Not Another Damn American: October 2011

Sunday

First night at the hostel: not as bad as I was expected for a 24-bed room. Most of the tenants are European girls, who don't toss about and snore loudly. Also, several Americans studying in Budapest and a graduate traveling Europe for two months before starting on her master's degree.

The downside: everyone tends to leave early in the morning to catch flights and what not, which means that I wake up with them. But there is a complimentary breakfast, a pool table, a piano, a movie room, a hammock room, and better Wi-Fi than I have ever gotten in my kollegium. It's called Abbey Court, and it's right on the river Liffey.

Everything was closed on Sunday, so I just walked around for a little bit.

The customs officer at the airport said, "With a name like that, they'd practically have to let you into the country. You're very famous here."

Boom!

That's what I am.

After spending a few minutes affirming my sense of self-worth, I walked around a little bit more.

The view from the O'Connell Bridge. Boom!

Nothin' to see here laddies, move along.

Trinity College Student Union

On the Trinity campus

Defeated in referendum (according to that day's paper): a constitutional amendment to allow politicians to conduct inquiries and make findings against individuals.

None at all, Mr. Skellington.

Occupy (this particular part of ) Dublin. Almost as funny as Occupy (capital of the world's biggest welfare state) Copenhagen.

Christ Church

Tom Crean: IU basketball coach AND Antarctic explorer. The man is a MACHINE!

I might buy this just to have a bit of fun with airport security.


There are an insane amount of winged rats in Dublin. There were so many pigeons in my face, I thought I was Fabio.

Monday

Today I planned a walking trip all over Dublin south of the Liffey. I began by walking East along the quays.

A memorial to a fallen Dublin policeman

A cheap eatery where I get most of my meals. You can't beat a footlong fried chicken sub on a buttered roll for 3 Euros.

Many streets were closed off today for a marathon.

A train crossing the Butt Bridge (built 1932)

The Custom House (built 1791)

Matthew Talbot, Catholic ascetic

Samuel Beckett Bridge (built 2009)

I think this is the "Diving Bell"? There was a lot of construction going on around it. Diving bells were built to allow men to work safely below the river.

The Plot Thickens

As I approach the end of the river, I turn south going into the city.

Whaaat?

Always know where your embassy is, just in case "it" happens.

I turn onto Pembroke, on the outer edge of the city, going West.

TINTIN!!!!! MY FAVORITE THING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!!!!!

Apparently a breakfast sandwich is called a "Bap" over here?

If this was Copenhagen, I would have a field day with all these returnable bottles.

Stephen's Green, a beautiful park.

St. Patrick's Cathedral

Things Get Bad

It is now noon, which means it's lunch time. I stop into a Spar and get a chicken sandwich and a Pepsi. Since there is no seating inside, I cross the street and sit down on some steps near a church, with my back facing the street. As I am eating my sandwich, I see an ogre out of the corner of my eye standing behind me. The ogre grunts.

"Go to hell, ogre. I am not getting mugged for my sandwich in broad daylight. I will fight you for this fried chicken right here in this church so help me God."

I nervously continue to eat my sandwich, and the ogre continues to stand there. But I sit my ground and eat that sandwich. Frustrated, the ogre kicks at the church's iron fence and walks on down the street. Sandwich fight averted. Out of the corner of my other eye, I see a tall tower that I recognize from an advertisement. It's the Guinness factory! I must go there!

Things Get Worse

I head in the general direction of the tower, which brings me into the antique shop district. Only all the shops seem to be closed today. There are a lot of tenements, and it's empty except for this one old guy milling about the streets.

To quote Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, I'm starting to get the fear.

I am thinking, "if this was Baltimore, I'd already be dead." Coincidentally, at that moment, I hear a loud *POW!* and see a whiff of smoke on the sidewalk. Instinctively, I jump into an alley. I open my coat. No, I have not been shot.

*POW! POW!*

"Great," I think, "the first day I try to explore Dublin, I get attacked by the damned IRA."

*POW!*

Peeping around the corner, I see that the old man is still walking around. So it's just some hooligans with cherry bombs. All good then!

Deciding not to advance any further, I walk north up the cross-street behind me until I begin to see signs for the Guinness factory.

The Guinness plant is pretty impressive, and the whole neighborhood around the factory smells like malt!

I continue walking west past the plant. My feet are beginning to feel sore, and I still have a long way to go, so I stop into a bar and order a Bailey's coffee. The only other people in there is an old couple arguing:

Old Man: "Fer fook's sake, Gerry's only in the 'ospital for tew days!"

Old Woman: "'Cause of 'is fookin' blued pressure!"

Old Man: "Yer fookin' drunk!"

Old Woman: "No I'm not. Give me another beer! Ay, the marathon's o'er and the horse race is on! That man behind the bar's a gambin' man. (Singing): I'm a gambler, I'm a rambler, I'm a long way from home! If God doesn't kill me, I'll live 'til I die!"

This is apparently a "locals" bar, so I finish my coffee, pay, and get out.

In the Ghetto

Now, although I had planned a route, I tend to take detours on a whim. Sooner or later, I figure I will detour my way into a bad neighborhood, so I have been working on my local ruffian look. I am hoping that I will blend in better in Ireland than I would in, say, France or Greece or something like that.

Hooligan? Or tourist?

I have walked way far west. I am now entering a dimension where there are no such things as tourists. A gray, dilapidated dimension ruled by 12-year olds in tracksuits playing soccer.

How appropriate.

Okay, now I am officially off the map. As in, in an open field. There is only a man and his canine walking around. The dog runs and jumps on me, putting its big muddy paws on my coat. Stupid pooch.

I might want to utilize my i-phone compass at this point.

I turn back toward the city, and walk for a while. All of a sudden, I am in the Formal Gardens.

And then, it starts to rain. A lot. Like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, I make a beeline through the maze...

...and take refuge in this spooky building.

And I attempt to nap the storm out.

When I am done napping, the storm has not let up, so I say "to hell with it" and walk out into it. After a few minutes, I remember why I went into the dungeon in the first place. Luckily, I come across the Irish Museum of Modern Art. I don't go into the gallery (I will probably stop by when I am back in Dublin next week), but I browse a heritage exhibit about Irish participation in the Gallipoli campaign of World War I and an old soldiers' home.