Grabbing a Pint with a Pic

Note: the formatting on this page is really odd for some reason--let's just say it's leprechauns.

We met up in our musically-themed lobby to walk over to Jay Kay's for our last Dublin breakfast.

 

The manager recognized us from our first visit and asked how our vacation was going--again, Dublin has a nice kinda-small town vibe. We told him how much we loved our breakfast the first time, so we wanted to return. (I was very partial to their shakshouka eggs and amazing fresh squeezed orange juice!)

We had a full day ahead, starting at St. Patrick's Cathedral, the national cathedral of the Church of Ireland (which is somehow both Anglican and Catholic), which has roots going back to about 1190. The rough stones in the interior wall date to the cathedral's inception, when it was Roman Catholic. Over the centuries, it has changed denominations a number of times, and it also fell into considerable disrepair and was saved by several members of the Guinness family--so maybe it should be the Church of Guinness (more on that Irish name later).

  

You may notice two things in the photo below: one--the floor in this place is amazing; two--I'm wearing a boot. Quick background: in a trip to the ACL Festival not captured in this blog, I irritated my achilles, went to an urgent care, got a boot, and made it back in time to finish the fest. To be safe, I brought the boot with me--which proved invaluable in snagging early boarding and airport sympathy. After climbing up and down the ghost bus staircase and navigating two days of cobblestones, I needed the boot again and you'll see it in photos for the rest of the trip. Who knew that an urgent care in Round Rock, TX, would save my Irish vacation ... now, back to Ireland!

Befitting a smaller country, the cathedral is smaller as well, but truly lovely. 

 

  

One of the most affecting parts of the Cathedral was the way in which it remembers those lost in battle and humanitarian crises. Flags from the conflicts are hung in the crossing, where they can be hit by the light filtering through the stained glass windows--and then left. Over time, the sun bleaches the flags and--coupled with the damp of the cathedral--erodes the fabric. It is meant to represent the ravages of time and the loss of memory, such that we forget the high price of war and conflict and enter into it over and over. I'd never seen anything like it. Stunning. A more recent addition is the iron tree whose leaves are white papers on which visitors write their thoughts and prayers for those who have or are suffering through humanitarian crises. Again, such a powerful, silent way of bearing witness.

 

On a lighter note, ever since I read Tracy Chevalier's A Single Thread, I've been fascinated by kneelers made by broderers, and St. Patrick's did not disappoint. What a lovely and lively way to bring warmth into a fairly chilly space.

 

Jonathan Swift is the most famous Dean of St. Patrick's and is memorialized by death masks (yes, plural--they dug him up at one point to make another), a tomb, and a cool raised metal piece for etchings. The signage also makes it plain he thought he deserved a better post than Dublin and that his sermons were so long--like hours and hours long--that he put his podium on wheels so that he could wander about the cathedral and bop sleeping parishioners (the original Swifties) on the head with a long stick. 

 

We left the Cathedral, and Ned had been advised by one of the hotel front desk clerks to check out the Chester Beatty Library, which was home to a museum of the book. We had a squint of time before we were due at the Guinness factory, so we made our way to the library, passing the lovely park behind the cathedral--and several dogs greeting each other in said park (which drew excited cries of joy from our children).

On the walk, we found Harper's door and Ned's Bar! Plus more street art and a random pile of shrink wrapped Christmas trees.

 

 

   

  

Turns out the library was back through the castle courtyard (so many cobblestones!) ...

and through a garden dotted with teeny tiny birdhouses ...

Calling it a "library" was a bit misleading--it's really more of a museum for books in all their forms and from all eras. Some of the stories were captured on clothing and textiles, some on scrolls, some illuminated, some illustrated, some musical, some architectural. Think "art of the book" where the "books" are the art in and of themselves. 

The Chester Beatty Library was a nice complement to the Book of Kells and Long Library--cathedrals in their own ways!

Overall, the Beatty was impressive in its tight focus on such a specific artifact and in capturing one man's zeal for collecting and sharing his passion. Its courtyard was also home to a lovely cafe--which provided Harper and Penn with a caffeine break--and a gift shop, where I picked up two locally made pottery pieces (an ornament and a small bowl).

We met our uber/taxi around the back of the library, where we found this memorial to the Irish nationalist and suffragist Hannah Sheehy Skeffington, who fought for Irish indepdendence and for women's full participation in the vote. I walked away from this vacation with a wanting to know more about Irish history, especially the fight for independence--in which women fought right alongside men at the barricades. 

You can see the Gaelic on the history marker and on the bus timetable sign. Most announcements were communicated (in writing or recording) in both languages. It reminded me of the dual language communications in Ottawa (there, English and French)--again a statement on the foundational importance of language to culture and the power of colonialism to erase entire histories.

Speaking of erasing histories, or at least the memories of last night's pub crawl ... when it comes to Irish culture,  one site takes the top spot for all visitors: the most popular tourist destination in Dublin--the Guinness brewery at St. James Gate.

The "storehouse" is really a state of the art tourist attraction, like a beer theme park, complete with theater-quality shorts about every aspect of the brewing process, the life of Arthur Guinness, and somewhat surprisingly a "girl power" tribute to Olivia Guinness--who lost 11 children in miscarriage and gave birth to 10, nine of whom lived into adulthood. Good gravy! A stark reminder that the childhood mortality rate in Ireland--and Europe, overall, for that matter--was 50 percent. Time for a drink.

We walked through a giant vat, past grain, hops, waterfalls, kettles, and more--like we were little stouts-in-process, fermenting along our journey.

Guinness yeast is one of its secrets--its been kept going throughout the centuries. Here it is hiding in a vault, burbling away.

Nope, it's not a Kusama; it's an infinity room meant to mimic the smooth nitrogen bubbles that are part of the secret to the smooth Guinness flow. Next, we flowed down a sci-fi-lit hallway to a land where it's always Guinness tasting time, unless you're gluten-free (this isn't Jameson's, honey!).

Let it snow! The factory was decked out for the holidays, with festive touches, including holiday sweaters and ornaments--yes, we bought both--a lot of both!

Guinness is strongly interwoven with Irish culture--part of the tour is dedicated to Guinness art installations, advertising through the years, pop-up displays that appeared at fairs, and the like. Again, you're reminded how small Ireland is--it made me think back to when I was little and how important Schlitz was to Milwaukee. But, instead of being a company town, Ireland is a company country.

Along with our tour, we purchased an add-on that "printed" our pictures on the heads of pints of Guinness. First, can you imagine coming up with this idea: "I know what would make this beer better: putting my face on it!" If you had, you'd be making a fortune. Harper said all her friends who are studying abroad come to Dublin, tour Guinness, and get their faces on pints for the 'gram. Second, can you imagine not doing getting your face on a pint, even if you don't drink beer? We couldn't.

There was no way to top seeing our faces on stout heads, so the tour was over. We exited through the gift shop and joined the queue for uber/taxis outside the storehouse with a surprising amount of Guinness swag for a party of four that included only one beer drinker. Next stop ... dinner!

We had reservations at an amazing Asian place, Saba, near the city center. The food was delicious and service excellent--as we consistently found to be true wherever we went. Seriously, there are some really good restaurants in Dublin. As you can tell, we really liked this place.

We strolled back to the Morrison after dinner, through the cobblestone side streets and alleys of Dublin.

And, our children again found great joy in posing for photos.

Once more past the Temple Bar, for the last time. Our plans were to set off early in the morning for our rental car to make the drive to Waterford. 

As I fell asleep, though, with an aching achilles and a growing anxiousness about our ambitious plans, an Irish proverb ran through my dreams, and restless sleep: a good retreat is better than a bad stand.