bog bodies

Breakfast on the morning of June 17 was a somewhat muted affair. It occurred rather late in the morning, and only after large amounts of water had been drunk and hot showers had been taken.

Jeff and I, despite our fuzzy heads, still weren't finished with Dublin. There were some things we figured we had to see before we left, and had no excuse not to, since our flight out didn't leave until the afternoon.

That pretty much left the National Museum. It actually wasn't too far away from us, over on Kildare Street. We didn't know it going in, but the Museum actually has four branches, all in different places. We were walking into the archaeology branch.

...which happened to be right next to the houses of Irish Parliament. There was a big ol' protest going on outside its gates as we approached. Camera crews were busy filming it, policemen were busy guarding it and spectators were busy gawking at it. A bunch of elderly folks were walking up and down the sidewalk, hoisting signs that said PRESERVE THE SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE and SAME-SEX MARRIAGE IS A SIN.

Some things apparently don't change too much between continents.

We entered the museum through a metal gate and walked up the steps into the domed lobby. Outside there were a bunch of school kids (crisply uniformed) all hanging about, either waiting to start a tour or just having finished.

Nothing makes your day like hearing a little Irish girl singing a Taylor Swift song, let me tell you.

So, we walked in. Admission was free. The museum was rather small (at least this particular branch). Nonetheless we saw some cool stuff. There was a whole Viking longboat found somewhere over near Galway or something that had been almost perfectly preserved. Or maybe it wasn't even Viking, maybe it was just a big effing wooden canoe that the early Irishmen had built. I don't remember, I was hung over.

They had a nice little section on ancient Egypt on the upstairs floor with a bunch of articles, artifacts, artistry, artisanship, and all those other words that start with "arti."

(I wish I could give you more details, but as has previously been mentioned, I was hung over. And it's Wednesday afternoon as I'm writing this and I just woke up from a three-hour nap and there's a thunder cloud hanging over my house that's making a whole lotta noise and I'm trying to finish this entry before it starts crackling and pouring and frying my motherboard.)

The pinnacle of the museum's collection was its exhibit on "bog bodies." These were the mummified, mutilated remains of Irish kings, slaughtered by their political foes and dumped into bogs. The peaty composition of the Irish bogs meant that the decomposition process was slowed or even halted, resulting in some of the best-preserved bodies you'll find anywhere in the world. Indeed, some of these guys (except for the fact that their skins looked exactly like leather, and they were, as has previously been mentioned, mutilated) looked almost...well, alive.

It was creepy, dude.

I highly recommend the exhibit if you happen to be in Dublin. It's not going anywhere. It's by far the most exciting thing ever to have come out of an Irish bog (except when they pulled Old Patty Flynn stone-drunk out of the Ardee bog last year; that was a hoot).

So we left the museum about eleven and headed back to the hostel. We made a brief stop in Waterstone's (a bookstore chain found all over the Isles) to check the price of a copy of Ulysses...

...saw this thing maneuvering around streetcars...

 ...zipped back to that souvenir shop on O'Connell Street so I could finally get my Ireland T-shirt...

(Feel privileged, this is the most recent photo of me. Like, ever. I just took it five minutes ago.)

Then we our hostel a fond farewell, had one last tributary pint of Guinness in Doyle's (as Argentina slaughtered South Korea up on the TV), and headed for the airport.

And so we departed Dublin the same way we'd come in: tired and hung over.

We were sitting behind some little Geordie kids on the way back. I tell you what, I like hearing English, Scottish and Irish accents in general, but hearing them from kids...well, that's an extra kick. Makes the little tykes seem extra cute, you know. It was two little boys and a girl, and they were all talking about what makes airplanes stay up. They were pointing out the window and watching the Boeing's flaps go up and down. It kind of took the hangover away for a while.

Ryanair, being one of those cheapo airlines, doesn't give out free drinks and snacks. You have to buy them. And they cost a lot of euro. If you're a smoker, though, and you don't think you can go the 45 minutes between Dublin and Newcastle without a puff, they sell smokeless cigarettes. Yes, on an airplane. They were sellin' cigs. Wow. Neat.

We got back to Newcastle, hopped at cab back to Tynemouth, and were home and dry in Adam's mum's house before the sun set.

But as you already know, that ain't sayin' much up there in the northern latitudes.

Next up: I try to host an American barbecue for my gracious hosts...with British charcoal and a British grill. Witness the disaster next time on British barbecue blues. Don't miss it.