Dublin day 2

I continue to try to wedge my body into this current time zone by taking a sleeping pill ~~when I'm wide-the-fuck-awake~~ when I'm not sleepy at bedtime. Which works, but i was very groggy this morning, so I gave myself an extra hour. Knowing that much of Dublin will be shuttered on The Lord's Day was an integral part of this ~~rationalization~~ reasoning. But I was eating my yummy Irish breakfast around 10am and out the door shortly thereafter.

I set out to hit what I missed yesterday, which meant another (nearly) 5km walk. I took the south shore route, through Temple Bar passed more churches (both RC and CofI) than could possible be filled, and made it to Kilmainham Gaol (Jail) in about an hour. As luck would have it I got there just before a tour and only waited 5 minutes for it to start. The Gaol started out as the county (Dublin is a municipality, located in a country of the same name) prison. The overwhelming majority of inmates--men, women and children as young as 5, if one can imagine--were petty criminals. Many were convicted of larceny, having stolen food for themselves or their families. A minority were violent; at least one ("John Kenny, labourer") was convicted of buggery (there was a slide show in the museum). Nice.

J. Bentham wuz here

The focus of the tour is the Gaol's role in Irish political history: the leaders of every Irish rebellion since 1798 were jailed there. Many were executed, via hanging (pre-20th century) or firing squad (20th century, progress). All but two of the leaders of the 1916 Easter Uprising were executed or interred at Kilmainham. Eamonn de Valera was American born (Cuban father, Irish mother) and had lived in Ireland most of his life: his American citizenship make his execution iimpossible for the British government to carry out. Countess Markewicz (Irish, married to a Polish aristrocrat) was spared because shooting a woman seemed unseemly. But 14 others were executed, all of 2 in the yard at Kilmainham.

Joseph Plunkett managed to get his girlfriend briefly into the prison to see him on the eve of his execution. They met in the prison (RC) chapel and were quickly married hours before he was shot. Plunkett's having recently been discharged from hospital before the rebellion, combined with the story of their marriage, outraged an Irish public largely unwelcoming of the rebellion itself. James Connolly's story perhaps proved to wholly change the public's sentiments towards independence from Britain. He was gravely injured in the rebellion; some historians suggest he would have died of his injuries (shot in the legs) had he not been treated by the Red Cross stationed in Dublin Castle. But treated he was, until well enough to be ambulanced to Kilmainham for his execution. However he was still not strong enough to stand even if tied--so he was tied to a chair and executed.

James Connolly's perspective today

I felt a lot of distance visiting a place alluded to so frequently in my family's Republican-lite take on Irish history. I heard little that suprised me; in fact I think historians who are critical of the Gaol's rather one-sided view of 1916 are justified. But the barbarism isn't a point of contention and I couldn't help but feel lucky to not have been born into a time and place like Ireland at the start of the 20th century. Both my grandparents were though. Both were ostensibly British in the legal sense at least. I could not muster any anger, just revulsion. And by the end of the 20th century--regardless of intentions or reasons--both sides in the Troubles have their share of blood on their hands. I won't presume to know what of it is morally defensible. Or not.

Across the road from Kilmainham is the National Museum of Modern Art. I gave it a try, really. But I just don't have much of an appreciation for visual arts. One of Freud's grandson's work was in a special exhibition and I lumbered around a bit until I decided the space occupied by my fat hairy arse would best be left to those enjoying the art. So I started back towards Temple Bar, with a few more sites in my sights.

St. Audoen's (teeny) church has been in operation (first RC; CofI since Henry VII's time) since the 12th century: it includes Norman, and other elements and it was very neat and somewhat beautiful and the heretic lady was very nice to unlock the chapel propers so I could take a look. There are about 25 person listed as active parish members, as church attendance continues to decline among the Irish. But not the Poles, who've arrived by the thousands since joining the EU in 2004 (Ireland, Sweden and the UK were the only EU members to offer unrestricted access to their labour markets for new EU nationals) "it's standing room only next door thanks to the Poles" she noted with some sadness. And it was, even at 15h00 on a sunny sunny day. Well it was pissing down when I left in the morning.

Dublinia is Dublin history 101 and it's probably great for kids; I find it kitschy and tedious. I was unimpressed when the "exit" deposited into Christ Church Cathedral next door. During a service. No doubt Jonathan Swift is rolling over his (baby) gravy. My interest in tourism waning I traipsed through the heart of Temple Bar and managed to score an outside table in a square. And a nice latte to boot! So I sat and breathed and was open to the universe. And saw not one, or two but three travellers panhandling. Whom the tourists ignored and the locals derided. I then did some shopping before coming home for a rest.

Latte tourists, cowering from unanticipated sunshine

But there was a kapitalist dilemma: I found a shop selling legitimate Harris tweed blazers for €49. I found an OK that fit well and a lovely one that was a bit big. They seemed like exceedingly good deals, but are they? Should I pop over in the morning and grab them????

Time to find some dinner. Then I've got some Eurovision pr0n to watch. A quiet one methinks, before my departure for Belfast on the 11h00 train tomorrow.