Day Three

Friday, June 26th, 2009

After a night of restful sleep, I eagerly gulped down our continental breakfast (read: small bowl of cereal and croissant) in preparation for our exciting day. Surely, I thought, surely we will have a chartered bus today. But alas, it was not to be. I soon learned we would be taking the Luas, a public transit system. Well, I reconciled, at least that would be a break for my aching legs and feet. HA. After being dropped off near the Guinness Storehouse, it was at least a half mile to our first destination of the day: Kilmainham Gaol.

Gaol = Jail. Get it? It’s old English. You just learned something today.

I was a bit hesitant about our tour of some old jail. I mean, how much fun can a jail really be? Aren’t the purposes of jails to make life NOT fun? Of course, being the uneducated American that I am, I failed to realize the cultural significance of the jail. Built well over two hundred years ago, the jail held criminals (obviously), citizens who purposefully committed crimes to escape the Potato Famine, 1916 rebels, and people who chose the “wrong” side of the Irish Civil War (many of whom who had being previously held for the 1916 uprising and were now back in prison being held by former comrades).

I do admit, the jail was pretty cool. The large central room harkened memories of Alcatraz (though predating it obviously) and we could see the jail cells that each member of the 1916 Easter Uprising occupied before they were executed. We were also able to walk through the older and original part of the jail and see actual graffiti done by the prisoners held there. They also had a museum featuring articles from the members of the 1916 uprising, such as letters, rosary beads, and even a wedding ring.

After Kilmainham, we took the tram back to the city center and met up with a tour guide for a 1916 Walking Tour. I know what you’re thinking—a “walking tour”? Sounds boring! But let me tell you, boring was the last thing it was. To begin with, our tour guide (named Lorcan) was pretty much the coolest person I’ve ever met. He wears slacks and a jacket…with red converse. Then, right as he’s beginning to explain the Easter Uprising at the post office, some asshole in a car stopped at the light starts heckling him (apparently the locals like to do that).

Not missing a beat, Lorcan turned to him and shouted “Oh, did your mummy not pay enough attention to you when you were a little bambino? All right, we’ll ALL pay attention to you now. Feck off!” Great right? Not to mention he talked a mile (or kilometer I guess I should say considering I’m in Metric-land) a minute, jumping between tangents (“So as you can see the post office was an ideal spot to gain control—oh nice shirt, I love that band, I have them on my iPod. Do you listen to ‘em when you get high? This is the last tour I do high, man” and “Where do you think Bush is these days? Probably off writing his memoirs—in crayon.”)

He took us back up to Dublin Castle, then we cut across to the National Museum. So again, walking across Dublin multiple times. We bid goodbye to Lorcan at the museum, asking him for pub recommendations (this will come in handy later). Our tour leader, Mark, then led us on a brief tour of the museum, showing us some really old gold jewelry, medieval church relics, etc. But the real prize was seeing the Bog Bodies. Yes, Bog Bodies. Ireland has quite a few bogs around, and apparently they act as an extremely good preserving agent, yielding something akin to mummified bodies. We could still see the faces on some of them, or perfectly preserved hands. One even still had hair. Creepy, right?

After the museum, we were released on our own with the promise to meet at the Abbey Theatre promptly at 7:15. (They abide by the 7:30 curtain as well. Go Chico!) A girl named Kristin mentioned having seeing a famous fish and chips place on the travel channel and a group wuickly formed to find this sacred eatery. We ended up hiking BACK the way we came (all the way up to Christchurch—I really wish I had packed a pedometer.) Apparently Kristin didn’t realize that this restaurant served half a dolphin (or possibly a baby beluga)—sized fish and a least a sack of potatoes of chips. The take away bag had weight to it that I’ve never experienced before. Needless to say, none of us finished it (though it was very delicious).

Now full of breaded fish and potatoes, we had to walk all the way back to NCI to get changed for the theatre. (Honestly, I think I spent the most time in Dublin walking than doing anything else—I just want you all to appreciate how much exercise I’m getting). For any of you who took DK’s class last semester, you’ll remember the Abbey Theatre as being the national theatre of Ireland. And today we were going to see a world premiere play, Last Days of a Reluctant Tyrant. Don’t shoot me, but I don’t remember the playwright off the top of my head, and seeing as how I’m writing this on a bus (yes, FINALLY), I don’t exactly feel like digging through all my stuff to find the script. (Yes, I bought the script. Yes, you can read it. Yes, there are good monologues. You’re welcome.)

The set was AMAZING. It was constructed entirely out of real wood—wood floors and everything. There were three levels in a half-circle shape that took up the entire shape of the stage. The lighting was equally awesome—The whole set had a barn-like feel, and they had a light that would shine through a window on the third level that mimicked the sun. The acting was okay (many good choices and many BAD choices were made) and the script…needed work. But at least now I can say I’ve seen a show at the Abbey.

After the theatre, it was decided that the Fish&Chips group were going to go to one of the pubs Lorcan recommended. So we quickly changed out of our theatre finery and set out for the pub. A surprisingly short walk, Kennedy’s is frequented completely by locals despite it’s prime location under a DART (That’s Dublin Area Rapid Transit for any of you who couldn’t convert from BART) bridge and on the quays of the River Liffey. Once we had all gotten our pints of Guinness, we settled in for a good time.

That good time came in the form of a local named Gavin. He was sitting at the table next to us and, probably hearing our obvious American accents, he leaned over and asked us if we were from America. Why yes, how did you know? He then proceeded to ask each one of us where we were from. And each place (including Arkansas and Boise, Idaho) was followed by excited cries of “I’ve BEEN THERE!” His very drunk friend leaned over and told us that he’s “been in more rock bands than you’ve had hot meals, and you should know because you’re AMERICAN.”

Gavin put on some music and told us that it was some band from Seattle that we should know and started doing very interesting dancing. (Ask me about it, I’ll show you.) After Kennedy’s, we decided to find another bar and went to one around the corner and up the street, hoping to stumble upon another great gem. When we walked into the bar, however, we were treated to the melodious sounds of Kevin Bacon telling us to kick off our Sunday shoes and get “Footloose”.

But we stayed anyway. After all, a bar’s a bar, right?

Next stop: Power’s Court Gardens, Glendalough

(And maybe a bus?)

(Lorcan, Inside Kilmainham)

Day Two

Thursday, June 25th, 2009

I freely admit that after shelling out nearly $5000 for a one-month trip to Ireland, we would be afforded certain luxuries like normal showers, wi-fi internet, and a chartered bus. But oh, how very wrong I was. Okay, so the shower thing isn’t actually so bad. If you’ve ever been on a cruise ship, you’ll probably understand what I’m talking about. Picture a very small bathroom. Add a sink and a toilet about a foot apart. Then add a showerhead another foot from the toilet. Then add a curtain with roughly a three-foot circumference around the showerhead. That’s our bathroom. Trying to shave your legs without bumping into the toilet=very hard to do.

The wi-fi thing is also not so bad. Truth be told, it’s kind of nice living without feeling like I have to check my Facebook every five seconds and then spend another hour finding out which color my aura is and what type of wood accurately represents my inner soul. Though I am feeling like I’m missing out on valuable Skype time with Mike Johnson. Mike, if you’re reading this, we miss you. And we’re totally having drinks without you.

But the chartered bus thing is a bit of a disappointment. Though I understand, seeing as how Dublin is an urban center, I think I can honestly say I have never walked this much in my entire life. The trek to Christchurch Cathedral had to be at least a mile, if not more, crossing the River Liffey and passing Trinity College, the old Parliament, and Dublin Castle. But I do have to admit that the long walk was actually kind of worth it.

Before reaching Christchurch, we cut through the extremely touristy Temple Bar area. It’s pretty much what you would expect of a typical faux-medieval looking street, complete with high-priced pubs, stores, and gelato shops. Given fifteen minutes to poke around, Abbie and I looked at one another and instantaneously decided that was enough time for a pint. So we ducked into Temple Bar and ordered a Guinness (naturally). MJ, we’re doing you proud.

I suppose I’m just one big contradiction since I hate going to Sunday school, reading the Bible, and being preached at. But I love being in churches. Well, old ones at least—something I have proven by forcing Garrison to go into St. Patrick’s Cathedral when we went to New York last year and by not only making my parents and whiny teenage brother stop at the National Cathedral on our trip to D.C. a few years back, but making them go early for an organ demonstration as well. Yes, I’m strange and I freely admit it. But Christchurch Cathedral was absolutely breathtaking and well worth the walk. The interior of the church was gorgeous and the basement, which housed a museum of sorts, was equal parts creepy and thrilling. And yes Dan Schindler, I took lots of pictures of stone in case I ever decide to scenic paint again. Be proud.

After Christchurch, we headed back the way we came and made a stop at Dublin Castle, the sight of British rule and authority until Irish Independence. It was an interesting sight seeing a very gothic looking church and tower connected to later-added Georgian structures. Not to mention the neighbor of the castle was a high-rise displaying the absolute best of 1960s architecture.

After Dublin Castle, we backpedaled even further to Trinity College, the Oxford of Ireland (i.e. It’s the oldest university in Ireland). There we went to see the much talked about illuminated Book of Kells. I knew absolutely nothing about this, other than the fact it was a book. Turns out it’s four books, copies of the Gospel to be precise. And no, they weren’t glowing as I somehow imagined them being. They’re pretty much just four books from the medieval period that were copied by monks in Latin with really intricate artwork. Didn’t really live up to the hype.

But upstairs was the real treasure—the Long Room. Imagine a dark wood paneled room with an arched ceiling that stretches for half the length of a football field. Then add stacks filled with books on either side. Then double it, adding those same stacks to a second story. This is the Trinity College Long Room, which is absolutely amazing. A book lover, I was in complete heaven and never wanted to leave. Unfortunately, they didn’t allow pictures (it was endlessly irritating), so you’ll either have to Google it or wait till I get home to show you the postcard to get the full picture.

After Trinity, it was back to NCI for rest, then a pizza party/orientation. Everyone was pretty much wiped out by then, and even having a good night’s sleep before, I still went to bed around 9 p.m., proving that I am sort of boring.

Next stop: Kilmainham Gaol, 1916 Walking Tour, The Abbey Theatre, and PUBS.

(Because I’m in Ireland, duh.)

(Temple Bar, Christchurch, Christchurch interior, Dublin Castle)

Day 1.5

Wednesday, June 24th, 2009

Okay, so I did end up watching the last half hour or so of Speed Racer. Much as I tried, I just couldn’t end up falling asleep on the plane. The person in the row in front of us who kept their window open letting in the glaring morning sun wasn’t exactly beneficial to my cause. But the clouds finally parted as we made our final descent and Abbie and I got our first view of Ireland.

I don’t exactly know what I was expecting-leprechauns frolicking about and Michael Flatley leading a team of Riverdancers while everyone around raised a glass of Guinness and sang a drinking song-but Ireland seeming startlingly normal to my over-romanticized vision of it. The airport was also decidedly low-key. We exited the plane using steps, which I didn’t even know you could do anymore in our overly secure day and age.

Then, we made our long trek to passport control to get our visas. We ended up finding a line that rivaled the Finding Nemo ride at Disneyland on opening day, except there was no exciting ride and orange fish at the end, just a visa. We collected our bags fairly quick after leaving the line and then grabbed a taxi to head into central Dublin.

As much as you’ve thought it through in your head, it’s still slightly terrifying the first time you drive on the opposite side of the road. Never mind that Dublin is a maze of narrow, one-way streets and our cabbie drove like a seasoned New York pro, there were no street signs visible and for all we knew, we were driving around in circles.

But we finally made it to the quaint little hostel and checked into our room. Then, it seemed like no time until we were making our game plan to visit the ultimate Irish destination: The Guinness Storehouse. Eschewing my Google mapped directions, Abbie chose instead for us to walk blindly into the heart of Dublin and hope we found our way. After a slight panic from me, who doesn’t like not knowing her way around but is to proud to pull our her map and identify herself as a dumb tourist, we thankfully happened on one of the main roads that led us down to the quays where we followed the River Liffey to our destination.

It was a LONG walk and we were already tired when we reached the storehouse but shelled out some Euro and started the self-guided tour anyway. Let me tell you, it really is like Willy Wonka’s candy room for grownups. We learned about the entire process of making Guinness, then made our way to the Gravity Bar for a 360° view of Dublin and, yes, our free pint. As we enjoyed the amazing beer, straight from the source, we could begin to feel our exhaustion setting in. So after finishing our pint, we grabbed a taxi and headed back to our hostel.

Abbie immediately fell into a dead sleep, but I found out there was free internet and immediately occupied myself with that (yes, I freely admit I have a problem.) I eventually crashed too, literally not able to keep my eyes open as exhaustion set in. While still pretty much dead to the world, Abbie stole my computer and downloaded Skype (Username: msprowls –talk to me). I eventually tried to wake up and we have a video conversation with Mike Johnson, Bizz, Fig, and Dave that I barely remember due to the fact that I was still half asleep.

After finishing our conversation, we set out to find a drugstore to buy shampoo, etc, that Abbie said she had looked up online. Once again, we wandered blindly into Dublin down a very cute road and probably went half a mile before realizing there was no drugstore on that road. So we once again returned to the hostel, asking them if they knew where one was. Turns out, there was one right next door. Irony wins again.

After a night of very deep sleep, we awoke this morning and checked out of the hostel (interesting fact: Their showers had a push-button showerhead like a lot of sinks have, so I had to keep pushing the button or run out of water). We then grabbed a taxi and headed to the National University of Ireland. Problem: Apparently no one knows where that is, including our cab driver. Though our cabbie was totally awesome and a great conversationalist, he had to stop for directions multiple times (fortunately the meters don’t charge for idling like they do in New York). But finally we made it and got settled in the dorms we’ll be staying at for the next three days.

Good news: We’re right in the heart of Dublin and there’s lots of shops around. Bad news: no internet. So unless I can find a hotspot, you won’t be reading this until we’re already in Galway. Abbie is rooming across the hall, and I’m sharing a flat with two other girls (that I know of—there could very well be another one by now). We’re due to meet up with our group in half an hour and begin our tours. And hopefully someone will finally know where we’re going.

Next stop: Christchurch Cathedral, The Book of Kells, and a Dublin city tour.

(Be on the lookout for Wagner out and about in Dublin!)

Day One

Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009

Currently soaring at 30,000 feet somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, I suddenly find myself wishing I had put more effort into math in my high school years. I seem to be in five different time zones as once. Scheduled to land at 8:45 a.m. GMT, my body is still resolutely on PST (as well as my computer, which says it is currently 9 p.m.) If the flight left at 7:15 p.m. in Chicago time (which is two hours ahead of PST) and is scheduled to arrive just before 9 a.m. in Dublin time, which is 6 hours ahead of Chicago time but 8 hours ahead of Pacific, how much time have I spent in this flying metal tube, and how much more time do I have to endure the child three rows back who has been screaming nonstop since we took off from O’Hare?

The correct answer is: Ask Abbie the math major, but she’s either asleep or thoroughly engrossed in Deal or No Deal (“I’m mostly watching it for the lighting…seriously, you should watch it, it’s ridiculous.”) and is therefore no help.

Currently digesting my surprisingly good airline dinner (Abbie and I agreed microwave pasta wins over microwave chicken every time) and enjoying my $6 tiny bottle of chardonnay (which I was NOT carded for. The stewardess said if we were old enough to go to Europe by ourselves, we were old enough to drink. Take that American drinking laws), I’m being serenaded by the smooth sounds of Phil Collins on the in-flight 80s station. I have also just realized that the extra $100 I shelled out for the illuminated keyboard when purchasing my new laptop was totally worth it, since I think the entire cabin would throw a riot if I kept my light on any longer. Also, I’m currently grateful for the break from Last Chance Harvey, American Airline’s sad attempt at entertainment. Unfortunately, Speed Racer is next. (But serious kudos for AA showing an episode of The Office.) Also, to the jerk in 36A who keeps taking flash photography, a pox upon your house.

I suppose I should explain the purpose of this blog, mainly because I have six hours of battery life left and three hours and twenty minutes remaining on the flight (we figured it out). For anyone who hasn’t spoken to Abbie or I in the last eight months or so, we’re going to be studying abroad in Galway, Ireland for the next month. In addition to another class, we’ll both be studying Irish theatre, as well as attending the Galway Arts Festival (think the Fringe, then divide by three and give everyone Irish accents).

Anyway, my trip was financed partially by a generous scholarship from the Department of Theatre Arts at California State University, Chico. By accepting the award, I committed myself to making a presentation at the Humanities and Fine Arts Symposium next year. I figured diligent photography and blogging would make that presentation easier when it finally came. My memory isn’t that great, so having visual and written records will help me infinitely.

I suppose that’s about it, since the details of driving through the Bay Area and our subsequent waits in two different airports would probably bore you to tears. Unfortunately, there is still just under three hours left in our flight and since turning on my lamp to read is out of the question (I’m considerate of my fellow human beings, so sue me), I’m faced with the choice of enduring the seizure-inducing Speed Racer or trying to catch some sleep in my uncomfortable airline seat. I, for one, choose sleep.

But never fear, because a quick glance out the window has showed hope dawning on the horizon—literally. The sky is significantly less dark and a view across the cabin shows red streaks slowly starting to appear in the sky. Daylight.

Sing me to sleep, Phil.

Next stop: Dublin Airport, a possibly dodgy pub for breakfast, and then the Guinness Factory.

(What? You really expected us to come all this way and NOT visit it?)