jawnbc | Dublin day one

Thanks to the miracle of modern medicine (read: sleeping pills) I was asleep just after midnight and only woke once between then and 8am. But I was still tired and snoozed until 8h20. But nothing quite gets my day off on the right foot like a proper Irish breakfast: pot of strong tea, grilled tomato, rashers of bacon and Irish sausages. I was out the door by 09h30, determined to get the most out of my day.

This is my 4th or 5th visit to Dublin, so I've done some tourist bits before: Trinity, Post Office, St. Stephen's Green, Book of Kells, Dun Laoghire, The George. So I trundled to the main tourism info office for some...info. Imagine! The lovely cailín told me what I needed to know and I set off for Phoenix Park agus Áras an Uachtaráin, residence of the Irish President. There have been 9 of 'em so far, with 2 (current and immediate prior) women...both named Mary (Robinson and now McAleese) as it were. Áras was originally the summer resident of ~~them Sassanach bastards~~ the viceroy when Ireland was still part of the UK. Once full independence had been achieved a decision was taken to build a new residence...but there was no money, a lot of poor people, and World War II on the go. So the viceroyal cottage became Áras.

"Is it walkable then?"
"Ah sure. The XX YY and ZZ buses go, but I'd walk it. 'Tis a lovely day for it, yeah?"

At least a 5km walk turns out, mostly along the Liffey (often less than lovely), with the last third within Phoenix Park itself. Europe's largest within city greenspace was initially a domain for the ascendancy and their progeny to hunt and kiss colonial arse; public for many years now, it remains remarkably inaccessible for the unvehicled--no buses run within it, leaving a 1km+ walk to most internal venues like the Zoo (zoos are bad, just so you know) and Áras. Pretty, green, but remarkably devoid of sporting venues and people. Kind of phenomenal waste, really...though there are plans afoot to somehow introduce transit to the Park proper.

Áras only has tours on Saturdays, and they're free. But one has to schelp to the Visitor's Centre (1km from Áras), book a place and wait for one's tour. I arrived at 12h15 and got a spot on the 13h45 departure. So I visited the Visitor Centre, including an unremarkable large leather chair, with this sign on it:

Of course I licked it. Wouldn't you? 17 minutes elapsed from getting my ticket and scouring the exhibits in the Centre. I wasn't at all hungry but the only other thing to do (aside from walking even farther along the loooong road that runs down the middle of Phoenix Park) was the resto. There was a queue, so I took a look at what was on offer and lined up for a scone and a pot of tea. The vituperative woman behind the counter seemed to find perverse pleasure in shouting at Irish pensioners from Ballybog, and happily the scones "were all taken". Prisoner? Shopping? From behind? I picked the least insulin slurping of the cakes, grabbed my pot of tea and...well, see for yourself:

Watch on YouTube

Even with shooting, editing, and pimping the video at 2 filum festivals I still had 22 minutes to wait. Peeing made it 21. So I wandered the immediate periphery and took a picture of this:

ostensive "castle" though about the size of a townhouse and we couldn't go in. So fuck it. Ireland and the Irish are big on the whole EU and European thing. And what better way to prove it than offer your tours in English only? Here I cower in the back corner of the mini-van as loquacious Netherlanders discuss why the parking lot angles are only 89.47ª rather than 90ª. Or something like that. We were driven to Áras, but no photos were allowed inside. They've only allowed tours for the great unwashed since Mrs. McAleese entered the role some 8 years ago: given the challenges in getting to it on the one day a week it's available, I'm perhaps one of the first 100 people evar!!! You'll have to make do with a photo of the national symbol

Really it's a lovely home and an interesting tour. Then it was time to schlep back out of the Park. I was then going to find Kilmainham Gaol (which figures prominently in Irish history), but the map reading part of my brain seemed to have stalled. After 10 minutes walking up and down the same 100m of a street I thought "listen to your body, Luas led thoil." As in the snazzy newish light rail ("c'est une Rochelle, ce ne'st pas un Bombardier"). Which I did. And the fecal smoker's breath of the women tucked under my chin reconnected the map reading bit...just as the doors closed. Maybe tomorrow?

I got off near Henry Street (where the Irish actually shop, rather than Grafton), and wandered through the crowds. I stopped in Carroll's Hideous Oirish stereotypes for Yankees Shop (flagship branch on O'Connell Street), since my tricolour jock strap had lost a strap recently. So, in a match to the death who'd win:

? My € are on the pigs. There are also shelf upon shelf of shot glasses, commemorative spoons, and polyester clothing to be had as well. I picked up stickers for my scooter (Galway). Then waddled back across the Liffey towards home. But I detoured down Grafton Street (which is lovely),and decided to give Dublin Castle (again, not really a castle anymore). Every time I come to Dublin I try to go to the Castle and am thwarted. I was gonna leave it until Sunday (tomorrow), but was nearby so what the heck! And puh-raise the baby Jaysus I got a ticket for the ultimate (16h45) tour. On which photos were allowed, though none caught my fancy. But it was good. And now I never have to go back again. I was in search of ice cream, but settled for a smoothie, and am now stretched out on my bed. Tonight I shall eat a proper meal somewhere while staying near my hotel in case jet lag knocks the snot out of me.

A few more photos behind here. Though I make no claims to their interest or authenticity.