Irish I Was Still There, Part 1

Ugh.  IRELAND.  
I want to tell you about it, I promise I do, but at the same time, there's a sacred, reverent hush about my memory of that blessed week because it was almost too good to be true, and I worry that talking about it will mar those indescribably perfect experiences. 
So instead of talking about it, here’s a truckload of photos. 
You’re going to flip your face flap, there are so many.
JK. I have more than enough to say about our trip.  
But for real though.  Ireland was dreamy and idyllic and picturesque and so, so wonderful.  Multiple times a day, my friend Kilee or I would turn to one another and exclaim, “We’re in IREland!!” as if to remind ourselves that we could have been having a ho-hum normal Tuesday back in America, but instead, we were cavorting around castles and kissing stones and driving on the left side of the road and eating shepherd’s pie.   
What did I love more – the cheery accents or the abundance of sheep? The medieval castles or the medieval monasteries? The rolling hillsides or the looming majestic cliffs abutting abruptly against the tempestuous turquoise water of the Atlantic Ocean? I dunno, too hard, ask me something easier. 
As we all interpret the world through the lens and bias of our own personal histories and culture, traveling to a new country afforded us the opportunity to spot some minor differences between our country of origin and this supremely delightful one.  Like:

Pedestrians’ particular affinity for wearing reflective vests while out on a leisurely stroll or jog. All of them!
Postmen on bicycles
No top sheets on beds, only a fitted sheet and a duvet
Heightened attention to litter à air dryers instead of paper towels in every bathroom
Solar-powered traffic signs that would give you a winky or a smiling face when you drove the speed limit
(Obviously the accents)
Street signs in both Gaelic and English


So really, it was the excitement and wonder of a new culture and country, but without the language barrier.  Cheers!


We spent our first full day in Ireland walking all over the Dublin and getting a feel for the city on foot.  First stop: Trinity College to see the Book of Kells.  Our Airbnb host, Nigel, told us that the Book of Kells was “jolly good” if we were “into that sort of thing” and I raised my hand because I, in fact, AM into that sort of thing.  Illuminated manuscripts for days, please!

We couldn’t take pictures inside, but after wending through an exhibit about naturally colored pigments, the technique behind being a scribe, and how medieval books were made, we paid for the opportunity to view the manuscript itself, which had been broken down into four separate volumes and rebound.  I got all tingly seeing original manuscripts that I recognized from my art history class in college. 



We also visited the Trinity College library, which was unreal and felt like we’d stepped into Hogwarts.  Smack in the middle of the vaulted feelings and alcoves stuffed with lovely musty books and busts of important men was the little Brian Boru lap harp that has since become the national symbol of Ireland – visible on government signs and documents and even their coins.  Interestingly, the strings were all made out of wire, which means that they would have produced a tinny metallic sound, as opposed to the richer sound proffered by nylon cat-gut strings on modern harps today.  (Playing it fast and loose with the word “interesting,” aren’t we?)


From the college, we stopped by to visit Dublin castle, our first castle of the trip, set seemingly anachronistically in the middle of the bustling shops and restaurants in the town center.  Though the building has been maintained and refurbished through the years, no one actually lives there these days.  Instead, it houses stately banquets and dinners, viceroy inaugurations and, wait for it, beauty pageants.  Oh, okay, so all the important things. 





One of the cross-stitched sitting chairs had a sign on it that said “I am old and delicate.  Please don’t touch me.” And I was like LOL #same. 


We also spent a good solid few hours in the National Museum of Ireland: Archaeology and History, which was another dream.  There were all kinds of prehistoric artifacts – weapons, jewelry, tools.  It exceeded my comprehension to fully understand how old all of these implements were, and what the world must have been like when they were created, but I loved it all the same.  We saw Viking swords and goblets and Egyptian canopic jars and mummies and then there were the BOG MUMMIES. 



Apparently, in ancient Ireland, if you wanted to preserve something: throw it in the bog! Let it mingle with the peat! People will find it in a few thousand years! Not only did people put relics and treasures and clothing and books intentionally into the bogs, but also, well, other people!! There were four different bog mummies on display in morbidly fascinating different states of (ahem) wholeness, though what remained had been surprisingly well preserved by accident – hands and fingernails and hair still remarkably intact, on which researchers had discovered traces of pine sap, believed to have been used as a styling product.  We also learned something weird about mutilated nipples that I could tell you, but I feel weird putting it here on my blog so ask me later and I’ll tell you when we’re alone in a dark alley. 



After the museum, we were wandering up Dublin’s main high street, O’Connell, and gazing at the Liffey River over the O’Connell bridge, when we passed by the Ambassador Theater, which had advertisements out front for the visiting Body World exhibit.  I had seen it once before when it came for the AZ State Fair, but Kilee hadn’t and was intrigued.  We fell into conversation with the security guard out front, who told us that unfortunately the exhibit was closed for the day.  He asked about our travel schedule for our time in Ireland, and after we related that this was our only full day in Dublin, he thought for a sec and decided, why not? And snuck us in even after the exhibit was technically closed.  Good thing that "morbid fascination" was the theme for the day, because this was right up there with those bog mummies.  



Monday was our first exploration of medieval ruins and castles, which are basically my love language.  First up: the Rock of Cashel.  Set majestically upon a hill, we rounded a bend in the road and gasped at its regal magnificence.  The cathedral chapel was under massive renovation, but we were still able to wander through the cemetery and the vicar’s quarters.  I wanted to DIE, everything was so picturesque and perfect.  But apparently you had to be on a waiting list in order to buried in one of those cemetery plots, so it wouldn’t have been all that productive. 







We found that there weren’t a lot of signs or rules about what things were and weren’t allowed in most of the places we visited, so after figuring that no one had told we couldn’t, Kilee and I wandered down the hill behind Cashel, amid plump freely grazing sheep, and over a sturdy rock wall to a crumbling little abbey across the way.  Hore Abbey, to be exact.  There wasn’t anyone offering tours, nor were there ticket booths or gift shops or instructional sign posts, it was just the ruinous husk of a medieval religious center, unapologetically exposed to the elements, hinting at previous (but modest) grandeur.  The main chapel was relatively still intact, with a large stone altar at one end.  We spotted carvings and symbols in stones along the chapel walls and clambered through the windows of the smaller chambers, speculating at what purposes they might have served before all of the roof had fallen away. 



Mid-afternoon, we continued driving a little ways on to Blarney Castle.  We were using a very thorough and in-depth guide book by Rick Steves and he warned us that the castle was a tourist trap and not worth our time.  Whatever, RICK STEVES.  Touristy, shmouristy. We were in freaking Ireland, I wasn’t going to go all this way and NOT kiss the Blarney stone.  In reality, the stone was a little seemingly arbitrary and somewhat anticlimactic, but It’s Tradition! (He always waves at the gate!) The tradition states that those who are feeling brave enough would hang upside down and kiss the stone in order to get the “gift of gab,” and while the schematics are much safer and less precarious now that there are bars to hold onto, a cushy mat to lie on, and a metal grating to keep you from plummeting to the ground below, it was still a little nerve-wracking.  Luckily, there were plenty of jolly old Irish men to help us get situated and then to take professional photos. 





The castle itself was fun to visit and the stone fun to kiss (in part because I went right after a VERY attractive English man) but the grounds were truly ASTOUNDING, and we spent three or four hours exploring and wandering through the Poison Garden, the Fern Garden, meandering around a secluded path to a serene lake, visiting some horses and sheep, through the wild daffodils, by the Victorian House, into the Fairy Garden and the Druid Garden.  There were so many gardens! And waterfalls! And see-saws and tire swings and rivers and caves and lime kilns and dungeons and secret wells.  It was magical and wonderful to explore with abandon.






That night, we ate hearty roast beef stew with fancy mashed potatoes in a crowded little pub where hordes of quintessentially old Irish men had gathered to watch and bet on a televised football match, and one strapping (younger) freckly red-headed man named Brian was particularly intrigued by Kilee.  We watched the game for a couple hours, slowly realizing that everyone in the pub was aware that 1) we were there and 2) we were not locals.  While they didn’t acknowledge us during dinner, when we got up to leave they all crowded around, drunk and friendly, wanting to ask us about our travels and why we were leaving so soon and all shake our hands.  Let’s say that leaving that night ended up being a not-so-Irish goodbye. 




Buckle up.  There’s more coming. 

Comments

  1. So awesome! I can't wait to hear about the nipple thing the next time we're in a dark alley.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Bog Mummies?! Shut right up. Also I could tell you a few things about mutilated nipples, from experience.

    ReplyDelete

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