The Final Countdown

While Al spent the final Friday taking a guided tour of Bru na Boinne and the Boyne Valley, I spent it catching up with family. I know I've said this before but I have a lot of family in Ireland. I could have spent the entire three weeks just seeing family and I probably still would have missed someone. Still, I'll take as many family meet-ups as I can get especially now that some of my cousins have kids and they say adorable things like "hi-ya!" when I walk through the door. Seriously, nothing cuter than a 19 month old with a Dub accent saying 'hi-ya'!

Saturday was run-around-buy-souvenirs-take-pictures day. Despite some very nasty rain clouds hanging about, we lucked out and managed to stay dry for our final day. It was a welcome change to the weather we had been having. We started the day by wandering O'Connell St on the north side of the Liffey. The street is named after Daniel O'Connell so it's only best that he stands prominently at the south end.

I think Ireland personified is telling you who to complain to if you have a problem.

It's that man, up there, above her. Complain to him!

O'Connell St is probably best known for being the location of the General Post Office (GPO).

The pillars are still pockmarked from the 1916 Rising. History nerd here finds that kinda cool!

The GPO acted as the headquarters during the Easter Rising of 1916. In the early hours of Monday, April 24th, members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, the Civilian Army, and the Irish Volunteers seized various buildings around Dublin* (most of which they felt were signs of British oppression), after which Padraig Pearse read out the Proclamation of the Irish Republic from the GPO where two rebels flags had replaced the Union Jack.

After six days of fighting, the inside of the GPO was almost completely destroyed and the men stationed there, including five of the signatories on the proclamation, surrendered unconditionally to British troops. It would be another 24 hours before the rising was completely put down. The leaders were taken to Kilmainham Gaol, found guilty of treason and executed.

One of the things I love most about the Irish is their wit. If you put up a monument to anything, they'll have a nickname for it before the paint is dry. The prick with the stick, the hags with the bags, and the fluzzie in the jacuzzi are all nicknames Dubs have giving to various statues around town. My personal favourite is the the tart with cart, better known as Molly Malone.

Just one nickname won't do. Molly's also known as the flirt with the skirt,

the dish with the fish, and a couple of other nicknames as well.

For the first time in a long while, I had new nicknames to learn thanks to this guy:

Ladies and gentlemen, meet the stiletto in the ghetto, the stiffy by the Liffey, the nail in the Pale, the erection at the intersection, the, well, that's probably enough. The official name has something to do with light... I don't know, I didn't actually pay attention to that part, I just wanted to hear the nicknames! It seemed like everyone I talked to had another one to add to the list. Oh Dublin, I hope you never change.

Try as I might, I couldn't get all my family visits over and done before the Saturday night. We had to be up at 5:00am and a night out wasn't really what I wanted. Still, sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles. I had missed meeting up with my uncle in Armagh so he was coming down** to see me on my last night. There's not way to excuse yourself from that, is there?

Al and I had dinner with uncles Lorcan and Kevin and aunt Betty before doing a night time tour of Dalkey. The tour was part of a "let's see who's home" (answer: no one) which then turned into a "Bono lives there, Enya lives there, Neil Jordan lives there, Van Morrison lives there" drive. Of course, we had to stop at the beach by the Canadian ambassador's house and take a picture. That's just the patriotic thing to do!

Oh flash, why do you wash us out so?

Our evening ended with a drive up into the Wicklow Mts. I was sad that I never made it to the area during the day because it really is lovely but these things happen sometimes. We started the night at Johnny Fox's and all it's "traditional pub" touristy glory (although the stuff on the walls does make me laugh) before we moved onto The Blue Light. If you can get to it, definitely check out the Blue Light. Live music, amazing views over Dublin, friendly patrons, and incredibly relaxed. My kind of pub!

This is just proof that I can't take my uncles anywhere!

Look at all the Guinness Kevin wasted!

As much as I had hoped to avoid a Saturday night send off, I couldn't think of a better way to say good bye to Ireland. We told stories, made jokes, laughed until we cried, sang songs, and reminisced. The end of the night came too soon. We rounded ourselves up and headed out to the car. The next day, Al and I would be up before sunrise; we'd pass through Dublin in the dark and half asleep; we'd watch the sun come up as we ate breakfast on the top level of the airport; and we'd watch Ireland slip beneath the plane as we flew to Amsterdam, but our last real memory of Dublin was on that Saturday night.

*It should be noted that they were not successful in capturing all the buildings they went after.

**I wrote that he was coming 'down' because geographically looking at a map, Armagh is north of Dublin, hence, down. If you are ever in Ireland, it is important to know that everything is down from Dublin. We're going down to Donegal for the weekend. We're going down to Monaghan for the night. We're going down to Mayo in a fortnight. You do 'go up to the North' but if you're specifying where in the north, then it's down again. We're going down to Derry next week. Obviously, if everywhere is 'down' from Dublin, then everyone else comes up to Dublin for a visit so when I was talking with my uncle on the phone, he said that he was coming up to Dublin. I giggled because that will never stop being funny to me.

Backtracking Through Ireland

The great thing about travelling with someone is that they take pictures of you so you get to relive all those silly things you did which you wouldn't take pictures of. Before I post the final two Ireland posts, I've decided to backtrack and post a couple of Al's photos that I got from her today.

This is how you do a pub crawl in Dublin:

And that's why I needed a sexy hot coffee the next morning:

See, I told you I made friends with that horse!

This is my 'wind so strong it's going to knock me over' mime dance at Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. It was closely followed by my 'let's get the hell back to the sheltered bus' mime dance.

If you complain about the lame rip-off that is the Donegal Castle too loudly, they lock you in. Or maybe this was the morning after the night at the pub. I'm not sure. To be honest, the whole two days there are a little hazy.

And thus ends my overly narcissistic blog post (all posts are somewhat narcissistic, it's the nature of the beast, but most posts don't have photos of only me). Until the next time I feel the need to say "look at ME!"

From Dublin Culture to Culchie Culture

Obviously, the morning after a pub crawl requires one thing and one thing only: coffee. Copious, copious amounts of coffee. And who can resist when it comes in an awesome to-go cup?

Noted!

And I want these cups in Victoria.

Due to most Irish museums being closed on Mondays, our Tuesday ended up being very, very heavy on the education-front so we started with a wander through Trinity College. What better way to get our learning on than wandering through the hallowed halls of higher learning... hungover?

Perhaps I should have checked out Careers Week while we were there.

Trinity is actually part of the Pub Crawl given that so many of the writers attended school there, but it was nice to come back during the day and actually see it. Like many European universities, it's located right in the heart of Dublin and is open to just wander through the campus.

We did not bother with the Book of Kells at my suggestion. I had done the Book once before and just found it a waste of money when you consider you only get about 10 seconds to view one page of the book. The displays leading up to the Book are interesting but for the low, low price of free you can visit the Cheaster Beatty Library with books just as old and the National Museum of Ireland: Archeology and History* which has even older artifacts and bog men! That's right, BOG MEN! Four of them!

After we finished our coffees, we hit up both the Chester Beatty and NMI:A&H. Sadly, you can't take pictures inside either of them but they were both awesome. Both could easily be an entire day on their own if you're geeky enough (I totally am. Al, not so much) but two hours at either one should be more than enough time to get your fill.

A school group was leaving as we arrived at the NMI:A&H... Best. Timing. EVER!

We had an early night on Tuesday due to an early morning on Wednesday. Wednesday was when our adventure really began with a trip to the rip-roaring craziness which is Monaghan! Monaghan, of course, is where my culchie family comes from. (Culchie was originally a derogatory term for people from the country--ie. not Dublin--but there's been a bit of a reclaim on for the word. I'm doing my part to show those Jackeens that words can't hurt us!) There's not much family left there now but I always make sure I stop in to say hello to the town which I always remember fondly. Thank goodness Armagh isn't that far away so it's not usually a problem.

Perhaps not surprisingly, this is exactly how I remember Monaghan's main street.

Every trip to Monaghan involves a visit to the cemetery where granny and granddad are buried.

This is followed by a trip to the Cathedral.

 

Many a Sunday of my childhood was spent here

After I dragged Al on a whole 15 minute tour of downtown Monaghan (you think I exaggerate but I really don't. We walked the whole length of Monaghan in less than 30 minutes and that included stopping for photos), we said good bye to my uncle (and his inability to hear us) and jumped on a bus to Armagh.

Ten minutes outside of Armagh the skies opened and thundered down. Even though it stopped as quickly as it started, we kind of lost our appetite for actually seeing Armagh and instead just checked out a pub until the appointed pick up time. Hey, look at that! I sat in a pub just like I did the last time I was in Armagh!

My usual Armagh contact was out of town so stayed with the step-side of my family in Blackwater Town. I challenge you to pull out an atlas and find it on a map. No cheating and using goggle maps! To be honest, we didn't even stay in Blackwater Town. We kept driving, crossed into Co. Tyrone and spent the night in the middle of nowhere.

Apparently the middle of nowhere has an intersection!

The rains held off long enough for Al I to go for a walk around the neighbourhood farms and meet the local cows.

Shortly after I made friends with this horse, the rains returned and we had to make a beeline back home. Still, who can complain about a little rain when you're staying in a location other tourists would pay top dollar for? 

Question: Ever stayed somewhere so small and/or remote on your holidays that it's not in the guidebook? What brought you to that location?

*There are four NMI locations with different themes. They're all free and they're all worth checking out. The National Gallery and the National Library are also worth checking out but when you have limited time, you have to pick and choose :(

Gaols and Guinness

This post should be starting with a picture of me in my Irish rugby jersey giving the thumbs up in front of the TV showing Ireland 26 – Italy 6. Upon reviewing the picture, however, I realised my uncle doesn’t just wear glasses because he’s a hipster... the moment passed and all I have now is the memories of getting up at 7:45am to make breakfast and tea, sitting down with my aunt and uncle, holding my breath a few times, and watching Ireland beat Italy. It was a great way to start the Sunday. As the ad said: this is rugby country.

Within a week, however, Ireland’s rugby dreams would be over. Damn you, Wales!

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur. I cleaned my room, I wrote some more in my journal, and then I headed into town to meet Al. [Insert WOO-HOO! Here]

I’ve often told my friends that they’re welcome to join me when I go to Ireland (although the invite has been known to come after a few beers). I know that the experience I offer as a travel companion in Ireland is vastly different than that which they would get going on their own. Plus, it gets lonely having all these Ireland stories to tell and the only people who get them are still back in Ireland. Al finally took me up on the offer.

After a brief nap and a lovely BBQ dinner, Al and I headed out for our first drink together in Ireland. We wandered to the quiet pub not far from my uncle’s and sat down to wrap our heads around the fact that we were actually in Ireland together. No more tentative talk, no more travel suggestions, no more sight-seeing ideas, this was it!

And after only one pint, we called it a night. Hey! She was still jet-lagged and we had an early start the next day. Give us some credit! We had to pace ourselves for two weeks!

We started the next day by jumping on a hop-on-hop-off tour of Dublin. Truth was that it was easier to take one of those things than trying to figure out where to catch the bus to Kilmainham Gaol and the Guinness Storehouse. Of course, the tour bus only goes in one direction which meant a lot of wasted time after we did it the first time.

Bright-eyed and bushy tailed... thank you two cups of tea and a cup of coffee.

The Guinness Storehouse was actually the first stop but given the subject matter of Kilmainham Gaol (here’s a hint: it’s a former jail), we felt that showing up with a beer in us probably wasn’t the smartest idea. Besides, who doesn’t like a little jail talk first thing in the morning? ;)

Looking down the old wing

Kilmainham was a sobering and sombre experience. Originally opened in 1796, the jail suffered from overcrowded almost immediately. During the famine, entire families were sent there for not paying rent or for stealing to eat. Children were also sent alone to Kilmainham; the youngest inmate without parents was a five year old boy. Our guide, a lovely girl with a true Dub accent, told us some people viewed it as a better option than being on the street during that time because you were guaranteed one meal a day. Still, I find it hard to believe that one meal a day would be much comfort to a scared five year old.

There were often up to five people in one room. I'm guessing the idea of 'personal space'

was quickly tossed. Hmm, perhaps a bit of Feng Shui would help open the space up.

In the mid 1800’s, the ‘Victorian Wing’ was added to the jail to help alleviate the overcrowding. It was built on the ‘central eye’ system which was a new concept for the time. The idea was that you could police more inmates with fewer guards by making an open space in the centre. They also glassed in part of the roof as doctors were beginning to understand that there was a correlation between lack of sunlight and sickness.

Totally going to work on my tan

If this wing looks familiar that’s because it was used in the filming of In the Name of the Father, Michael Collins, The Tudors, and The Italian Job*.^ The jail remained in use until 1924 when it was shut down at the end of the Civil War by the Irish government. It fell into ruin and was condemned when a group of volunteers recognized the historical significance of the buildings and started cleaning them up. It was officially opened as a museum in 1971.

The white walls really spruce the place up. Maybe they should try that in the old wing!

For most people, Kilmainham is associated with the Easter Uprising of 1916. It was at this jail that the leaders were held after they surrendered, and it was in the courtyard that they were executed. The uprising itself was a failure with very little support amongst the population of Dublin but when word got out about the executions (especially that of James Connelly), public opinion changed. The British halted the executions but it was too late.

The cross marks the spot where the executions took place.

Obviously, the only way to follow up such a serious topic was by drinking and what better place to get our drink on in Dublin than the Guinness Storehouse?

For the record, I want this for Christmas. I think it would look fabulous in my living room.

Might have to get the floor reinforced... or move into a ground floor apartment.

I’m going to rant for a second: it costs €15 to get into the Guinness Storehouse and the tour is self-guided. SELF-GUIDED! You are paying for them to let you in the door and nothing else. Sure, you get a complimentary Guinness at the end but at €15 and no guide that needs to be paid, you should get two complimentary Guinness! [/rant]

Still, the tour is fun and informative (and once the crowd thins out, enjoyable).

This is where I tell you that I took this picture because my dad’s dad’s dad (got that? My great-granddad) was a cooper. (And our fathers' fathers' fathers!) Big up to the coopers of the world! W00t! W00t! (All five of you that are left.)

When we finally climbed all seven levels of the Storehouse, we found ourselves in the Gravity Bar where the free complimentary Guinness awaits.

And by ‘awaits’, I mean that you wait for it to be ready because Guinness really does taste better when it’s poured properly (and no, they do not pour it properly in North America. It's not just about the waiting. I pointed that out in a pub once and the bartender yelled at me because they’re too busy to do it how I suggested).

Damn, that tastes good!

As we were attending the Literary Pub Crawl that night, we finished our drinks and then wandered around Dublin until it was time to meet up at the Duke Pub. I have to say that for Allison's first full day in Ireland, the sunset didn't disappoint.

Of course, Al only cared about getting to food before the pub crawl.``

Sunset sunshmet! Put down the camera. It's food time!

The Literary Pub Crawl starts at the Duke Pub (on the corner of Duke St. and Duke Lane; for a country so renown for its literary creativity...) and if you have a free evening in Dublin, you should definitely go. Two actors take you through the history of some of Ireland's better known writers, performing scenes from plays, reciting poetry, and cracking jokes.

The fun begins here!

It also ends down the road so you don't have to drunkenly figure out which way is home.

After you leave the Duke, all this takes place on the streets near the pubs you stop at. I went in thinking this would happen at each pub. In all honestly, the pubs are just an excuse to make you walk around instead of sitting in the Duke all night. The only downside is that they only give you about 20 minutes to down your drink. Unless you're a champion chugger, I suggest sticking with half pints!

Some of the pubs also contain the answer to the trivia questions they ask throughout the night.

If they ask what year Arthur Guinness died, a picture in this pub has the answer.

The pubs are not just chosen for their location but also for their literary or historical connection. Before turning you lose for your beverage, they give you the reason for picking that pub. Remember this picture?

See? Half pints. We know how to make sure we can finish the crawl.

It was taken in The Old Stand which was once known as the Monico (no, I did not misspell it). Due to its proximity to his office, it was a favourite drinking haunt of Michael Collins. Literature, history, and drinks? Best. Night. EVER!

*The original film with Michael Caine which you should totally watch to learn exactly why we use the term ‘cliff hanger’ when an ending leaves us in suspense.

^It was also used in Primeval but I have an sneaking suspicion I'd be the only person who'd get that reference.

``This is in here because I specifically promised Al that I wouldn't talk any smack about her on my blog. Let's see if she's playing attention! (PS. NO TIPPING HER OFF, THR.)

Graveyard Literature

I awoke Friday morning to find that the Dublin weather had turned. While it was still very warm, there was that “needs to rain” feel to the humidity. Still my plans for the day included a walk along the Grand Canal and it had to be accomplished, regardless of the weather. The Grand Canal runs south of the Liffey and through a series of locks connects the Dublin Port with the River Shannon. While the only boats that patrol its banks now are hired by holiday makers, the canal makes a lovely walk or, if you’re so inclined, a fabulous running route.

The barge is a floating restaurant. I was much more interested in the ducks.

My reasons for wandering the Canal were not for the views or a break from the bustle of the city, but because I was looking for this guy:

This is Patrick Kavanagh. Go on, ask me who the heck that is. He’s a poet who originally hails from Co. Monaghan. If you’ve ever listened to Irish folk music, you’ve probably heard his poetry. He wrote a poem called On Raglan Road which was then set to music by Luke Kelly (of the Dubliners). He’s immortalised along the banks of the Grand Canal because he often sat on these very banks and composed his works (including a poem about the Canal in which he asks to be commemorated with a bench).

"O commemorate me with no hero-courageous

Tomb - just a canal-bank seat for the passer-by."

~ Lines Written on a Seat of the Grand Canal, Dublin

But my reason for hunting down this statue is personal. Before he moved to Dublin and my dad’s family moved to Monaghan Town, Patrick Kavanagh was the occasional drinking buddy of my granddad. In fact, when they thought my aunt was going to die while being born and they wanted to make sure that she was baptized asap, it was Patrick Kavanagh that my granddad brought back with him from the pub to be her godfather.

After I took a moment to sit with Patrick and contemplate life, I headed off to find another famous Irish writer.

I encourage you to click on the photo to wilde-inate it.

The smirk on his face is awesome!

Across from the statue (if you can call it that when the sculpture is reclining), are two posts with various Oscar Wilde quotes listed on them. I was happy to see my two favourites were both on there.

Agreed!

Could you please explain this concept to my bank account? Thanks.

With my literary duties done for the day, I was off to Glasnevin Cemetery*, the dead centre of Dublin. (Um, if I need to explain that pun to you, then I don’t think we can be friends.) The Cemetery is a pretty big deal in Dublin. Before it was opened, Catholics either had to be buried in a Protestant cemetery without a Catholic service or be buried in an area that hadn’t been interred. Daniel O’Connell, an early advocate of Irish freedom from England (and noted pacifist), fought for the creation of this cemetery and it is (well, ‘was’. Good luck getting a plot in there now!) open to all faiths.

And as I previously mentioned, I like cemeteries so you know I had to go check it out! And my timing was pretty awesome: I arrived in time for a guided tour which meant I’d get to go into O’Connell’s tomb.

While the intention of the cemetery was ‘open to all’, it quickly became a bit of a Fenian hallowed ground. If you think I exaggerate, the first graves you see are nine men executed by British forces for their roles in fighting against British rule.

Tradition dictated that when you were executed inside a prison yard, you were buried in that same yard. When these bodies were exhumed from the prison yard, the families opted to have them buried together at Glasnevin. The most famous of these names is Kevin Barry, who was only 18 when he was executed, and was later immortalised in song.

In the background of that picture you can see the base of the O’Connell Round Tower.  If I had just been wandering the cemetery on my own, I would have had to content myself with just viewing the tower from the outside.

But tour groups get to go inside! (I swear I’m not a morbid person, I just find tombs kind of awesome.) They say that touching his coffin is good luck, so I stuck my hand through the holes in the side of the tomb and rubbed the well-worn wood. Our guide told us that he’s pretty sure the Dublin women come on the tour just so they can touch the coffin before they buy a lotto ticket. HA!

We were a very small tour group of six people and I was the only non-Irish person in the group. I was really appreciative of the others on this tour as they knew their Irish history and were able to answer the questions that our guide posed to us and add to his stories. They’d spot names on the grave sites and exclaim “isn’t that so-and-so?” Our two hour guided tour was almost three hours long.

We finished our tour with this grave:

Michael Collins. You might have heard of him ;)

Apparently so many people turned out for his funeral that when the procession reached Glasnevin, the end of it still hadn’t left downtown Dublin.

I could have spent another three hours walking around the cemetery but the skies were threatening to open up again (it rained for the first five minutes of our tour, but the cemetery loans out oversized umbrellas for that very possibility--seriously, love Glasnevin!) so I wandered around until I felt a few drops and then I called it a day.

"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,

It's with O'Leary in the Grave."

~September1913, W.B. Yeats

John O'Leary's grave on the right, James Stephens' on the left.

Given the nature of the cemetery, Celtic crosses figure prominently on the graves.

Looking back at O'Connell's Tower

Glasnevin started as a 9 acre plot in 1832. Today it covers 120 acres.

Roughly 1.5 million people are buried here but there are only 200,000 headstones.

I finished by checking out Parnell’s final resting place.

Parnell was another early advocate of Irish independence. At the time that he passed away, grave robbing was very common. Knowing that his grave would be a likely target due to who he was, the decision was made to bury him in the middle of a mass grave which had been used for cholera victims a few years earlier. The plan worked and Parnell still slumbers there.

By the time I caught the bus, the heavens had opened. The rain would continue into Saturday when it came down so strong that leaving the house seemed like a ridiculous idea. As a result, Saturday was a sit-at-home-drink-tea-and-write-in-my-journal kind of day, followed by a stay-at-home-and-drink-a-few-bottles-of-wine kind of night.

*The proper name for Glasnevin is actually 'Prospect Cemetery' but given that every single person I talked to called it Glasnevin and their own books list it as Glasnevin... Glasnevin it is!