Parents, Dublin, and Trips Rhyming with 'A'

Monday

As promised in the last update, my parents and I visited the Old Jameson Distillery and the Guinness Storehouse last Monday. The latter presents a better experience for the comparable ticket price (upwards of 11 euro), with my discussion of its merits found earlier in the blog. Still, if you arrive for an early tour at the Distillery, you may have an opportunity to enlist as a whiskey taste tester (only eight per tour).

Since we set out for Jameson immediately after a filling buffet breakfast at the Shelbourne we arrived in time for the 11am tour - not necessarily  prime whiskey drinking time - and both my dad and I made the shortlist. So following the somewhat lackluster trip down distillery lane, we received shots of Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, and Jameson (along with the guaranteed glass of Jameson with your ticket). Perhaps it was the location or the indoctrination, but the initial bite of Jack Daniels and the smoky flavoring of Johnny Walker left me favoring the smooth taste of Jameson.

After our trip through the Guinness Storehouse, where we enjoyed our pints in the overcrowded gravity bar, we set out in haste for Kilmainham Gaol. With a little bit of luck - perhaps from tapping the Jameson mill stone three times - we arrived a minute before the final tour. Although I had visited the gaol before, a different guide provided additional anecdotes that made the second trip worthwhile. In particular, he discussed many of the famed prisoners of the facility - whose names are engraved in plaques above their former cells - and retold the story of the Invincibles, a group of assassins made infamous for the Phoenix Park Murders in the late 19th century. Once discovered, most of the leadership were executed and buried in the work yard.

Mom and Dad in the Guinness Storehouse Gravity Bar

Following a bit of that history, we passed by the 'Neighborhood of Broken Dreams' - an unfinished and near empty apartment development that promised a much brighter, bustling community along the Liffey. Just past the neighborhood was a side entrance to Phoenix Park, which we entered to walk by the Wellington Monument. My dad observed that it was not as impressive as its lookalike in Washington. Just past the Park, we entered Ryan's Pub for some quick lunch/dinner and a couple pints, including my first Gallway Hooker. If the place was not a hour walk from Goldsmith, I am sure that the gang would have made not a few stops inside during the semester to enjoy its relaxed atmosphere.

A Luas tram ride back to O'Connell Street was followed by a walk to the Shelbourne and a needed sit after several hours of walking along the north and south side. However, we were not sedentary for long, as we my dad's determination brought us to the Blarney Inn by Trinity to enjoy a couple more pints. Unfortunately their heavily advertised, authentic Irish music is only Thursday through Saturday.

Tuesday

Once another buffet breakfast at the Shelbourne concluded, we set out for Pearse Street Station and the Dart Train south to Bray. A coastal community further south than Dun Laoghaire, several waiters, including our Canadian waitress at breakfast, urged us to visit the town for its beach and cliff walk. Fortunately, Tuesday provided the third consecutive day of sunny, warm weather to match the sights of the community.

Although a trip into the town center failed to yield the tourist information office, we later enjoyed a relaxing rest on the beach. The buildings lining the main promenade give way to a open park, a beach walk, and the smooth stones lining the shore. With the sun heating the stones, lying on them provided comfort akin to a massage.

Mom and I along the Bray Cliff Walk

From there we traveled a few kilometers along the cliff walk, which for a train line hugging the space below, was not as impressive as the one at Howth. Still, the superior weather and the numerous fellow walkers easily overcame that difference. More important, once my dad and I decided to scale the cross-topped mountain overlooking the town, we were presented with an unmatched view of the valley and surrounding Irish Sea. That hiking earned our dinner at Martello's, a hotel with ample outdoor seating along the promenade.

Once in Dublin, and to conclude the night, we visited my ever favorite pub, MacTorcaills. My parents gave every indication that they enjoyed the venue, as we discussed all matters with our favorite bartender, Mark, and not a few other patrons. By the end of the evening, my Dad had given Mark his Bruins hat and a dollar to stick to the wall.

Wednesday

Another filling brunch at the Shelbourne, and we were off to Dublin Castle for a tour of the State Apartments. Unlike the dreary weather that greeted my earlier visit, a fourth consecutive day of blue sky ushered many visitors onto its small, circular park - including a free tour guide who told his assembled group that a visit to the Leprechaun Museum would offend just about everyone he knows. While waiting for the State Apartments, we perused the Chester Beatty Library and its collection of priceless religious manuscripts.

Unfortunately, the tour of the State Apartments was truncated, most likely due to the impending visit by the Queen. Still, we saw several lavish rooms, the throne for the Viceroy of Dublin (and visiting Monarch), as well as the blue and gold room now used for the inauguration of the President. Most of Dublin Castle no longer resembles the medieval Norman building, as a history of several devastating fires have left only one original round tower intact. Nevertheless, the results of a recent archaeological dig beneath the current structures, extends the tour to the subterranean foundations of the old powder tower and remnants of the city wall and moat.

From there, my parents left to explore the open air market that parallels O'Connell Street, while I participated in an interview. A couple hours later, we regrouped outside of Front Arch and set out for the Archaeology Museum. With less than an hour to spare, we quickly toured the bog bodies and a few other exhibits. To the disliking of my Dad, our rush into the museum did not afford him enough time to discuss the matters of the day with the Garda officer outside Leinster House (as he had the past two days).

For dinner we ate at the Bank Bar on College Green, which is housed in a building overhauled for the kingly sum of 80 thousands pounds in the late 19th century for the Belfast Bank. Much of the interior is intact, and we ate our relatively expensive, but no less tasteful, dinners in the loft above the bar. Some time spent in one of the Shelbourne's bars concluded the night.

Thursday

After soliciting advice from nearly every Dubliner we encountered, we had opted for the train to Gallway rather than a trip to Belfast. Of course the fifth consecutive day of shining, warm weather played a part in the decision to travel to a beach community on the west coast, rather than the aging industrial capital of Northern Ireland.

Two hours and 15 minutes on the clean, swift intercity train from Heuston Station brought us into Gallway by JFK Park. Although I had opposed every attempt to take a double-decker tour bus around Dublin, our six hours in the west coast, made the bus more palatable. Following a pint and a snack at the tourist pub of An Pucan (my Dad disputes the claim despite leprechauns painted on the windows), we boarded our bus for the pass around town.

With a university student population of over 30 thousand, Gallway is a young city today with a long past. Our guide provided witty commentary - though our seats by the rear would at times be too far from the speakers -  and took us along the city to pass the banners for the county's 14 tribes, the canal, cathedrals, NUI Gallway, a view of the city from its highest point, and to the shore. There we disembarked to spend little more than an hour on the beach, which was made of sand this time.

On the Tour Bus in Gallway

Full Album

Too quickly, the time past, and we were back on the bus to pass the Spanish Arch and the Claddagh (famous today for an once-exiled ring maker). According to our guide, the son of the current King of the Claddagh was working in the World Trade Center on September 11th, and he ushered more than 30 coworkers down more than 40 flights of stairs, while ignoring a directive by the fire department, to arrive outside mere minutes before the towers fell. The world is a small place indeed.

Walking through the historic, now shopping district we enjoyed one awkward moment - leaving a restaurant that turned out to not have draft beers - and a fine lunch at Skeffington Arms. During which, I enjoyed another Gallway Hooker, and we discussed life in general with a couple touring English ladies who were on holiday. Still that discussion failed to match our marathon history and current political events one with an older Irishman on the train back to Dublin.

The Weekend

Following a 7am breakfast, my parents left for the airport and their indirect 11am flight to Boston via Philadelphia. I returned to bed, only to wake as their plane was leaving to accomplish my now desperate need for laundry and groceries. With many still traveling before exams, the past couple days have been low key with conversations with friends from home and Easter Mass with Brittany at Saint Mary's Pro Cathedral earlier this morning. Although the handful of protesters outside the Cathedral along with the ending commemoration of the 95th anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising added some variety to the day. Otherwise, I look forward to returning to the States in a month, and my trip to Madrid on Thursday.