When I die Dublin will be written in my heart — James Joyce.
William Butler Yeats. Oscar Wilde. James Joyce. GBS (he’s so cool I only have to use his initials). Samuel Beckett. Jonathan Swift. Irish writers are the second reason why I love this place.
I didn’t grow up in a rainy city whose dampness would nudge me into long hours of cozying by a book. But I was born into a family profoundly enamored with the written word. My grandfather spent a lifetime mastering Chinese calligraphy, characters, even though he was Vietnamese, and it is now a feat consuming my father’s time. I’d like to say that my own efforts at learning Mandarin have been as fruitful but thus far I can’t read a lick of it. My mother once taught English before she retired from the school district. My sister is a published author.
And me? Let’s just say writing has always been both a refuge and weapon of choice for me. I could be just as happily lost in the middle of the ocean as in the passages from Joyce’s Ulysses. Reading, sometimes, is as much an adventure as my life on the road. Words provide comfort where my own emotions fail. They were also ammunition in my other life as a lawyer, stealth landmines in contracts crafted with words better left alone. I’d use words to punish. To love, to praise. But most of all, I cherish words from anyone willing to take the time to write me. Your soul is not found through the windows that are your eyes. It is in the truth of your writing.
With a back story like that, how can you be surprised that I’m taking you to the James Joyce Centre today:
It is not to be mistaken with the James Joyce Tower, another museum in a tower where he actually lived, albeit briefly. At the Centre,
there are interesting permanent and traveling exhibits detailing Joyce’s life and works. It is a wonderful resource for Bloomsday enthusiasts. The Maginni Room, which has been converted to Cafe Ulysses,
was named after a flamboyant man who lived in the house that is now the Centre. The significance to any of this is the fact that he was immortalized as a character in Joyce’s Ulysses.
After my tour here, I make my way–or should I say pilgrimage–to the Writers Museum inside an 18th century townhouse:
Up the stairs…
there are inviting rooms with creaky wooden floors, deliciously full bookcases, and toasty fireplaces that beckon you to stay awhile…
On the top floor there is a large room where public readings and conferences are held. There are busts and paintings of all the great Irish writers in this space:
The audio guide for this museum is quite well done, and if you have the time to peruse all of the items on display you’d discover some interesting facts about a few of my favorite writers. Such as the fact that William Butler Yeats proposed four times, all unsuccessfully over some decades, to Maud Gonne, who inspired his poem A Man Young and Old. Bummer. What’s really weird though is that he later proposed to Maud’s daughter. She also declined. Double bummer.
As if that weren’t depressing enough, tomorrow we’re going to jail.
Tags: Beckett, Dublin Writers Museum, James Joyce Centre, Ulysses, Wilde, Yeats
Near my hotel at St. Stephen’s Green park:
there is a sculpture entitled Famine by Edward Delaney:
It is one of a score of statues you can find throughout the city to memorialize the Great Famine (An Gorta Mór) that took place between 1845-1852, brought on by potato blight and resulted in some million lives lost from starvation. Approximately another million people emigrated from Ireland at this time for survival, and this significant population wipeout forever changed the Irish narrative in every sense–culturally, politically, economically, socially.
But you’d never know it from the abundance of food I’ve been enjoying in Dublin. From the full Irish breakfast (this picture btw is not of my own plate as I can’t eat most of the stuff here)…
to fish & chips…
to salmon & Irish vegetables (this was by far my favorite meal)…
the potato is always somehow incorporated into each meal. It’s a good thing I’m doing a lot of walking to counter all these carbs! And speaking of walking, this morning I’m on O’Connell Street,
looking for the General Post Office (GPO):
The GPO, a fantastic Georgian building, is of historical significance as it once served as the headquarter during the failed 1916 Easter Uprising.
Today it is one of the landmarks of Irish freedom:
The struggle for Irish independence is epic, and when you have the pleasure of hearing about it in the Gaelic cadence, with all its peaks and lulls, you feel every ounce of anguish, every flash of pride, and every bit of humility. For all the nationalism I feel here, it is always tempered by a nod or a wink admitting to reasons for any earlier failed attempt at independence. There is no cavalier bravado I’ve found elsewhere. Any embellishments in story-telling seem to only come from their gregarious, lively nature, drawing you into their lore. So this is one of the two reasons why I love this place.
I think by tomorrow we’ll get to the second reason. It has nothing to do with this guy, but here he is. I finally find my leprechaun:
Tags: Dublin, Easter Uprising, General Post Office, Ireland, Irish breakfast, leprechaun, O'Connell Street, potato blight
So on my way to the Guinness Storehouse, which I might add I’m pretty excited to visit, I walk through the campus of Trinity College…
one of the world’s leading universities:
It is also referred to as the University of Dublin and some of its more celebrated alumni are Bram Stoker, Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, scores of leading jurists, politicians, physicists, business leaders, and of course Courtney Love (Courtney Love? Who knew!):
I feel a little smarter already after an hour of walking around its hallowed halls. Remember how carefree life was when you were a student? If you are reading me and are feeling the dread of a term paper deadline or any such other stress from school, trust me, it will pass. Just enjoy it. University life is a privilege.
Speaking of college life, shall we get to the drinking part?
These next sets of photos may feel like not-so-subliminal advertising for Guinness, but they certainly do not need me to push their beer which is already world-renowned.
I knew ahead of time that this would be a huge tourist attraction, and when I get inside I can see why that’s the case even if you are not a beer fan. The history behind this brand is quite legendary–including this 9000-year lease signed by Arthur Guinness in 1759 for mere £45 per year,
but it’s the business machine behind its hops and barley in present day that really captures my attention:
My tour starts here with this ticket,
and the next couple of floors introduce me to the main ingredients that go into this dry stout ale with a distinctive burnt flavor resulting from the roasting of its barley:
One of the coolest displays is a huge container of the barley grains…
How’s that for a sandbox?
I also enjoy tasting the roasted grains, but c’mon now, it’s the tasting lab on the next floor that we’re all giddy about, right?
I’m not much of a beer drinker, and by that I mean I don’t drink beer at all. But I do like the bitter taste very much and it hits me right away. And that’s why I get a little loopy by the time I get to the floor where there’s a display of the advertising art used by Guinness–not really sure what I’m trying to do to the bunny on the wall…
and when I get back to my hotel that night I no longer have the black cardigan you see above. I stop by their lost & found office the next day but it’s a goner.
Anyway, at the end of the tour, on the 7th floor I exchange my ticket…
for…surprise! More Guinness!
This bar has a 360 view of the city below:
Cheers, Arthur…
Tags: Arthur Guinness, beer, Guinness Storehouse, stout ale, Trinity College, University of Dublin
This whole technology thing is not quite there for me yet. While I’m slow-dancing my way through Dublin with you in these entries I’ve actually crossed a few borders already. But blogging in real time is not as easy as I’d hoped. I’m not wired enough yet that I can always blog from the road. Tack on the travel itself and some days, like today, I’m both physically drained and mentally overwhelmed. Getting lost geographically, linguistically, and culturally can be pretty demanding. But this is the state I love to be in, challenged to the max. It’s a great way to be alive.
So in lieu of making commentaries today, I’ll post a few pics of Dublin that I snapped after I left Dublin Castle….
Then tomorrow we’ll get drunk together….
Sounds good?
Throughout the State Apartments, where my tour in Dublin Castle begins, you can see the symbol of the lyre (or harp) as above. You will find it everywhere in Ireland from the euro coin…
to all things Guinness:
The State Apartments were formerly quarters used by the Viceregal Court. Today it plays host to State functions:
This room below was once used to entertain the ladies of the court, and there you will find petticoat mirrors placed discreetly below the side tables so that the women could quickly glance to make sure their petticoats were not showing. Such a fashion offense could cost a proper lady her reputation and a shot at marriage. I suppose the fashion police back in the day wielded much more power than today!
From here we go to other wings:
From this next room important presidential announcements and inaugurations are broadcast…
and on its ceilings are beautiful, symbolic frescoes painted by an Italian whose name I forget at the moment:
What say we head back outside tomorrow and join the madding crowd?
Tags: Dublin Castle, fashion police, Guinness, Ireland, petticoat mirror, State Apartments, Viceregal Court
