Today began with my first "hearty Irish breakfast" which consisted of rashers, bangers, black pudding, white pudding, eggs, cereals, phenomenal brown bread (my
FAVORITE thing to eat the entire trip), baked beans, broiled tomato, potatoes, yogurt, a meat and cheese tray, and juices. Mostly excellent, although after trying the black/white puddings, I passed on them the remainder of the trip - I'm not a morning person, and the thought of having congealed blood and entrails for breakfast will take more than a week to get used to. The sausages were good, but different than in the U.S. ... a different (creamier?) consistency, and a slightly different taste -- there were undertones of braunschweiger. The rashers (Irish bacon) were also different than our bacon --- much more like thinly-sliced ham, with far less fat and less salty. I found the baked beans and tomato to be incongruous as a breakfast staple, but they were offered at every , and I enjoyed the beans. The big breakfasts were great for travelers --- they stick with you until dinnertime, so you don't need to find a place to eat midday. There was a condiment served with all meals that I was delighted to see: brown sauce. Jeff and I had often laughed about seeing a product called, "Daddy's Brown Sauce" in the British food aisles. Here, brown sauce was served in condiment packets and I jumped at the chance to taste it: it's a Heinz-57-like product. Forewarned about the Irish only serving milk (no cream) with coffee, I brought my own creamer with me on the trip (okay, it's kind of an ugly American thing to do, but I'm way to set in my ways to endure such a catastrophic change to my morning coffee routine). The coffee was good and strong, but I'm not likely to switch to milk from cream in it anytime soon.
After breakfast, we were off onto a whirlwind bus tour of Dublin.
First stop, Trinity College and the Book of Kells. The Book of Kells exhibit provided a comprehensive background on the monastic life and the creation of the Book. No photos were allowed. After all the buildup, it was a let-down to discover that the actual Book was not available for viewing. Upstairs in the Trinity College Library, we saw a facsimile copy of the book. The disappointment in not being able to see the "real thing" was mitigated by the experience of being inside the long room of this extraordinary library. (No photos allowed, these are from
Trinity's Photographic Centre:)
and this one is from the
Encyclopedia Brittanica:
We continued the bus tour through historic Dublin. I enjoyed the ride and took few photos (no point - the bus was always in motion, and it's more trouble than it's worth trying to meter correctly from inside the bus and not get glare or flash from the windows). Our next stop was St Patrick's Cathedral.
History blindsides you as you enter St Patrick's Cathedral (
Irish name: Árd Eaglais Naomh Pádraig). Jonathan Swift (dean of the cathedral from 1713 to 1745) is buried here. St Patrick baptized heathens here in the the 5th century. Oliver Cromwell converted the church to a barn and stabled his troops' horses in the nave as an overt sign of disrespect for the Anglican church (which he associated with Roman Catholicism).
The first performance of Handel's Messiah was held here in 1742. Like many ancient churches, this one has been built, rebuilt, overhauled (flying buttresses were added in the neo-gothic period when they were all the rage), and rebuilt again. It was restored to its current condition by the Guinness family in the 1860s.
And it's big: the largest church in a country full of behemouth gothic churches. It's currently a Church of Ireland church, and it is the National Cathedral.
The floor looks like an Amish quilt embellished with Celtic iconography. In photographs, it appears a bit garish, but it doesn't seem so when viewed in situ.
I was disappointed that we had so little time to spend here, since I could easily have spent another hour or two exploring the details of this church and soaking up its history.
Back in the bus, I couldn't help but notice the price of gas here: about $8 a gallon. I saw maybe 3 SUVs the entire time I was in Ireland.
Our whirlwind tour of Dublin ended back at Grafton Street and Trinity College. After quickly losing my friend Vickie in the surge of holiday shoppers on Grafton, I made my way east toward the exquisite Georgian homes around Merrion Square (named after the second Viscount Fitzwilliam of Merrion).
This square dates back to 1762, and has boasted a number of luminary residents including WB Yeats (who lived at nos. 52 and 82), Daniel O’Connell (no. 58), Erwin Schrodinger (who worked at the Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies from 1939 to 1956), and the parents of Oscar Wilde (no. 1, in the northwest corner). A statue of Wilde in a languid pose marks the northeast corner of the park at the center of the square--the area I first encounter on my walk--and Wilde quotes are displayed throughout the area.
The park at the center of the square--Archbishop Ryan Park--is a verdant oasis bounded by walking paths that twist through a tempestuous undergrowth of heather and oak only to delight the stroller by opening up to wide expanses of lawn and manicured gardens. It was originally a private square for residents and was subsequently purchased by the Catholic Church as a possible site for Dublin’s first Catholic cathedral. In 1974, Archbishop Dermot Ryan donated the square and now it is open to the public, dedicated in his name.
I don't know if it's always this quiet here, but there's no clue that you're in the center of a major city. Only the raucous calls of magpies and rooks punctuate the stillness. The vegetation (like everywhere in Ireland) is SO GREEN – brilliant, saturated, and blinding in its intensity. Locals on lunch breaks stroll the pathways or sit on benches feeding the birds. This park's urban wildness reminds me of Golden Gate Park or Central Park, but without the homeless, the crazies, the panhandlers and the litter. (Oh yes, the litter. It doesn't exist in Ireland. This morning followed a gusty night, and when we were dropped off at Trinity College there were street sweepers tidying up the sidewalks, removing the windstorm’s debris. No, not vehicular street sweepers, but ruddy-faced guys in day-glo yellow vests with big fat brooms manually sweeping the sidewalks and gutters. We saw them throughout the country. It reminded me of Disneyland, but in a good way.)
The center of Dublin is a madhouse, with knots of stagnant traffic and hoards of pedestrians, all in a hurry to get somewhere. (And I mean seriously in a hurry. Nobody dilly-dallies. Stopping for a moment to grab a map from my backpack, I'm nearly mowed down.) Here in Merrion Square, a short walk away, traffic is light and pedestrians non-existent, except for the few inside the park.
As I leave the park and make my way back along the sidewalk, I take a series of photos of the iconic doors at the foot of the Georgian homes around the square. Originally, the doors were all painted the same color (no word on what the color was, but it was probably a dull neutral hue.) Because these homes were built in the Georgian style and the exteriors had to adhere to strict architectural guidelines, the residents of Georgian Dublin painted their front doors bright colors to distinguish one home from the other. Reportedly, red was a favorite because it was more durable (good feng-shui was just an unexpected bonus). They added ornate knockers, elegant fanlights above the doors and wrought iron boot scrapers. The effect is stunning:
From the 1950s onward, Georgian Dublin came under concerted attack by the Irish Government's development policies. Whole swathes of 18th century homes were demolished, notably in Fitzwilliam Street and St Stephen's Green, to make way for utilitarian offices and government buildings. Fortunately, Merrion Square escaped the wrecking ball.
Outside the Georgian House Museum at Number 29 Lower Fitzwilliam St, I see a mailbox with a prominent sign “Franked mail only”:
I later learn that this is the equivalent of our metered mail. At the hotels, when I ask to purchase postage, they advise me that they don’t have stamps for sale, but have a franking machine and will "frank it" for me. I google "franking" and learn that it is the marking of mail by a company or government that offers free or low cost postage privileges, or the convenience of sending bulk mail without using normal postage stamps. The practice dates back to the seventeenth-century British House of Commons. Unbeknownst to me, there is franking in the U.S. as well. Members of the Senate and House of Representatives are allowed to send franked mail to their constituents and the Commission on Congressional Mailing Standards is colloquially known as the Franking Commission. I wonder if everyone in the world but me knows what franking is.
I make my way west toward the Grand Canal, passing St Stephen’s Church, which is popularly known as “The Pepper Cannister” or the “Pepper Pot Church":
It was the last in a series of Georgian Churches built by the Church of Ireland. The name is derived from the medieval leper hospital of St Stephen, which stood on the site of Mercer’s Hospital. The church was built on the land of the Pembroke estate - the medieval manor of Merrion - on ground donated by the family. Supposedly you can still view the Pembroke pew inside the church (the church was not open when I was there). The estate was originally owned by the Fitzwilliam family, but as a consequence of marriage, Viscount Fitzwilliam bequeathed the manor of Merrion to his cousin, the earl of Pembroke (a member of the Herbert family) in 1816. These historic names are reflected in the streets and squares in the vicinity of the church.
Not far from St Stephen's, I note a sculpture for which I have no information.... but it was delightful:
At the Grand Canal, I'm transfixed by dozens of mute swans and the charming curved stone bridges that cross the canal. The Grand Canal was built in the 18th century to connect Dublin to the Shannon River and the Irish Midlands, and is a showcase for the engineering skills of the period. It is 130 km in length, boasts 36 locks, and near the village of Sallins, is carried OVEr the River Liffey by the Leinster Aqueduct. Here, towpaths border each side of the canal. After 23 difficult years of building, the canal opened in 1779. Commercial traffic continued on the canal through 1960; its last shipment was a bargeful of Guinness. The canal neighborhood, like Merrion Square is charming:
As it starts to drizzle, I pull on my raincoat and pull out my Dublin map, at which point I realize I have no idea what street the hotel is on. I know I’m in the vicinity, but have no address. No problem, I hail a cab. The cabbie --- a cheery-faced sparkly-eyed white-haired Irishman --- asks me, when I tell him where I want to go, if I know where the hotel is. I laugh and say no, that that’s why I’ve hailed a cab. He points me in the right direction --- I'm only a couple of blocks away, and says I might prefer walking to paying for cab fare, but given that the drizzle has officially been transformed into rain (and my camera equipment is not housed in a waterproof backpack), I tell him I’d just as soon hop the cab, and he delivers me to the hotel, apologizing profusely for having to charge the minimum 3+ euros on the meter for the short ride. I’m happy to arrive relatively dry, happy with my long solitary stroll through historic Dublin. God, I love Ireland!
