The day after Zach's happy-travelin' family departed for America, Zach and I played host to another visitor: Gianna May! I met Gianna when she came to work for me in the front office of the Honors Program at UNM. Now, if ever a manager wants proof that she was not a tyrannical jerk, an overseas visit from a former employee surely qualifies.
Gianna has spent the opening months of 2012 attending the University of Leeds in England on a semester-abroad trip. She added Ireland to her list of places to see during her month-long spring break (American students reading this are no doubt bellowing that they want/deserve/need a month-long spring break)!
She arrived in Sandycove bright and early on a Monday. Zach was stuck in class, but I was free to take Gianna south to walk the legendary Bray head, a pathway meandering along the steep cliffs between Bray and Greystones. Before hopping on the DART, we checked the online tourist maps, which assured us the path ended in or near Greystones city center, which seemed the perfect place for us to have lunch and then head back for dinner back home. What is that saying about the best of plans...?
The day could not have been more lusciously sunny! We strolled along the pebbly beach of Bray and then made our way up the steep hillside to the cliffs. At one point, I spotted a trail leading into an irresistibly mysterious and Byronically romantic thicket of gorse (the yellow-blossomed scrub brush you see all over the island). Gianna made for an all-too willing adventure accomplice! I was once her fearless leader in the work place, after all. What could be the harm in following me now, right? (If my mother is reading this right now, she's already sighing and remembering the time I got myself lost in the Apache National Forest in Arizona...)
We schlepped uphill, bent in half to traverse the trail through the low-hanging gorse boughs, and eventually emerged in a clearing. To our relief, we saw other humans on the trails up ahead. Those trails wound ever-upward until we arrived at the craggy bald top of the cliffs. We took some stunning photos, saw open pastures where wild horses roamed, and looked out on a seascape that took away what little breath we had left. Getting down to the main trail was a challenge. Our feet were tired. Our bellies were empty, but for the paltry snacks I had packed. And our water supply was half-consumed.
At last Gianna and I found what looked like a prominent and frequently traveled path that we believed would take us back to the cliff-walk and then on to Greystones. It didn't. It did take us through farms and fields. We had to climb a few fences and ignore a few "no trespassing" signs, until we arrived at an actual cluster of houses and a genuine (paved) road. Making a random guess, I chose to turn left. Turns out I was right to do so. I think. After a half-mile, we did pass the endpoint of the cliff-walk (where we would have emerged had I not diverted us through the gorse). But this was not in Greystones city center, as the maps suggested. We walked and walked until we found a grocery store where one of the employees pointed us to the bus route that would get us to Greystones proper (some 20 minutes away!!!).
We boarded the bus and told the driver to please let us off near the DART station in the city center. He kindly agreed to and then unkindly forgot. It wasn't until we were in Kilcoole that discovered us, like stowaways. So, long story short, we DID make it back to Sandycove. Gianna seemed very forgiving of the fact that I nearly got us lost and/or starved/dehydrated to death!
The next day of her visit, Zach and I both had class, so Gianna boarded a tour bus bound for the Hill of Tara and Newgrange. We recommended this trip, having done it already for Zach's birthday back in September. We reconnected with Gianna later that evening and got to hear about what a great time she had over dinner.
Wednesday was finally a time for all three of us to check out Dublin. We took Gianna to see the secret wonders and horrors of St. Michen's Church. You should have seen this budding historian's eyes light up when they took us underground to see...(but wait, I can't spoil the surprise for my parents...). Then we wandered the scenic quays, enjoyed the Winding Staircase bookshop, saw the sites along O'Connell, then on to Trinity to see the Long Room library and Book of Kells.
We were then bound for seeing Oscar Wilde's House, which Gianna was looking forward to (Wilde being one of her favorite authors). Sadly, we found that they no longer do tours of the house. To make up for it, we stopped off at the park across the street which as a statue of Wilde sprawled in what can only be described as pimp-style on a huge boulder. Gianna scaled this boulder like it was a jungle-gym in order to pose for pictures beside her idol. We also read aloud many of Wilde's famous quotes collected on nearby sculpture installations. (Of particular delight was the one about how it becomes increasingly impossible to live up to the standards of one's blue China tea set.)
With the four and five o'clock hours swiftly approaching (threatening to shut down all the other points of interest on our itinerary), we scuttled off to the National Museums to see the bog bodies on display. Besides those macabre marvels, we saw the stunning collections of weapons, artifacts, and gold jewelry taken from various hordes from around the island. We then stopped in some shops for a bit of souvenir shopping, wandered through the famous Temple Bar district, stopping in at the best, new candy shop in Dublin (Aunt Nellie's) before circling back to the Porterhouse where a few of Zach's classmates joined us just after dinner for the traditional "last night in Dublin" celebration!
Eventually, we made it home so that Gianna would catch a few winks before taking a very early cab to the port where a ferry awaited to shepherd her to the next portion of her traveling adventures (which I believe was Wales and London)! It was so wonderful to have her visit and we so very glad I did not get her killed somewhere between Bray, Greystones, and Kilcoole.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Dingle Hoppers
While a delegation of my folks (Father, Sister Kaci, Sister Aja, Sister Ali, and Friend Natalie -- a regular ecclesiastical troupe) were visiting us in mid-March, we all took off for a three-night stay on one of the western fingers of Ireland. Dad had originally hoped to road-trip over most of the island during the week here, but cautionary suggestions from us and a firm smack upside the head from reality reminded him that if he wanted to see anything but the wrong side of the road, he'd be wise to pick a single mid-week destination and stick with it.
So Dingle Peninsula it was! And what a beautiful choice, too. (Check out our Dingle Photo Album) The Five Faithful Followers braved the hazards of right-hand drive, and Jenny and I took the train and bus there. (See Jenny's last post for a description of the Southwestern-esque views.) Night fell as we arrived in the town of Dingle and joined the rest of the fam at the Alpine House B&B. We did a bit of dusky wandering, discovered that much of Dingle doesn't open on Tuesday evenings unless it's tourist season (which is decidedly not mid-March), and ended up dining in an excellent jazz and pizza joint. The entire place felt like it was lit by blue and black candles, and the French proprietor started quizzing us on the artists once Jenny pegged Django. Pizza was great, music was groovin', and the Dingle Hop had begun. (I even got a compliment for pronouncing properly the French wine I ordered! But I'm really surprised Zach has not shared here the long-winded topic of dinner conversation, which had everyone reduced to tears of hilarity... Well, if he won't blow the lid off this one, I suppose I can't.)
The next morning the Clerical Quintet went horse(pony)back riding, and Jenny and I stayed behind in the hotel to do some writing (grad students are cursed that way...er blessed. I mean blessed). That afternoon, Jenny, Natalie, and the Sisters Three went shopping (and they spoke not a word of it to me hence), and Dad and I holed up in the renowned, National-Geographic'd, half-leatherman's and shoe shop and half pub called Dick Mack's. This was such a great atmosphere for a pint -- rooms behind/within/upon rooms, wood older than Dick Mack himself, a coal fire, and Sean, the artist-in-residence. Dad and Sean got to talking about priorities in life and the very meaning of existence. It was a trip.
That night, reunited, we enjoyed dinner in a different pub (apparently Wednesday nights are better for opening than Tuesdays) before shifting down to O'Sullivan's for the only live music we could find in town. I'll be honest, the ladies playing sounded lovely, but it was far from the best trad music Jenny and I have heard here. (When the Sligo festival is the point of comparison, I suppose we're ruined.) The fam all seemed to enjoy themselves, though, and we got to try the local brew -- Tom Crean's Lager. This beer was actually as creamy as its name almost suggests, which I never expected from a lager. The combination was pleasantly enjoyable. Heck, we were tickled just to find a craft beer!
If only we knew what awaited us the next night. But first, we had to brave the Great Slea Head Drive of Fog, Frustration, and Near Doom. (The Friars Fünf thought that the drive was perilous; Jenny and I figured Grendel's descendant was just waiting behind some damp boulder to tear our arms from our bodies as reparation.) Despite the view-blocking fog, the drive around the peninsula awed and oohed us. (Pictures of several stops on this tour will be on the pics page!) That afternoon, folks were just about Dingled out. There was much napping, until high time for Dad and me to go get a pint at Foxy John's. "Who needs shoes?" Foxy John's says. "We've got beer, hardware, and all your bicycling needs!" That's right: this pub felt like half bar, half your grandpa's garage. Jenny swapped out with Dad at one point, so that Dad could go wake up the Cinco Sisters (by this point, Natalie was pretty much another sibling). We had dinner at the Canteen, highly recommended by the barkeep at Dick Mack's.
The food was ohhh so good. I've been craving pork and applesauce ever since. But this place really promoted the Irish craft beers... which we didn't even know existed. I swear they didn't. I had an Eight Degrees porter, Jenny had the richest, sweetest hard cider, and the night was beautiful.
After we peeled ourselves out of the Canteen, we went back to the jazzy pizza joint for some live tango-jazz and a glass of wine to wind down the night. Our favorite French proprietor was in absentia, but still, his establishment provided the perfect wind-down to a relaxing and adventurous Dingle getaway. (Thanks for making it happen, Dad!)
So Dingle Peninsula it was! And what a beautiful choice, too. (Check out our Dingle Photo Album) The Five Faithful Followers braved the hazards of right-hand drive, and Jenny and I took the train and bus there. (See Jenny's last post for a description of the Southwestern-esque views.) Night fell as we arrived in the town of Dingle and joined the rest of the fam at the Alpine House B&B. We did a bit of dusky wandering, discovered that much of Dingle doesn't open on Tuesday evenings unless it's tourist season (which is decidedly not mid-March), and ended up dining in an excellent jazz and pizza joint. The entire place felt like it was lit by blue and black candles, and the French proprietor started quizzing us on the artists once Jenny pegged Django. Pizza was great, music was groovin', and the Dingle Hop had begun. (I even got a compliment for pronouncing properly the French wine I ordered! But I'm really surprised Zach has not shared here the long-winded topic of dinner conversation, which had everyone reduced to tears of hilarity... Well, if he won't blow the lid off this one, I suppose I can't.)
The next morning the Clerical Quintet went horse(pony)back riding, and Jenny and I stayed behind in the hotel to do some writing (grad students are cursed that way...er blessed. I mean blessed). That afternoon, Jenny, Natalie, and the Sisters Three went shopping (and they spoke not a word of it to me hence), and Dad and I holed up in the renowned, National-Geographic'd, half-leatherman's and shoe shop and half pub called Dick Mack's. This was such a great atmosphere for a pint -- rooms behind/within/upon rooms, wood older than Dick Mack himself, a coal fire, and Sean, the artist-in-residence. Dad and Sean got to talking about priorities in life and the very meaning of existence. It was a trip.
That night, reunited, we enjoyed dinner in a different pub (apparently Wednesday nights are better for opening than Tuesdays) before shifting down to O'Sullivan's for the only live music we could find in town. I'll be honest, the ladies playing sounded lovely, but it was far from the best trad music Jenny and I have heard here. (When the Sligo festival is the point of comparison, I suppose we're ruined.) The fam all seemed to enjoy themselves, though, and we got to try the local brew -- Tom Crean's Lager. This beer was actually as creamy as its name almost suggests, which I never expected from a lager. The combination was pleasantly enjoyable. Heck, we were tickled just to find a craft beer!
If only we knew what awaited us the next night. But first, we had to brave the Great Slea Head Drive of Fog, Frustration, and Near Doom. (The Friars Fünf thought that the drive was perilous; Jenny and I figured Grendel's descendant was just waiting behind some damp boulder to tear our arms from our bodies as reparation.) Despite the view-blocking fog, the drive around the peninsula awed and oohed us. (Pictures of several stops on this tour will be on the pics page!) That afternoon, folks were just about Dingled out. There was much napping, until high time for Dad and me to go get a pint at Foxy John's. "Who needs shoes?" Foxy John's says. "We've got beer, hardware, and all your bicycling needs!" That's right: this pub felt like half bar, half your grandpa's garage. Jenny swapped out with Dad at one point, so that Dad could go wake up the Cinco Sisters (by this point, Natalie was pretty much another sibling). We had dinner at the Canteen, highly recommended by the barkeep at Dick Mack's.
The food was ohhh so good. I've been craving pork and applesauce ever since. But this place really promoted the Irish craft beers... which we didn't even know existed. I swear they didn't. I had an Eight Degrees porter, Jenny had the richest, sweetest hard cider, and the night was beautiful.
After we peeled ourselves out of the Canteen, we went back to the jazzy pizza joint for some live tango-jazz and a glass of wine to wind down the night. Our favorite French proprietor was in absentia, but still, his establishment provided the perfect wind-down to a relaxing and adventurous Dingle getaway. (Thanks for making it happen, Dad!)
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Rachel Sermanni at Whelan's Upstairs, March 9
Several months ago, Jenny and I went to see Elvis Costello at Sligo Live. If you read the post about our trip to Sligo, you may remember that we were absolutely stunned by the musical talent of Costello's opening act, a young Scottish woman named Rachel Sermanni.
When we caught word that Sermanni was going to put on a show here in Dublin, of course we jumped all over the chance to buy tickets. We'd purchased her first EP at the Sligo concert, and while it's lovely, it's far from representative of this girl's range. She's a true live performer, and in case she never makes it over the pond (though we really think she could be huge), we wanted to take the chance to see her sing one more time.
The show was at Whelan's Upstairs, which is just the upstairs portion of Whelan's, a decent-sized and apparently pretty well-known bar and performance space. It's got an old and half-renovated feel to it (apparently the current owners took over partway through a renovation, and rather than keep the place shut to finish, they decided to open anyway and have live music every night). We'd never been there before, so we didn't know what to expect. Seedy bar? Standing-room-only rock and roll room? Rows of folding chairs?
We were, to say the least, surprised to see the show would be held in a fairly small room, the stage all of six inches off the ground, with the audience seated at eight or ten low candlelit tables and the rest perched on stools in the back of the room. The crowd couldn't have been more than fifty or sixty people. The walls were brick, you could hear traffic through the window and the bar crowd through the opposite wall -- and yet, all of that only added to the charm and the ambiance.
This was the kind of place in which, if the musicians ever hit the big-time, you'd be proud to say you saw them when.
Jenny and I had eaten dinner at Messrs Maguire on the Liffey quays beforehand, and while we were less-than-enthused about the beer (not that it was bad -- it was, as Jenny said, "paint-by-number beers" -- and at least it was one of the rare brewpubs here), the meal had been good. We wanted to take the evening light, so we ordered our ciders, sat at a table right at the front and just stage right of center, and enjoyed the feel of a true date night. (Hey, dinner, a candlelit show, and me wearing a jacket counts as one hell of a date night!)
The opening act, another young Scottish musician, was a perfectly decent singer and keyboardist. I'll be honest, though, I've already forgotten his name; his voice had those high, frail, sappy qualities to them that seem to be "in" now and for the past couple years, but that will probably be out of fashion by 2014. Rachel Sermanni came on -- performing solo this time, without the ladies who had accompanied her in Sligo -- and despite seeming so tiny and so young, she commanded the stage and our attention.
I'll link to the videos below, so you can see for yourself. (These videos are probably about a third of the total show -- there were a few songs, like the one called something like "I Have a Girl," that I wish I could have captured.) Sermanni has impressive range -- of volume, of soulfulness, of fingerwork on the guitar, of songwriting styles. She showed off much of her talents, and did a fair bit of chatting between songs. (Who knew she was so hilarious? Jenny found her hysterical -- listen for her laughter on a couple of the tracks on YouTube.)
The Fog
Waltz
a pirate song
the burger-van song (our new favorite)
Sleep
On the way out, we absolutely did NOT peel a poster off the notice board, roll it up, slip it out, and hang it on our door at home. We'd be awesome if we had, though.
And Rachel, if you should ever read this: Please put out a full-length album or four. They'd do you so much more justice than a four-song EP.
When we caught word that Sermanni was going to put on a show here in Dublin, of course we jumped all over the chance to buy tickets. We'd purchased her first EP at the Sligo concert, and while it's lovely, it's far from representative of this girl's range. She's a true live performer, and in case she never makes it over the pond (though we really think she could be huge), we wanted to take the chance to see her sing one more time.
The show was at Whelan's Upstairs, which is just the upstairs portion of Whelan's, a decent-sized and apparently pretty well-known bar and performance space. It's got an old and half-renovated feel to it (apparently the current owners took over partway through a renovation, and rather than keep the place shut to finish, they decided to open anyway and have live music every night). We'd never been there before, so we didn't know what to expect. Seedy bar? Standing-room-only rock and roll room? Rows of folding chairs?
We were, to say the least, surprised to see the show would be held in a fairly small room, the stage all of six inches off the ground, with the audience seated at eight or ten low candlelit tables and the rest perched on stools in the back of the room. The crowd couldn't have been more than fifty or sixty people. The walls were brick, you could hear traffic through the window and the bar crowd through the opposite wall -- and yet, all of that only added to the charm and the ambiance.
This was the kind of place in which, if the musicians ever hit the big-time, you'd be proud to say you saw them when.
Jenny and I had eaten dinner at Messrs Maguire on the Liffey quays beforehand, and while we were less-than-enthused about the beer (not that it was bad -- it was, as Jenny said, "paint-by-number beers" -- and at least it was one of the rare brewpubs here), the meal had been good. We wanted to take the evening light, so we ordered our ciders, sat at a table right at the front and just stage right of center, and enjoyed the feel of a true date night. (Hey, dinner, a candlelit show, and me wearing a jacket counts as one hell of a date night!)
The opening act, another young Scottish musician, was a perfectly decent singer and keyboardist. I'll be honest, though, I've already forgotten his name; his voice had those high, frail, sappy qualities to them that seem to be "in" now and for the past couple years, but that will probably be out of fashion by 2014. Rachel Sermanni came on -- performing solo this time, without the ladies who had accompanied her in Sligo -- and despite seeming so tiny and so young, she commanded the stage and our attention.
I'll link to the videos below, so you can see for yourself. (These videos are probably about a third of the total show -- there were a few songs, like the one called something like "I Have a Girl," that I wish I could have captured.) Sermanni has impressive range -- of volume, of soulfulness, of fingerwork on the guitar, of songwriting styles. She showed off much of her talents, and did a fair bit of chatting between songs. (Who knew she was so hilarious? Jenny found her hysterical -- listen for her laughter on a couple of the tracks on YouTube.)
The Fog
Waltz
a pirate song
the burger-van song (our new favorite)
Sleep
On the way out, we absolutely did NOT peel a poster off the notice board, roll it up, slip it out, and hang it on our door at home. We'd be awesome if we had, though.
And Rachel, if you should ever read this: Please put out a full-length album or four. They'd do you so much more justice than a four-song EP.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Into the Crypts and Through the Looking Glass
(I'm hoping Zach will get on and post about how awesome Rachel Sermanni's show was, but we did get some recordings up on our Live wEIRe link, so check 'em out in the meantime.)
Monday morning, we took Randy, Kaci, Aja, Ali, and Natalie for a whirlwind tour of Dublin. (For those who don't know, that list comprises a portion of Zach's sisters except for Randy and Natalie).
Our first stop, after strolling the Quays (pronounced keys) along the River Liffey, was St. Michen's church, which was said to have inspired Bram Stoker's Dracula. It is also one of Dublin's best kept sightseeing stops. The tour guide was hilarious! He took us down into the burial crypts under the church to see mummies in open coffins. Some of the mummies were 800-900 years old. Not ancient Egypt, but a no less gory experience! Other crypts had skulls lining the floor. Others had caskets piled on caskets--some of which had broken open, leaving a severed leg and foot for us to gawk at! The tour guide also allowed us to enter one of the chambers with the mummies and we touched the hand of a Crusader for good luck! If you've never touched the rotting appendages of a mummy...all I can say is geeeyyaaaahhhhggggggg. Creepy!
After that we wandered the uh, well, wonders of O'Connell Street: the Writer's Museum and Centre, Garden of Remembrance complete with a statue of the Children of Lir, the Abbey Theater, and the General Post Office. We also stopped and gave appropriate oohh's and aww's to the stiffy on the Liffey or the stiletto in the ghetto: the giant millennium needle erected during Ireland's boom years.
We trickled down to Trinity College where we showed them around the campus a bit and then whisked them into the Long Room (ancient library), which is always a happy place for a couple of bookworms like me and Zach. With class and homework still in progress, we had to let our family guests peel off and tour St. Stephen's Green, Marrion Square and other such wonders on their own, but we did meet up again to dine at Porterhouse in the Temple Bar district. It was a great night after a great day!
Yesterday, we traveled to Dingle. Zach and I had to go by train because we still had classes and such, while Randy and the girls drove across the island!
While traversing the landscape Zach noticed something spectacular: how similar some of the hilly scenes and houses were to New Mexico. Even the yellow scrub brush looks like our coppery creosote. I suddenly realized that what might have attracted us to Ireland was its bizarre similarity to our homeland. Where we have sand, they have grass, but otherwise, it is a bald, barren, and lonely landscape with miles and miles to go. For just a moment I realized we had stepped through the looking glass!
Monday morning, we took Randy, Kaci, Aja, Ali, and Natalie for a whirlwind tour of Dublin. (For those who don't know, that list comprises a portion of Zach's sisters except for Randy and Natalie).
Our first stop, after strolling the Quays (pronounced keys) along the River Liffey, was St. Michen's church, which was said to have inspired Bram Stoker's Dracula. It is also one of Dublin's best kept sightseeing stops. The tour guide was hilarious! He took us down into the burial crypts under the church to see mummies in open coffins. Some of the mummies were 800-900 years old. Not ancient Egypt, but a no less gory experience! Other crypts had skulls lining the floor. Others had caskets piled on caskets--some of which had broken open, leaving a severed leg and foot for us to gawk at! The tour guide also allowed us to enter one of the chambers with the mummies and we touched the hand of a Crusader for good luck! If you've never touched the rotting appendages of a mummy...all I can say is geeeyyaaaahhhhggggggg. Creepy!
After that we wandered the uh, well, wonders of O'Connell Street: the Writer's Museum and Centre, Garden of Remembrance complete with a statue of the Children of Lir, the Abbey Theater, and the General Post Office. We also stopped and gave appropriate oohh's and aww's to the stiffy on the Liffey or the stiletto in the ghetto: the giant millennium needle erected during Ireland's boom years.
We trickled down to Trinity College where we showed them around the campus a bit and then whisked them into the Long Room (ancient library), which is always a happy place for a couple of bookworms like me and Zach. With class and homework still in progress, we had to let our family guests peel off and tour St. Stephen's Green, Marrion Square and other such wonders on their own, but we did meet up again to dine at Porterhouse in the Temple Bar district. It was a great night after a great day!
Yesterday, we traveled to Dingle. Zach and I had to go by train because we still had classes and such, while Randy and the girls drove across the island!
While traversing the landscape Zach noticed something spectacular: how similar some of the hilly scenes and houses were to New Mexico. Even the yellow scrub brush looks like our coppery creosote. I suddenly realized that what might have attracted us to Ireland was its bizarre similarity to our homeland. Where we have sand, they have grass, but otherwise, it is a bald, barren, and lonely landscape with miles and miles to go. For just a moment I realized we had stepped through the looking glass!
Friday, March 9, 2012
Whelan's and Family Visit Extravaganza!
Tonight, Zach and I are headed in to Dublin to see Rachel Sermanni play at Whelan's Pub.
Rachel, as many readers know, charmed us back in October when she opened for Elvis Costello at the Sligo Live Music Festival. She gave a great show, and proved herself to be a powerfully hypnotic singer. I always think that she sings the way some people embroider thread, for the way she works her voice back and forth through the air, intricately designing sounds and textures.
With any luck we'll put up a post and share some video clips from the performance. (You can always check out our video feeds by clicking on the Live wEIRe--like live wire--link over on the right panel of this blog.)
As for the venue, I think we're in for a treat there as well. Where Whelan's now sits has been the site of a pub of one kind or another since 1772. Since 1999, according to their website, Whelan's has been nurturing local artists and international performers. They keep it rockin' seven nights a week!
By this time Sunday we should be welcoming a large delegation of Zach's family to Ireland. His dad, Randy, three (of four) sisters, and one sister's chum fly in to Dublin late Sunday morning and should arrive to Sandycove by early afternoon. We can't wait to show them around or little village!
Monday, we'll go sightseeing around Dublin and the rest of the week promises to be full of adventures and explorations of other parts of the island. Which of course means more travel posts and lots of eye-boggling pictures!
Until then, keep your whistles wet and your boots dry, in all fairness like.
Rachel, as many readers know, charmed us back in October when she opened for Elvis Costello at the Sligo Live Music Festival. She gave a great show, and proved herself to be a powerfully hypnotic singer. I always think that she sings the way some people embroider thread, for the way she works her voice back and forth through the air, intricately designing sounds and textures.
With any luck we'll put up a post and share some video clips from the performance. (You can always check out our video feeds by clicking on the Live wEIRe--like live wire--link over on the right panel of this blog.)
As for the venue, I think we're in for a treat there as well. Where Whelan's now sits has been the site of a pub of one kind or another since 1772. Since 1999, according to their website, Whelan's has been nurturing local artists and international performers. They keep it rockin' seven nights a week!
By this time Sunday we should be welcoming a large delegation of Zach's family to Ireland. His dad, Randy, three (of four) sisters, and one sister's chum fly in to Dublin late Sunday morning and should arrive to Sandycove by early afternoon. We can't wait to show them around or little village!
Monday, we'll go sightseeing around Dublin and the rest of the week promises to be full of adventures and explorations of other parts of the island. Which of course means more travel posts and lots of eye-boggling pictures!
Until then, keep your whistles wet and your boots dry, in all fairness like.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Adventures in Rivendell
This time of year in Ireland is that magical period called Reading Week, when students don't have to go to class and get to screw around by tootling all over the continent really far ahead on their schoolwork for the rest of the term.
Jenny and I are two of the only people on the island treating reading week at face value. We've been doing so much reading and writing and catching up and trying to get ahead that we wonder how we ever do this with silly classes and stuff in the way.
But we promised ourselves that, no matter how much work was staring us down, we would get out of town for part of the week. We tossed around several more remote locations, and then we recalled the recommendations of several native-Irish friends.
So Glendalough it was.
The pronunciation varies depending on who you talk to (some say Glendalock and others Glendalow) (some even say Glenda-lahhhhhcccchhh, which much phlegm), but across the board, everyone agreed that it was one of the most beautiful places in Ireland, and ultimately very close and accessible.
Accessible might be debatable--it's not reachable by train or public bus, and requires at least two legs of journey no matter how you slice it (we took the train and a cab there, a private bus and the DART home)--but the beauty was absolutely understated.
We were truly stunned, and yet we felt right at home, nestled between mountains (for you Albuquerque folks, =decently big hills) and a whole range of spruce, rowan, birch, and other trees. Glendalough is part of the giant Wicklow national park, and we feared that this portion of it would be too large to see in a day. Not so -- we took pretty much the whole thing in during one afternoon, and we dallied and lingered and soaked it all up much more leisurely than many folks. Jenny is the master of capturing the majesty and the nuance of places like this, so I'll leave the real descriptions to her and tackle the itinerary myself. (My comments are in italics, just like on our old beer blog. I've restricted my gushing descriptions to a poem at the end of the post.)
Since pictures are worth a thousand words, enjoy the slideshow before reading on:
Right behind the visitor's center is a cemetery and ancient monastic settlement. While none of the remaining structures are this old, monks first moved in during the 6th century! Still standing are several buildings without roofs (and varying amounts of walls), like the old cathedral, part of a monastery, and part of a house. Then there's the classic Irish tower. And the cemetery is who knows how old. Of the dozens (hundreds?) of legible headstones, several date as far back as the late 1700s, but then many standing rocks are so eroded as to be blank. And who knows how many people are buried among the others without markers?
Historynerds buffs though we are, we were really itchin' to get to the nature bits. The two lakes (Glendalough means "glen of two lakes") are fed by a number of streams, most prominently the [Jenny help me out here! (She shrugs with a giant question mark floating overhead)]. The water in the lakes and most of the streams is dark, yet absolutely clear.
Along the path, several little rivulets come trickling down the hill. One caused a noticeable, if small, waterfall, and we joked that maybe this was the waterfall we had heard so much about. (It wasn't.) We ate our picnic lunch by the second lake.
Here's video from the lake, showing just how tranquil it was:
Then we explored a truly surreal pine tree before climbing the hill next to the real waterfall.
Atop the hill, where two creeks join together before tumbling down to the lakes below, Jenny and I lingered among the moss, the trees, the pine cones, the clovers, and the constant rush of mountain water. We even crossed over by jumping on stones to get to the triangular dell in the middle of the fork!
The walk back was just as beautiful, and completely different, because the sun's new angle cast the whole landscape into a new dimension. When we got to the visitor's center, we decided to treat ourselves--so we visited the hotel next to the monastic site (ah, tourism) and had coffee with a "brownie" (=light chocolate cake) and mint chocolate chip ice cream on top!
Then we got to be kids. Like, completely and totally kids. In the adjacent grass field was a typical grass maze-looking thing (a snaking path in a circular pattern cut into the grass). We chased each other through it. We played tag. We played follow-the-leader. We spun around in circles until we made our heads hurt! That's when we remembered that our bodies are grown up, even if our spirits aren't always.
The sun was dipping behind the mountains by this time, though it wouldn't officially set for another hour or two. We boarded the bus, stayed cuddled up as we caught the train in Bray just in time, and disembarked in Dalkey instead of Sandycove. On purpose, mind you--we wanted to continue the day's adventure by walking home from the opposite side!
Collected Impressions of Glendalough
by the feral minds of Jenny and Zach
The deep fissures of the valley,
etched by the finger of some God,
as easily as a child might scrape tunnels through mud.
We looked across the flat, rippling belly of the lake
to where the mountains spread like thighs in the distance.
We find a tree standing not on a central trunk,
but on a pillar of dark, flowing tresses.
The branches dip
like the branches on a candelabras.
For the moment, we alight.
(Credit for the phrase and concept of "feral minds" belongs to V.B. Price)
Jenny and I are two of the only people on the island treating reading week at face value. We've been doing so much reading and writing and catching up and trying to get ahead that we wonder how we ever do this with silly classes and stuff in the way.
But we promised ourselves that, no matter how much work was staring us down, we would get out of town for part of the week. We tossed around several more remote locations, and then we recalled the recommendations of several native-Irish friends.
So Glendalough it was.
The pronunciation varies depending on who you talk to (some say Glendalock and others Glendalow) (some even say Glenda-lahhhhhcccchhh, which much phlegm), but across the board, everyone agreed that it was one of the most beautiful places in Ireland, and ultimately very close and accessible.
Accessible might be debatable--it's not reachable by train or public bus, and requires at least two legs of journey no matter how you slice it (we took the train and a cab there, a private bus and the DART home)--but the beauty was absolutely understated.
We were truly stunned, and yet we felt right at home, nestled between mountains (for you Albuquerque folks, =decently big hills) and a whole range of spruce, rowan, birch, and other trees. Glendalough is part of the giant Wicklow national park, and we feared that this portion of it would be too large to see in a day. Not so -- we took pretty much the whole thing in during one afternoon, and we dallied and lingered and soaked it all up much more leisurely than many folks. Jenny is the master of capturing the majesty and the nuance of places like this, so I'll leave the real descriptions to her and tackle the itinerary myself. (My comments are in italics, just like on our old beer blog. I've restricted my gushing descriptions to a poem at the end of the post.)
Since pictures are worth a thousand words, enjoy the slideshow before reading on:
Right behind the visitor's center is a cemetery and ancient monastic settlement. While none of the remaining structures are this old, monks first moved in during the 6th century! Still standing are several buildings without roofs (and varying amounts of walls), like the old cathedral, part of a monastery, and part of a house. Then there's the classic Irish tower. And the cemetery is who knows how old. Of the dozens (hundreds?) of legible headstones, several date as far back as the late 1700s, but then many standing rocks are so eroded as to be blank. And who knows how many people are buried among the others without markers?
History
Along the path, several little rivulets come trickling down the hill. One caused a noticeable, if small, waterfall, and we joked that maybe this was the waterfall we had heard so much about. (It wasn't.) We ate our picnic lunch by the second lake.
Here's video from the lake, showing just how tranquil it was:
Then we explored a truly surreal pine tree before climbing the hill next to the real waterfall.
Atop the hill, where two creeks join together before tumbling down to the lakes below, Jenny and I lingered among the moss, the trees, the pine cones, the clovers, and the constant rush of mountain water. We even crossed over by jumping on stones to get to the triangular dell in the middle of the fork!
The walk back was just as beautiful, and completely different, because the sun's new angle cast the whole landscape into a new dimension. When we got to the visitor's center, we decided to treat ourselves--so we visited the hotel next to the monastic site (ah, tourism) and had coffee with a "brownie" (=light chocolate cake) and mint chocolate chip ice cream on top!
Then we got to be kids. Like, completely and totally kids. In the adjacent grass field was a typical grass maze-looking thing (a snaking path in a circular pattern cut into the grass). We chased each other through it. We played tag. We played follow-the-leader. We spun around in circles until we made our heads hurt! That's when we remembered that our bodies are grown up, even if our spirits aren't always.
The sun was dipping behind the mountains by this time, though it wouldn't officially set for another hour or two. We boarded the bus, stayed cuddled up as we caught the train in Bray just in time, and disembarked in Dalkey instead of Sandycove. On purpose, mind you--we wanted to continue the day's adventure by walking home from the opposite side!
Collected Impressions of Glendalough
by the feral minds of Jenny and Zach
The deep fissures of the valley,
etched by the finger of some God,
as easily as a child might scrape tunnels through mud.
We looked across the flat, rippling belly of the lake
to where the mountains spread like thighs in the distance.
We find a tree standing not on a central trunk,
but on a pillar of dark, flowing tresses.
The branches dip
like the branches on a candelabras.
For the moment, we alight.
(Credit for the phrase and concept of "feral minds" belongs to V.B. Price)
Saturday, February 25, 2012
"Dub"le the Fun: Anniversary
This January, we celebrated out two year anniversary.
(Wait, save some ohhh's and awwwww's for the pictures.) (And possibly grab your favorite barf bucket.)
Yes, that's two years of a lot of love and laughter between
two writers who keep each other glued to the page. Literally! When I'm excited
about something I'm cooking up, I always run and show it to Zach. He inspires me.
He keeps me honest. My plot lines might be outlandish and my characters may be
flat, but he's the one who will tell me. And he'll even help me fix those
problem areas! And I'm sure Zach agrees that the critique-road runs both ways. (Yup, sure does!) Outside of writing, the chemistry between us boils down to the same elements.
Love, laughter, honesty, and inspiration!
Well, this year we thought there was no better way to reward
ourselves (for enduring all that love, laughter, honesty, and inspiration) than to go to a nice hotel. Get away from our mountains of school-work,
nagging daily word-counts, piled up emails, dusty dresser tops, and any other
chore/task/obligation competing for our attention.
And by nice, I mean Nice! We didn't break the bank, but we
invested a bit of time researching which hotel would offer the right mix of
luxury, room service, and square-footage in the bathroom.
Sigh. Let me unpack that a little. One of the things we take
for granted in the States is the size of our bathrooms, showers, and tubs. The
best analogy I can come up with is this: bathrooms in the States (usually) ::
Titanic and bathrooms in Europe (usually) :: S.S. Minnow. Suffice it to say,
you can't wash your hair without banging your elbows.
So we splurged a little on space. We booked a one-night stay
at Harrington Hall in Dublin. As you can see from the pictures, it is schnazzy!
We booked their only suite room, which meant it had an
upstairs and a downstairs! We got the room, gawked at the elegance, dropped off
our bags, played tag indoors (sshhh, don't tell our mothers), ran up and down
the stairs, flicked on and off ALL the switches, and then remembered we had
dinner plans! We strolled from our hotel to St. Stephen's Green, which is a
gorgeous park full of ambling by-ways, ponds, swans--in short everything romantic.
Then we made our way to the Temple Bar district and enjoyed the fanciest plate
of fish 'n' chips. To our surprise a band showed up and we got to enjoy
some live, traditional music.
Then it was back to the hotel where we pampered each other
with foot rubs, back rubs, and bedtime stories! Yes, bedtime stories. As
children who were regularly read to (thanks moms and dads), we continue the
tradition even as adults, and regularly take time out of our evenings to read
stories to each other. Sometimes our own work, sometimes our favorite childhood
books. (Just ask Zach to do his impression of Toad from Toad Hall in The Wind in the Willows.) (Poop poop, I say!)
And, then in the morning there was room service! This was a
big deal for us. Neither Zach nor I had ever ordered room service at a hotel
before. But we were soooo glad we splurged. We spread out the extra bathroom
towels on the floor of our living room and had a splendid picnic!
We lived it up like royalty and then had a mad-dash to get
packed up in time to check out. We journeyed home to Sandycove, and we knew
that even though it was a quick jaunt, we must have done something right
because we felt like we'd vacationed for a month! We were restored and
energized. We were ready to embark on yet another year of laughter, honesty,
inspiration, and oh yes, love!
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