Sat, 04-21-18 (continued)
Breezed out of Dungarvan with many blessings from host Brian. He’ll be retiring in a year and seeks someone to run the place. Examined maps and planned a route to the capital’s outskirts, hoping to figure the rest later. Smooth sailing most of the way, ‘cept for one near-scrape with a truck around a bend on a bridge in Fearns, a fort town. Stopped for petrol there, paying €30 cash. Ireland’s freeways a dream to cruise. Glimpsed the eastern ocean once by Arklow and grazed the rocky Wicklow Mountains.
On Dublin’s edge, went west for a bit before plunging towards the city centre with Google speaking. Going was slow, snarled, with no obvious street signs, no discernible pattern layout—frustration, anxiety. Espied the Budget car hire office, staggered in and got directions to the nearest gas station. Fellow said to take the first right, which I didn’t, but found the place nonetheless. Filled Black Irish to the brim, paid cash again because neither card would work. Parked off an alley, settled up. Mimi (a.k.a. Michele Hallahan) screeched into the bus lane and swept us away in a jiffy.
Wended this way and that, our fate in our hostess’s capable hands. Pulled up to her green door in a row of connected homes about 100 years old that had housed Guinness or other factory workers back in the day. Her near-northside flat contains two bedrooms and a living room. Added on more recently are the kitchen and bathroom, which look out onto a tiny back garden in a space connected to three other dwellings.
Mimi offered tea and cookies as we planned our visit: pubs and dinner that night, Newgrange on the morrow. Stepped out and walked down many streets, which all led towards the old downtown. Enjoyed pea soup with back bacon at Mulligan’s, then heard string band music at Cobblestone. Stopped into three or four more pubs until I couldn’t bear another stout. Rode the double-decker bus home. Wild time.
Sunday, 4-22-18
In Phibsborough, Dublin. 46 deg, 93%, SSW 7, m-cldy, dp 45 deg, 29.71”, 10 mi viz. In the kitchen of Mimi’s row-house before anyone else be up. 7:20. Rain might be around, says the prognosticator.
Remind me to never buy an all-in-one washer-dryer. Did our clothes, then held back just my khakis to wear that morning. Our hostess figured they’d be dry in maybe half an hour. Came 11:30 and the front-loading, condenser-type machine still churned and stopped and churned and gurgled. Tried to pull the garment out, but the door refused to unlock. Feck this. Pulled on Lina’s maroon stretchy pants (which fit surprisingly well) and added suspenders. They were welcome, despite shallow front pockets and buttonless rear ones. Out.
Cruised north with myself navigating on M’s phone. Stopped for fuel. Turned just before Slane and could see the prehistoric Neolithic Newgrange across the River Boyne as we approached the visitor centre. It was almost raining at first, then cleared, windy.
Paid, delighted in soup and sandwiches for lunch, stepped across the river on a way-cool suspension bridge to the shuttle buses—just like at Stonehenge. Rolled round to the site itself, noting a smaller mound to our left. At the entrance booth, guide Carmel met and led us up to the passage tomb’s entrance. After some interpretive remarks, she divided the group into two segments according to badge color. While the first 17 went inside, we walked all the way around the largest structure of its kind in Europe. Conspicuous is the variety of rocks that line and contain the big mound: white quartz from the river, dark granite cobbles, huge kerbstones from farther away. Snapped landscapes and portraits.
Time to enter. No photography allowed. Compelled to duck beneath the low doorway and squeeze through a couple narrow places in the gently ascending tunnel. Arrived at the inner chamber with its three niches, basin stones, and high corbeled ceiling. We stood in the world’s oldest known room, built 5,000 years ago and still waterproof. Guide told the story, then turned out the lights and let shine one bulb from the aperture or roof-box which simulated sunshine entering at dawn on the Winter Solstice. Wow, oh wow. “We” don’t know what was in the minds of those ancient crafty folk, but the place must have been extremely significant to go through all that trouble and care.
Skipped Tara Hill and ambled back to Dublin, seeing a herd of deer and the American ambassador’s entry gate in Phoenix Park. Bought stout and wine at M’s local liquor store on a Sunday! Everything else is closed. Priorities.
Home to dry pants and marvelous hand-cooked sesame-crusted chicken with spinach-cheese and short-grain brown rice. Emptied the Bushmill’s bottle with joyous ceremony. Held lots of meaningful conversations about pools of light, family challenges, contemporary myths, and home improvement. Time to rest.
Monday, 04-23-18
48 deg, 70%, WSW 16, m-cldy, dp 39 deg, 29.88”, 10 mi viz. Looks plain gray from Mimi’s kitchen window this last morning in Eire. Beat the alarm at 5:50, but retreated for a few to cuddle a bit, then revive. Yoga, socks, coffee, a light behind me to write. Dreamed we were trying to get to the airport but kept losing our way: bus, taxi, walking, splitting up, rain. Worried about ponderous luggage. Where’s my dowsing book?
Packed and walked to Mimi’s regular bus stop. A reelin’, rollin’, rockin’ ride took us to the city centre by Trinity College, where she works. Dropped our bags in her office and trotted off to the library where lives the Book of Kells.
She got us at the head of the line and in for free! Off to her job, we bee-lined it past interpretive panels to the vault, where the precious 9th century volumes display, along with a smaller, even older book. Wow—written in Latin but with Irish script, it’s difficult to read, but the illustrations veritably shine from the vellum pages. One panel remarked that Christianity brought (among other things) writing to Ireland. That sounded worth verifying, but goes along with “People of the Book.”
Upstairs is the stunning Long Room, a total cathedral of books. In it displays the oldest or original Celtic harp we see on all things Irish. It’s but a couple or so feet tall.
Exited through the gift shop with post cards and an Oscar Wilde coaster. Met Mimi again after eavesdropping on a campus tour in progress. She led us out and kissed us goodbye. We crossed the busy streets to the Visitor Centre for a last-minute map and brochures. Crossed again and reentered the Palace pub for our final half-pints of Guinness. Not long after came our express bus to the airport, €6 each with wifi on board. Dublin Airport was a bit disorienting until we found our place and waited, waited.
Next: Last Legs