Manchester England England...to Dublin
En route to Dublin we chose to take the train to Manchester, and spend a night there. We walked the city, tasting beer and enjoying the buildings and the sights. Tim was determined to have a Holt’s beer.
The following morning we mistakenly got on the wrong train (at the right time, from the correct platform, on the advice of the railway staff who sorely needed a coffee!).Nevertheless, and with only a brief complaint (from the conductor!) and a more heated and irritated concern and argument (from us!) and the price of another ticket, so that we had to pay more than double the original ticket price, we were eventually on our way. I did wonder if we didn't pay, would he chuck us out the window, but as he was rather a thin and awkwardly uncomfortable young man, I suspected he'd have a difficult time with this.
The trip across to Dublin from Holyhead was a windy and sea spray filled one, and we were definitely the lone two who stayed above board the entire voyage, save for a wee visit to the bar for Tim's pint of O'hara's. Only slightly nauseous and with a half gravol to ease the way, I managed a nap wrapped in our camping towels and rain jackets, and we swayed our way across. I couldn't help but think of my mom as a very young woman crossing the Atlantic to England to study abroad. This was a 3 hour journey for us. What was the many day journey like for her I wondered (and will ask soon enough!) Arriving in Dublin at the ports was worthwhile, as we thought this was our only chance to see them, little knowing we would later accidentally drive through the entire city and pass them on our way out two days later...much to Tim's chagrin.
Our first moment of Irish generosity came as we stepped onto the bus at the Quay to learn they only take coin, and having none. From offering us free coin, to changing our notes, to making jokes about the entire thing, the locals would not let us miss the bus.
The first night we filled our belly with rich Beef and Guiness stew, beer, and our heads and hearts with traditional Irish music at the local pub.
June 16th, we were surprised to learn that we had arrived for Bloomsday Festival weekend, which is to celebrate James Joyce and all things Joycean. Men in straw hats and women in fancy dress (alas I left my costume in Canada or would have been offered drinks at 1904 prices I am told). We decided to visit a tiny 18th century theatre to see a one man, one act play based on the controversy of publishing the Dubliners, revealing and enacting some key portions of the work. Quite fun (though disturbing given the mind and times of the writer). As we left the theatre there were revellers everywhere celebrating and music on every corner. So completely exhausted from our day of tourism (truly not our cuppa) we avoided the pubs, headed for a tiny quiet bistro, and hid in a corner with our drinks and our food before crawling back to bed.
The poverty and the homelessness in Dublin is remarkably evident, and so no trip through the streets is without handing out help. And everywhere you can see others doing the same, bringing sleeping bags and food to people, and offering a helping hand.
The architecture of the city is hugely varied, and I know we saw a tiny fraction of it (absolutely wise to take the hop on and hop off which we did), but we were very ready nevertheless to pick up our car, turn every which way but out of the city, and eventually find the path towards the South and the West and the welcoming countryside.
The following morning we mistakenly got on the wrong train (at the right time, from the correct platform, on the advice of the railway staff who sorely needed a coffee!).Nevertheless, and with only a brief complaint (from the conductor!) and a more heated and irritated concern and argument (from us!) and the price of another ticket, so that we had to pay more than double the original ticket price, we were eventually on our way. I did wonder if we didn't pay, would he chuck us out the window, but as he was rather a thin and awkwardly uncomfortable young man, I suspected he'd have a difficult time with this.
The trip across to Dublin from Holyhead was a windy and sea spray filled one, and we were definitely the lone two who stayed above board the entire voyage, save for a wee visit to the bar for Tim's pint of O'hara's. Only slightly nauseous and with a half gravol to ease the way, I managed a nap wrapped in our camping towels and rain jackets, and we swayed our way across. I couldn't help but think of my mom as a very young woman crossing the Atlantic to England to study abroad. This was a 3 hour journey for us. What was the many day journey like for her I wondered (and will ask soon enough!) Arriving in Dublin at the ports was worthwhile, as we thought this was our only chance to see them, little knowing we would later accidentally drive through the entire city and pass them on our way out two days later...much to Tim's chagrin.
Our first moment of Irish generosity came as we stepped onto the bus at the Quay to learn they only take coin, and having none. From offering us free coin, to changing our notes, to making jokes about the entire thing, the locals would not let us miss the bus.
The first night we filled our belly with rich Beef and Guiness stew, beer, and our heads and hearts with traditional Irish music at the local pub.
June 16th, we were surprised to learn that we had arrived for Bloomsday Festival weekend, which is to celebrate James Joyce and all things Joycean. Men in straw hats and women in fancy dress (alas I left my costume in Canada or would have been offered drinks at 1904 prices I am told). We decided to visit a tiny 18th century theatre to see a one man, one act play based on the controversy of publishing the Dubliners, revealing and enacting some key portions of the work. Quite fun (though disturbing given the mind and times of the writer). As we left the theatre there were revellers everywhere celebrating and music on every corner. So completely exhausted from our day of tourism (truly not our cuppa) we avoided the pubs, headed for a tiny quiet bistro, and hid in a corner with our drinks and our food before crawling back to bed.
The poverty and the homelessness in Dublin is remarkably evident, and so no trip through the streets is without handing out help. And everywhere you can see others doing the same, bringing sleeping bags and food to people, and offering a helping hand.
The architecture of the city is hugely varied, and I know we saw a tiny fraction of it (absolutely wise to take the hop on and hop off which we did), but we were very ready nevertheless to pick up our car, turn every which way but out of the city, and eventually find the path towards the South and the West and the welcoming countryside.
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