Dublin began by the banks of the River Liffey, where Celtic settlements and churches existed from early Christian times. Towns like Baile Atha Cliath, the city's Gaelic name, did not figure into the old Celtic way. It is generally accepted that Dublin was founded in the 9th century by the Viking while plundering and colonizing the Northern European coasts.
Dublin was a lucrative base for trading and raiding and the Danes held strong despite attacks by local chieftains and the great defeat at the Battle of Clontarf in 1014. The Anglo-Normans arrived in the 12th century but until Elizabethan times, direct English rule was limited to a ribbon of land on the east coast known as "the Pale". The colonization by British landlords in the 17th and 18th centuries created Dublin's "golden age".
A Walk Between Worlds – an apropos title. Never thought I’d make into this one. As the plane began its approach to the runway – power out - instilling great confidence in passengers as they embark on an airborne (hopefully) journey over an ocean. Thankful for a pocket full of sleeping pills, I travelled unconscious until, as the sun peeked over the watery horizon and the plane wing, my eyes opened to the glimmer of first light.
We landed safely, me one friend richer and a bottle of French champagne in tow. Yes,
champagne, from 1st class, given to me to celebrate the arrival in my home county once my
children arrived by the flight attendants. Ooh la la!
So, to the car: a Renault Clio, that I managed to maneuver around the parking lot for about 5
minutes, not only sitting, driving, but shifting on the left. Yes, I made it John. You were right.
But boy did I get lost!
“Just take the M-1 to City Central” – ah, how seemingly simple that sounds. But the M-1 forks
and if you’re not used to driving on the left, you might easily miss the fork. So here I am in
some round-about industrial location when I pull into a lot and see one of many smiling
Irishmen of the day. I honestly now believe they were spirits sent to look after a bumbling lost
American woman, but whatever they were, I’m happy to have met them.
“Ah, it’s Dublin you’re looking for?” Well, forget that. Hop out of the car and share a bottle of
wine with me now, won’t you?”
town. Atlanta? NYC? Oh, no. They have nothing on Dublin. First of all, no one tells you the
street signs are on the buildings. It is virtually impossible to use a map without landmarks, and
that includes street names. And the buses! After about 45 minutes I gave up and pulled over
to ask a window washer just where I might be. As he disappeared into a store front, I followed,
followed him into what must be the neighborhood gathering place, where you can get a cup of
tea, the paper, maybe a sandwich or a bun. That’s where I met Brendon. He and his dad
run the place; they seemed to mostly read the newspaper and chat a bit with the customers.
"I'm so lost," I said. “Sit down, have some tea, and we’ll take a look,” replied Brendon. Lost
I was. I was, in fact on the south side of the River Liffey, but that’s about the only thing I had
right. I was diagonally west, at the farthest point I could possibly be from my hotel. “Not to
worry. At least you’re on the right side of the river,” Brendon commented. We drank a pot of
tea as he gave me some pointers about seeing the sights of Dublin. In fact, the area I was in
had a few standouts: the Irish Museum of Modern Art, the Royal Hospital, Kilmainham , as
well as National Museum Collins Barracks. Most importantly, Brendon shared with me the
source of whiskey: monks. Yes, it was the monks, who first distilled whiskey, to help them
survive the desolate, harsh life on the rocky coast.
I said good-bye to Brendon and, with directions in hand, headed for Trinity Collge and my
home for the night. Lost again, in a maze of one-way streets and pedestrian traffic, I rolled
down my window to ask a taxi driver where I was.
“First of all, young lady, you have the map
up-side down.” Pull over behind that bus and we’ll turn ya around, we will. Here, young lady,
is where you’re going. Over this hill, and right, and right, and right. Then there you are, young
lady.” And off went this young lady, over the hill, then right, and right, and right to the door of
the FitzWilliam Hotel.
Unfortunately, it was the wrong hotel. And a ten minute drive from the airport to the
neighborhood near Trinity College had taken nearly three hours.
“Well, you’re here now,” said Cora, the hotel manager. “You might as well stay.
We’ll have Aiden call your other hotel (also the FitzWilliam)”
And call he did.
“And now, what is your cancellation policy? 48 hours? Well, Mrs. Gordon has asked me to
call. She’s broke down on the side of the road in Cork. And it’s distraught she is. She didn’t
know 48 hours ago she would be broke down on the side of the road. You’re not going to
charge such a distraught woman? Surely you can sell the room? “
And I checked in to paradise: http://www.fitzwilliamhoteldublin.com/
I think if I’d ask them to carry me upstairs, they would have. My luggage arrived at my door,
and a smiling young man greeted me: “How was your day mam?’
“An adventure:” I replied. “But I met three lovely men that really helped me out."
“Oh really? Said he. “Who were the other two?"
The FitzWilliam Hotel is across from St. Stephen’s Green. The Green, formerly an open
common, was enclosed in 1663 and the gardens laid out as a public park in 1880.
A stroll down Dawson Street lead me first to Harry’s for a bite before heading to Trinity
College. Yes, that is sunshine in rain weary Dublin.
On my way back to the FitzWilliam I met Clarence. He is the greeter at the Dublin Royal
Automobile Club (for you, J). Clarence told me that he has polished that brass plaque
everyday, for 31 years. He looked so polished too, standing in the doorway, I just had to take
his picture.
Around the corner, to yet another Harry’s for supper, as the sun set
and I listened to this young man play traditional Irish songs.
No, the food in Ireland is not all cabbage and potatoes: pan fried salmon with grilled
asparagus, carrot al’orange with caper and chorizo beurre noisette.
At times, stressful, but nevertheless, an adventure. I'll take it.
No comments:
Post a Comment