the grand tour of Dublin

Jeff and I had a long talk with Harry over breakfast on the morning of the 16th. We found out where he was from (I think it was one of those Australian towns that sounds like baby-burbles, Wollogong or Toowoomba or something). He also told us what he was doing in Dublin (backpacking, remember?), and we explained to him a little about ourselves. Everyone we talked to on this trip seemed rather touched that an American and a Canadian were traveling together so amicably. I think they expected us to be at each other's throats.

Indeed, Jeff and I made the most sanguine travel buddies imaginable. We had our disagreements over cardinal directions sometimes, and our sightseeing priorities varied widely, but all in all we got on swimmingly. I give Jeff most of the credit for that. He's a veeeeery easygoing guy, besides possessing an unusual amount of inborn Canadian politeness.

Jeff, Harry and I had the same itinerary this morning: the walking tour of Dublin, beginning at 10:30. We donned our best walkin' duds (Harry dolled up in a short-sleeved button-down and a tweed vest) and followed the guide out of our hostel, down College Green and along Dame Street to a small square. We sat around for a bit until the other saps from the other hostels showed up, and then were introduced to our tour guide, Cillian.

That's pronounced "KILL-ee-uhn." Like Killian's Irish Red. You know, the beer. Only Cillian's name had the proper Irish spelling. The name means "little church" in Irish, in fact. How do I know? Cillian told us. Ladies, you'd have loved him. The guy's accent was off the charts. If I was a chick, I'd have married him on the spot. Had sort of the rugged look about him: stubble on his cheeks, square jaw, twinkle in his eye. He led us further up the road, hung a left, and halted right outside Dublin Castle.

"Right," he said. "My name is Cillian. That means 'little church' in the Irish language. I'll be your tour guide today. What nationalities do we have represented in the crowd?"

There were about twenty of us. Cillian pointed to each in turn, and everyone named their home turf. We had a good smattering of Americans and Australians, a few Canadians, and a couple of French girls.

Jeff and I were standing together and when we rattled off our nationalities, Cillian said "No fighting between the Americans and Canadians, okay fellows?"

That brought an appreciate chuckle from everybody.

"No English people here today?" Cillian confirmed when we'd finished the rounds. "Excellent, is it all right if I really stick the knife in?"

Jeff and I grinned at each other in anticipation.

Cillian proceeded to give us the complete history of Ireland, starting from the Neolithic Age and concluding with the formation of the two distinct Irish political entities (the free Irish Republic and Northern Ireland). He did it in about ten minutes, as he promised at the outset. He didn't pull any punches when it came to the role the British played in Irish history, either [cough]. He gave a loud cheer when he got to the bit about ousting the British and becoming an independent republic. He gave some of the crowd a bit of lip service, too. In discussing the Irish Revolution, he briefly mentioned the French and American Revolutions.
"In 1776, the Americans revolted against the English and won their independence," he said. "Nice job, guys, well done."

Man oh man. I knew Ireland had had a troubled history, and I knew (vaguely) of the major events in it (though not necessarily in chronological order). The most I ever knew about the IRA, in fact, was from its brief mention in The Quiet Man (which, by the way, is one of my favorite movies ever) and a few short stories I'd read in high school.

But, seriously. Jeez Louise. After Cillian had finished up I felt like I was walking out of the saddest movie ever made. Ireland has had it rough. As if the Norman and British invasions weren't bad enough, and having home rule denied them so many years, there were the Troubles, too. Irishman against Irishman. Civil war is hell, I can vouch for that. I won't say I came any closer to understanding Ireland, its culture, or its people, but after Cillian's speech I think I sympathized a little more with the bad stuff that's happened to them (and what's still happening).

We started the tour at the most logical place: Dublin Castle, right behind us.

Now, before you get all excited, Dublin Castle...er...doesn't exactly look like a castle, you know. It actually looks kind of like a house. Like a mansion, sort of. The only castle-ish thing about it is the Records Tower...

...which as you can see is tall, round, made of stone, and topped with battlements. The rest of the castle looks like this: 

(photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

Why does it look like that? Well, 'cause the Brits moved in and took over management of the country. They built the complex originally under the rule of King John as a fortified base to house England's treasure from the Normans. The place eventually became the seat of British rule of Ireland. Cillian told us all sorts of stories about how the statues which overlook the castle's courtyard symbolize English tyranny.

Take Lady Justice, for example. She's standing on top of the arch there in the above picture. She (like the other statues) is facing in, toward the castle, not out, indicative of England's selfish colonial ways; she's not wearing a blindfold, indicating that justice was not blind in English Ireland; and furthermore, she's carrying a sword. (Do I really need to explain that?)

Interesting stuff. Cillian also told us a rather sad story about an Irish prince who was enticed onto an English ship (with booze) and imprisoned in the dungeon of the records tower for some years. He remained there until the young lords of the two most influential Irish clans mounted a rescue operation. One died in the attempt, but the prince was rescued.

What comes next is so secret and so jealously guarded that I can't show you any pictures, nor even tell you precisely where it is. Cillian asked us to keep it under our hats. It's one of his favorite places to go for a little peace and quiet, and he can't have any of you noisy tourists barging in and mucking it up.

It's the Dublin Castle Garden. It's just a circular courtyard of green, green grass ringed with scenic walks and park benches. The Royal Stables border the garden to the south, its façade massive to the point of absurdity; it was built by an unsympathetic English lord to obscure the unsightly Dublin slums behind it. To the west lies a library, bequeathed to the city by a U.S. copper magnate (Alfred Chester Beatty) who collected an insane amount of Egyptian papyri and Oriental texts. He became a naturalized British citizen in 1933. He moved his vast anthropological collection to Dublin in 1950, and was made an honorary citizen of Ireland in 1957. He was given a state funeral in Ireland upon his death, pretty rare for a private citizen.

But I didn't come here to tell you that. I came to talk about this garden. It's...wonderful. Easy on the eyes and quiet as a tomb. You're surrounded by the edifices of modern architecture, but they seem somehow distant, remote, as if you were standing in an uncharted clearing  in the midst of the urban jungle. You can hear the traffic warbling by on either side of the Liffey, but it's a dull roar. People stroll up and down the paved walkways or sit on the park benches and meditate. You can sprawl full-length on the soft grass, gaze up at the sky, and let your mind wander where it will.

Not bad for a city park.

If you actually do manage to find this place, keep it a secret, okay? And you didn't hear it from me.

We also learned where the name "Dublin" comes from. Dublin used to be two small villages at the intersection of the Rivers Liffey and Poodle (pronounced "Poddle"). These villages were Átha Cliath (Irish for "Ford of Hurdles"; there was once a wooden bridge there) and Dubh Linn (meaning "Black Pool," there used to be a blackish sort of pool nearby, I guess). Then the Vikings came in and rezoned the entire area. The two villages were united and blossomed into a city.

And so we wandered on through Dublin and Temple Bar. We saw Jonathan Swift's birthplace, the New Theatre (where U2 was discovered)....

...the Clarence Hotel (which U2 got kicked out of for being too scruffy; they own the place now, and Cillian said he often sees the Edge in there having a quiet drink)...

...and Trinity College, which still has some odd rules on its books. Apparently, if any student is occupying a room which faces the school's courtyard, and he sees a Catholic enter said courtyard, that student is obligated to shoot the Catholic with a bow and arrow.

Also, if a student enters the school on a horse, wearing a robe and carrying a sword, he has the right to demand a free meal and a glass of mead or port. Only one person has tried this in the school's recorded history, and he got the free meal and the drink...and a suspension. Some technicality about having livestock on campus, or something.

Trinity College is also home to the Book of Kells, a Gospel book written in Latin which surpasses all others in the intricacy and artistry in its illustrations; and the harp of Brian Boru, the Irish king who defeated the Vikings. The harp is now the emblem of the college. (And if you've ever wondered where that harp on the glass of Guinness comes from...that one's Brian's, too. It just faces the other way.)


Jeff and I also learned the story behind the Spire of Dublin. Apparently the city fathers decided that Dublin needed a monument. So they came up with the spire idea. Bob's your uncle, Fanny's your aunt, they got themselves a monument. Most Dubliners think it's ridiculous. Some of the local nicknames for it include "The Spike," "The Stiffy by the Liffey," "The Erection by the Intersection," "The Stiletto in the Ghetto," "The Cock by the Dock," and others far more rude. It's not that bad. I actually rather like it. Gleams beautifully in the sun. Enormously tall, epic in stature. Lights up at night too. Sort of comforting. You can navigate by it almost anywhere in Dublin. Real handy when you're out on a bender (sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself; I'll tell you about that later).

We finally wound up at St. Stephen's Green (yowzer, speaking of gorgeous city parks) where the tour concluded. As our send-off, we stood in front of the statue of Theobald Wolfe Tone (or just "Wolfe Tone" for short). Interesting guy, Tone. Commonly called the father of Irish republicanism. His story is rather long and convoluted, and like those of most Irish revolutionaries, not without tragedy. Tone originally wanted to found a military colony in Hawaii, but couldn't get support. So he turned to politics. He co-founded the Society of the United Irishmen. Originally this group's purpose was to merely to obtain a modicum of political reform in Ireland; say, equal political representation among Catholics and Protestants. However, frustrated by the unfairness of British government, and inspired by the French Revolution, the United Irishmen soon became a revolutionary republican advocacy group.

After various attempts to thwart British rule, including a secret alliance with France (abetted by France's war on Britain, which began in 1793), the United Irishmen got hit with a crackdown. Martial law was declared and Tone was given a court-martial. Sentenced to death, he slit his throat; the English doctors tried to sew him up, but they were too late. Tone died in November 1798, at the age of 35.

Awfully cheery thought. Fortunately, right behind Tone's statue was St. Stephen's Green. It's rather difficult to feel gloomy about anything in a place like this:

We strolled out through the Fusilier's Arch and up Grafton Street. Performers of all descriptions were out in force, populating the street with guitar and fiddle music, giant bubbles, and James Joyce quotes.

Yes, by some happy miracle, we had alighted in Dublin on the 16th of June, otherwise known as Bloomsday. On this auspicious date, fans of Joyce's novel Ulysses take to the streets in full costume and reenact their favorite scenes (at least, the scenes they can legally enact in public).

Some of these guys were pretty darn good, I must say.

We split up with Harry at Grafton Street, and Jeff and I struck out on our own.

And later I shall tell about what we saw and did (and ate). This post has already gone on WAY longer than I planned. I'd better not let my posts run too long anymore or Talli Roland might get on my case. Next up, Strongbow and Jameson: inside Christ Church Cathedral and a tour through the Old Jameson Distillery. After that (I promise) dancing with the Australians: a pub crawl through Temple Bar.

Don't miss it...