Waking up in Killarney, it was time to wolf down some food (black pudding avoided this time - I already checked that box) and get on the road to Dublin. Nothing remarkable to report during the trip to Dublin except we did see a sign that said "Scooby Doo-Ley's Dog Grooming". Way to rip off Hanna Barbera, Ireland! Now you're getting in the spirit!
Our plan was to sneak into Dublin without getting on the M50. The M50 is a beltway that circles the City. The rental car company advised that if we get on the M50, we are going to go through an electronic toll booth. This thing apparently takes a picture of your license plate. You need to go into any gas (dammit, "petrol") station and pay your toll within 24 hours or else. I was getting rather weary of "petrol" stations and their saw-dusty Snickers bars, so the M50 was not an option. Good call in retrospect because you would be very hard-pressed to find a "petrol" station in Dublin.
So the battle plan was to enter from the West and, through great effort and prayer, we would arrive at the site of our pilgrimage - The Guinness Storehouse.
After driving in a circle around and around the Storehouse, I found the parking lot. A couple of brisk steps and we enter the world of Guinness - "Commercial Style". That's right - take any household object, object d'art, clothing item, Scooby Doo-Ley Pet Grooming tool etc., and you will find it here for sale but with a Guinness logo slapped on it for good measure.
That's fine, really, who doesn't need a Guinness themed deck of cards? Apparently, we did need those cards and, like most other purchases, I haven't seen them since we arrived home.
The tour is self-guided and I'm not sure why you even pay to get in. Nobody checks. The purpose of your ticket stub (acquired from an ATM-like machine) is really to get you the "free" drink at the Gravity Bar - 7 storeys up. The tour gives you some history, demonstrates how Guinness is made, and then provides you with example upon example of how Guinness has impacted the culture of the Western world through its product and advertising. Think Coca-Cola but with slovenly drunkenness
Here's how it impacted my wife:
Yeah, I'd run if that big plaster dude was chasing me too. If you go to Dublin, you simply have to come here. Not surprisingly, the best part of the experience is the Gravity Bar. The walls are all glass, so you get 360 degree views of Dublin.
Here is Fighting Fitzgerald, and I have some questions:
Whose hand is that on the table? If it belongs to my wife, then she must have six foot long arms, right? Is it some drunk tourist hiding under our table only to rise to the surface, do a belly-roll and then swallow our precious "free" pints of Guinness in one swill? Ah me, perspective is everything.
And speaking of perspective, why the heck isn't Fighting Fitzgerald smiling. You would think that after dropping thousands of dollars to take her to one of the most beautiful and friendly places in the world she would at least give me a smile, right? Didn't the woolen blanket and hurling balls satisfy the beast? Apparently, no. Must be the fright that large Guinness wielding plaster man gave her.
In any event, after buying stuff that complies with Shopping Rule #1 and even with proposed Shopping Rules #2 and #3, we got in the Renault with the purpose of finding Kilmainham Gaol. Americans - the word "gaol" is old-englishy for "jail". Driving Dublin is a lot like driving San Francisco - lots of one-way streets, places you can't turn etc. After wrestling around with a very vague map of Dublin, I pulled over to get a closer look. Yeah, that's right, you would think that two rational people would have good maps and wouldn't prefer to locate stuff by pointing their rental car in the general direction of a church steeple. Not us!
While parked and scratching my sun burned scalp, my wife looks up and says "There it is." We lucked into it and this right after I was about to swear it off and go try to find Bono in a pub.
If you have ever toured Alcatraz, Kilmainham has the same feel. It is cold, dark and the feeling of hopelessness is ever present. Kilmainham was built in 1796 and was decommissioned in 1924. This jail was built with modern theories of incarceration in mind. The notion was that prisoners were better rehabilitated if they had separate cells and weren't incarcerated in a common room. That's right ... before this more "modern" theory of rehabilitation took hold, murderers, rapists etc. were incarcerated with children, petty thieves, prostitutes etc. without regard to gender. That means the serial rapist would be kept in a common room with teenage girls. And explain to me how this would rehabilitate any inmate???
To the extent, Kilmainham was intended to correct the "we encourage more violence by housing you together" theory of rehabilitation, it was indeed an improvement. Unfortunately, overcrowding at Kilmainham meant that cells intended for one prisoner were occupied by many. For the most part men were kept in cells and the women and children were kept en masse in the cold, dark hallways outside the cell blocks.
If you came to Kilmainham and you were there for any extended time, you were going to die there of disease and/or starvation. And yet, during the Potato Famine, people would commit crimes on purpose just so they could get a small meal at Kilmainham. Incarceration with murderers and rapists and sleeping on stone floors in a hallway is better than dying in the streets of starvation.
One other thing, children, be aware that if mom and pops got put in jail, you are going in as well. And they won't treat you like a kid that got a bad shake in life. Kids got treated just like every other prisoner. Technically, you had to be eight or older to be incarcerated at Kilmainham, but the reality is that five year olds were regularly put in Kilmainham. Those lucky kids ... their one hour of exercise involved the boys walking in a circle around a post and the girls walking in another circle around the same post in the opposite direction. Eyes down, no talking or else. And here is a picture of what passed as a kiddie park in Kilmainham:
I find it a bit disconcerting to enter a building whose front door is flanked with two hanging posts. And isn't it odd to stand at the spot where political prisoners were blindfolded and shot? You do want to to this properly. One of these poor Irish rebels was injured, so he couldn't stand. Why not put him in a chair? It isn't sporting to shoot someone lying on the ground is it ole chap? When the poor guy couldn't sit erect in the chair, they tied him to it and then shot him. And that is what he got for trying to get the British out of his country.
Well, that was a depressing little detour but well worth doing. The good news is that this is how America and Australia were populated. You want to put me on a ship and send me to a land that isn't crowded and (after some years of servitude) I'm free to go where I please? Land of opportunity here I come! Alternately, stay in Kilmainham and die. Easy choice there new Americans! By the way, America is better because our women are prettier. True fact ...
We only had an afternoon in Dublin so it was time to drive in the general direction of our hotel which was just off the most famous street in Dublin - not surprisingly named O'Connell street (called Sniper's Row during the insurrection). We found the hotel and went on a bit of a walking tour. Off to Temple Bar. Don't think "bar" as in "pub" ... think sand bar caused by the River Liffey. You know, the river the Vikings sailed up in their long boats in order to loot, kill and pillage? That one.
Here's a pic from the bridge over the Liffey which we took on the way to Temple Bar. No Vikings were present other than my wife, and she is harmless:
At Temple Bar I was sure I would find the creature knows as the elusive Bonokus Dublinasaurus.
At the Hard Rock, I found traces. His glasses were on display, yet I know that he regularly replaces these with other goofy looking glasses/goggles and would not return for this particular pair. I saw one of those tiny East German made cars suspended from the ceiling that was featured in a U2 video long ago, but he was not in it. So, I bide my time and purchase some pins for my collection. Nothing ... damn it ... nothing! Haven't I bought all of the U2 records? Wasted countless hours watching all the U2 videos throughout the years? Endeavored to instill in my children a fondness for all things U2 (unsuccessfully I might add)? I'm even listening to U2 while I write this! No recompense for me. I need a burger.
So, we drank beer and ate burgers at this lovely little place while watching the tourists and native bohemians wander back and forth.
You can get through Temple Bar in an hour or so. Right next door is Trinity College, and that is where we went. Trinity College is the "Harvard" of Ireland, and it is beautiful. I felt a bit out of place wandering amongst the students while clicking pictures here and there. I now present to you a picture of the Bell Tower at Trinity College.
Established in 1592 during the time when Queen Elizabeth was extending British rule over Ireland. The College was intended to educate the wealthy protestants to ensure a protestant elite to hold sway over the ignorant Catholic masses. Catholics were not allowed to attend until 1793. In a bit of "tit for tat", any Catholic who sought admission would be excommunicated. Kind of a "Well, if you don't want us, we didn't want you first!" kind of thing.
As an aside, this strategy worked well for me in preemptively dumping girlfriends in high school if I had the slightest hint that they might dump me first. A fine strategy for preserving your ego and ensuring that even at 45 years of age you can still brag about never getting dumped by a girlfriend.
As a Catholic, you couldn't even teach here until 1873 and until 1970 you were still supposed to get advance permission before becoming a student. And you think you can hold a grudge? Here is something that might be one good reason to bear a grudge - a little known fact or perhaps a bit of Irish story-making. One day per year, any student was permitted to climb the above-pictured bell tower and shoot any nearby Catholic with a bow and arrow. Obviously illegal under Irish law, but it looks like Trinity College didn't care much about that. And how the hell where you supposed to tell which ones were the Catholics? It would not appear to me that they would call themselves out by running naked down the street yelling "I'm a papist!"
It was starting to get late and after watching some female students play cricket (for the life of me, I can't figure out the game), we wandered back across the Liffey and got ice cream. There we sat at the foot of the statute of O'Connell with the noise and chaos of O'Connell street car and foot traffic all around us. Soaking it all in. Our first trip overseas after 23 years of marriage. We sat there alone amongst hundreds. I just marveled at the joy in it.
I've been able to take the person I most love in the whole world to a magical place affectionately known as the Emerald Isle. I've never been more in love.
And so, patient reader, I end this blog. Forgive me for the occasional crass comment or even the frequent mention of the religious history that has fashioned this country out of its crude rock and emerald fields. It has been a true pleasure, and I can only hope that you got a chuckle or two out of it. God bless.
