There was a lot of beer that evening and I think that was the night we ordered in from an Indian restaurant in the area. I asked for a chicken vindaloo. I'd heard vindaloos mentioned on many British TV shows, and I know they're popular elsewhere, but I've never seen it on a menu in Toronto. I was dying to try one. The one that arrived was fantastic. It was hot; wonderfully hot. The pieces of chicken were half the size of pucks. It was spread over rice, and the portion was more than generous. I'm a big eater, but even I realized at some point I was satisfied, so put the fork down. Dave froze the remainder for his next lunch at work. I'd say there was a third left over when I was done.
Monday morning I knew for sure I had a cold, or something. I had that miserable feeling all up and down my upper respiratory tract. Still, I was there for week; there were things that had to be seen and done. Dave gave me some lozenges that were a godsend, and on our way out, we passed through the Ballymun Shopping Centre on the way to the bus, and stopped into a pharmacy where I picked up antihistamines, in the vain hope it was really just mild hay fever from exposure to some kind of pollen I wasn't used to. Then, we caught the bus and headed back downtown.
This time, we took the bus to the south side. It was just after we'd crossed the Liffey that I got what I think is the funniest shot I took during my stay. In the dirt on the back of a truck, I saw that someone had fingered "BONO YA WEE SHITE", and I just managed to snap the shot in time. Dave explained that it's widely viewed these days that the U2 front man's gotten a little big for his britches. I was spontaneously giggling about it for days.
When we got off the bus, I took a shot of this gorgeous door, and a carving of a couple of monkeys playing pool. Dave said the place with the animal carvings was originally a hang out for British officers before Ireland's independence, and the carvings were supposed to be recognizable references to particular officers, if you were in the know...
We also glimpsed the National Library of Ireland...
The first place we wandered past was the Office of the Taioseach. The Taioseach (pronounced something like TEE-shock) is the official Irish name for the Prime Minister of Ireland. It was a beautiful building with a stirring façade, as you can see. As we walked past it, we saw an ad for the Natural History department of the National Museum. Dave dubbed this "the Dead Zoo" (and I was surprised, later on that week, to see official collateral by the Museum itself referring to the collection by that colloquial name), but we couldn't get into it because it was undergoing some work.
We turned down the Merrion Square South, the street that, as you might guess, forms the southern boundary of Merrion Square. It was lined with old brownstone row houses, which Dave told me were Georgian, and he could tell this by the design. It was clear to me that he took particular pride in these places, pointing out that nothing, even the boot-scraping grates, could be changed without permission. And as we walked along, I could see why. The names of the people who had lived and worked there, in just that one street, over the past 150 years or so, was jaw-dropping. It seemed like someone famous had lived in every second house... and they bore the plaques to prove it.
We walked the boundary of Merrion Square, and just as we were coming back to its west side, it started to rain. Dave had a very Irish solution — step inside one of the public facilities and wait it out (if you're a fan of the movie Angela's Ashes, you'll recall Frank McCourt saying this was the basis for Limerick's reputation as "the holiest city in Ireland" — people were always in the churches... if only to get out of the rain). In this case, the one that was handy was the National Gallery of Ireland.
I looked around for a place to pay, intending to take my turn, but there was none. There was no fee for admission. You just entered, and enjoyed it. It was looked after by the state. It was the property of the Irish nation, and people had a right to learn from it. Maybe it's funny to say it, but that attitude and that policy made me extremely proud to be a part of that nation, if only technically.
I took several non-flash photos of statues and paintings before one of the attendants made a very polite gesture suggesting that photography was not allowed, at which point I made a gesture of apology and immediately put my camera away.
Dave joked that this fellow was Sir Richard Harris... and you know, the resemblance is striking, isn't it?
We both knew this to be George Bernard Shaw.
Dave wondered, perhaps jokingly, if this was meant to be Julius Caesar, but I spotted him correctly as George III.
This was the last shot I took inside the museum before I was asked not to take any more shots.
Eventually the rain stopped and we wandered from the gallery. There was other art outside... a couple of signs that I found humourous, each for its own reason...
But by then, the museum bug had bitten us, and Dave led me to Trinity College, where the Book of Kells, among other ancient texts, is housed. A gorgeous tome, hand-copied and copiously illustrated, it is over a thousand years old, and gathers the four gospels. The name is lyric... a wisp of Ireland on the breath when it's spoken. But to see the pages with my own eyes, and envision the generations that have come and gone in between, was a singular moment for me. To realize that it has survived all this time, through all perils, to come down to us... We wandered as well the ancient library of the college, with its first editions and displays of works and writing collateral from some of the noted authors of history. I can't show you any of that, of course; photography being strictly forbidden... but I can show you the loveliness of the grounds, at least.
By then, it was beer o'clock, and I was getting hungry, too. Dave spotted a place he liked, the Citi Bar, which I think was affiliated with a hotel. The place was really classy. Reading room furniture, hardwood everything, brass everything else. A bit pricy for lunch, but nothing outrageous. Over his shoulder as we sat there — as I recall, I ate, but he didn't — was a large flat screen TV showing the news. The stories I recall from the day were a fire at the European Parliament in Brussels, and that the Speaker of the House of Commons in Britain was resigning over allegations he had his hand in the cookie jar.
On leaving, we glimpsed The Olympia Theatre, where the musical version of Michael Collins was in production.
And then we took a tour of Dublin Castle...
The courtyard inside the Castle is where, Dave told me, the Union Jack was retired and the Tricolour was raised officially for the first time in 1922... again, it's a scene from Michael Collins. Today, the flags of many EU nations fly there. But Dave pointed to the Union Jack and said to me, "Just a guest now."
There's more I could tell you, but I'm going to try to upload the videos I took of the tour. I think — I hope — you'll find them interesting. The young guy we had as a guide reminded me of a sort of cross between Dave Allen and Ed Sullivan in his manner and presentation. When you see him in action, I think you'll see what I mean. :) I'll put the videos at the end of the Dublin Castle section here. In the meantime, here are some of the photos I took inside the Castle...
And now, the promised videos on the splendors and quirks of Dublin Castle...
After the tour, we were weary and thirsty, and it was raining. We made our way to Temple Bar. I happened to notice a couple of Gardai (cops) pressed into a storefront against the rain. A man and a woman, neither was armed with a gun, so far as I could see. As the rain really began to come down, we went into a pub called The Quays. There was a young man playing a guitar and singing folksy songs from the 1970s. He was good; I really enjoyed listening to him. Unfortunately, the place was dead crowded and I ended up sitting at a table formed by a pillar... with the pillar between me and the performer. Ah, but music is to listen to, after all. It's a pub, not MTV. :) At one point, he began singing the John Denver standard, Country Roads. I grew up, early on, in Nova Scotia, where weekends were spent in among a chain of stubby, rainy eroded Appalachians that form part of the same chain John Denver sang about. It was a strange feeling to be reminded of that while sitting in a bar in Dublin. I went up and put two euros in the man's tips jar. Later on, I was thinking about going up and asking him to sing it again (five euros? ten?), but I thought people would get sore at me if I did. Oddly enough, someone else did that just before the man finished his set! Far from being upset, the patrons sang along. I guess everyone in Ireland has a cousin in West Virginia. :)
When we left, I saw those same two cops, pressed into a different storefront, still chatting away. :)
This is the Ha'penny Bridge. At one time, it cost a half penny to cross the Liffey here. Dave told me it was an important icon for romantic couples and folks getting married. The side of the bridge I took the shots from is the Temple Bar part of Dublin on the south side.
Some various shots on our way out, including a statue of the famous author, James Joyce.
After that, the last remaining even of note was my first (of several) visits to my first (of several) Carroll's. Carroll's is something I'd never seen before... a chain store, all over the city, dedicated to nothing but souvenirs of the city and the country. I've seen souvenir shops before, of course, but usually having to do with whatever institution it is they're part of. A general souvenir shop, and one with outlets all over town, was a new one on me. Over several days, I must have dropped about a quarter of the money I brought with me there. I would have been really easy to have spent more.
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