't think that my 20 euro donation is going to cut it anymore.
Random Observation 5: When you see a drunk person swaying down the street, get out of their way as fast as you can.
Culturally speaking, I don't feel ridiculously out of place here. There are obviously many differences between America and Ireland and a lot of unique norms and habits, but it's not radically dissimilar.....at least in the City. I'll continue to keep my eyes open for new observations.
Random Observation 2: I know that a lot of smokers complain at home about all of the bans instituted in public places. I would imagine that would be quite frustrating; however, after being in a country with no smoking bans (except in restaurants), I have to say that I'm really happy we have them. I will be walking down the street minding my own business, and right as I pass someone, they will blow out a huge cloud of smoke so that I get hit in the face, coughing and sputtering. Do they get extra points for a direct hit or something? I also have a huge black mark on my shoulder bag because people carelessly swing their arms with cigarette in hand and someone dragged their ash across me. Super Disgusting!
Random Observation 3: People jaywalk in New York all the time, but here in Dublin, they have mastered the art of ignoring the light. It's actually more than ignoring--it's almost as if they have an actual disdain for safe crossing. They need more adventure or something.
For the first few days, I would wait patiently at the end of the sidewalk until the signal changed, but I soon noticed that swarms of people would pass me. Even if a car is coming, people will still make a run for it and dash across. It's like a human game of Frogger!
One day, I was standing at the edge of the sidewalk and an elderly woman with a walker came up beside me. A bus was coming down the road at a decent speed, but it was still maybe 300 yards away. The woman gave it a cursory glance and then dismissed it and stepped out into the street. She hobbled along, walker placed in front, one foot, then the other. The bus maintained its speed and the distance between the two was shrinking rapidly. I held my breath, but all I could do was stare. The woman just kept plodding along, never even acknowledging the bus with a second look. She made it to the other side just as the bus passed, the wind from the bus making her skirts swirl. That was when I realized that I need to change my habits. If an eighty year old with a walker was going to pass me, then I definitely needed to become bolder.
Random Observation 4: I always forget that the decimal point is exchanged for the comma here. The church across the street from me needed 80.000 euro to get a new heating system. I'm thinking to myself, "This area must be poorer than I thought. They can't all chip in a quid to pay for the 80 euro bill? I can scrounge up 20 euro for them!" Only later did I realize what a complete and utter moron I was. The heater costs 80 THOUSAND....not 80. I don't think that my 20 euro donation is going to cut it anymore.
Random Observation 5: When you see a drunk person swaying down the street, get out of their way as fast as you can.
Culturally speaking, I don't feel ridiculously out of place here. There are obviously many differences between America and Ireland and a lot of unique norms and habits, but it's not radically dissimilar.....at least in the City. I'll continue to keep my eyes open for new observations.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Touring the Countryside
On Monday, I finally got out of town! I took a tour of the Wicklow Mountains and Glendalough. Dublin is great, but people typically come to Ireland for the countryside.
Unfortunately, since it is winter, everything is varying shades of brown so you will have to use your imagination to witness the beautiful majesty of the environment. In the summer, the same somewhat lackluster hills would be brilliant shade of green and the heather would be vibrant purple and yellow.
On the bus, there was a young couple from Bristol, England. They were wonderfully nice; I got the feeling that if we lived in the same town, we could have been friends. Both of them were incredibly good-looking too---it's really not fair that they are attractive and have an amazing accent. I think you should only be able to have one or the other because having both just raises the standards too far! My other tour friends-for-the-day were two Americans from California studying in Rome for a semester, and a girl from Brazil on holiday.
And then, there was my bus driver/tour guide -- Ed. If I had to take a guess, I would wager that he was in his late seventies. Lined with character, his face told a story. He had broken blood vessels in his cheeks, a red nose, and a wonderful smile. He was exactly what you would picture an elderly Irishman to be like: kind, pleasant, and exceptionally gregarious. He could talk the tale off a cat. Even when there was absolutely nothing to say, he would find a way to comment on the silence.
I didn't realize it, but the tour wound up being about nature...and also about Hollywood. An exceptional amount of movies are made in the Wicklow mountains because of the ideal location (and there is no tax on the set in Ireland). As the tour wore on, I thought that I had mistakenly gotten on the Homes of the Stars tour in LA. The format was the same -- we passed Bono's house, Daniel Day Lewis's favorite pub, Enya's castle-like home, and a cottage formerly owned by Mia Farrow.
Can you tell what movie was filmed in this same spot?
Answer: this is the spot where Hilary Swank meets Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You. (Unfortunately, Gerard didn't show up today)
Braveheart was filmed here. I have no idea why they wouldn't film on location in Scotland, but nevertheless, they filmed in Wicklow.
The wind was so strong up here that I thought I was going to blow off the mountain. My hat was ripped from my head and I looked like Pippi Longstocking with my braid standing straight up into the air. I thought we might need to use a rope to fight against the current and get back to the bus. 
I made new friends on the trip....
I'm unsure why the terminator was at the restaurant where we stopped for lunch. Maybe he was there to make sure that "I'll be back!" (sorry for the bad pun)
The cross design is uniquely Celtic because it combines old and new religion. The cross obviously symbolizes Christianity, but they added the circle around the center in homage to their old Celtic god of the sun. 
Glendalough means "Land of the Two Lakes"
I had a great time meeting new people, seeing new places, and actually seeing animals other than pidgeons. I don't know if I would recommend the tour in winter, but nonetheless, I'm glad that I got out of the city for a day. I know that this sounds completely cliche, but when we were almost back to Dublin, I also saw my first Irish rainbow. Awe!
Unfortunately, since it is winter, everything is varying shades of brown so you will have to use your imagination to witness the beautiful majesty of the environment. In the summer, the same somewhat lackluster hills would be brilliant shade of green and the heather would be vibrant purple and yellow.
On the bus, there was a young couple from Bristol, England. They were wonderfully nice; I got the feeling that if we lived in the same town, we could have been friends. Both of them were incredibly good-looking too---it's really not fair that they are attractive and have an amazing accent. I think you should only be able to have one or the other because having both just raises the standards too far! My other tour friends-for-the-day were two Americans from California studying in Rome for a semester, and a girl from Brazil on holiday.
And then, there was my bus driver/tour guide -- Ed. If I had to take a guess, I would wager that he was in his late seventies. Lined with character, his face told a story. He had broken blood vessels in his cheeks, a red nose, and a wonderful smile. He was exactly what you would picture an elderly Irishman to be like: kind, pleasant, and exceptionally gregarious. He could talk the tale off a cat. Even when there was absolutely nothing to say, he would find a way to comment on the silence.
I didn't realize it, but the tour wound up being about nature...and also about Hollywood. An exceptional amount of movies are made in the Wicklow mountains because of the ideal location (and there is no tax on the set in Ireland). As the tour wore on, I thought that I had mistakenly gotten on the Homes of the Stars tour in LA. The format was the same -- we passed Bono's house, Daniel Day Lewis's favorite pub, Enya's castle-like home, and a cottage formerly owned by Mia Farrow.
Can you tell what movie was filmed in this same spot?
Answer: this is the spot where Hilary Swank meets Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You. (Unfortunately, Gerard didn't show up today)Recognize these hills?
Braveheart was filmed here. I have no idea why they wouldn't film on location in Scotland, but nevertheless, they filmed in Wicklow. The wind was so strong up here that I thought I was going to blow off the mountain. My hat was ripped from my head and I looked like Pippi Longstocking with my braid standing straight up into the air. I thought we might need to use a rope to fight against the current and get back to the bus. 
We also visited a waterfall. George and I climbed down to get a closer view (we found out later that this was prohibited...and also probably pretty stupid, but like all bad ideas, it sounded cool at the time).
I made new friends on the trip....
I'm unsure why the terminator was at the restaurant where we stopped for lunch. Maybe he was there to make sure that "I'll be back!" (sorry for the bad pun)And I also saw my first real life Irish sheep----
There are more sheep than people in Wicklow (or at least it seemed like it). All of the sheep are females and all of them are currently pregnant. (That's one lucky ram!)
Our last stop was Glendalough and St. Kevin's monastery. These are all ruins now because they were destroyed first during the Viking raids of the 9th and 10th century. Then they were completely burnt down during King Henry VIII's reign when he was trying to rid the kingdom of all things Catholic.
The cross design is uniquely Celtic because it combines old and new religion. The cross obviously symbolizes Christianity, but they added the circle around the center in homage to their old Celtic god of the sun. 
Glendalough means "Land of the Two Lakes"After a day of being pummelled by crazy wind, and completely frozen, we made our way home.
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