When friends of ours said they were going to be in Dublin for a long weekend in July, we jumped at the excuse to visit one of our favourite cities. One quick train ride to Birmingham International and forty-minute Ryanair flight later, and there was much hugging and back-slapping all round -- shortly followed by "Good night!" Hey, none of us is gettin' any younger; it's all about pacin' yourself.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
In Kilmainham Jail
Since Cee hadn't been to Dublin before, we decided that a hop-on-and-off bus tour would be the first order of business the following morn. After a hearty breakfast at the hotel -- including soda bread and black pudding -- it was off to buy our tickets for the bus, and for the hurling and football matches on Saturday, something the original Jae had been assured was a must-see.
In the Victorian wing
Our first hop off was the 'Gaol'. Tea and I enjoyed some great tours on our first trip to Dublin, but I have to say, if you have time for just one while you're there, the Kilmainham Gaol tour can't be beat. The history presses down on you before the informative guide even gets started. In particular, as we walked out to the yard that includes the Invincibles' unmarked grave, we all agreed that its significance was made known to us -- be it through chills or a weight in the air -- before the guide even pointed out the plaque. That, and seeing Joseph Plunkett's cell (amongst those of the other planners of the Easter Rising), where he and Grace had that short span 'alone' as a married couple, and then seeing her cell in the much-filmed Victorian wing later on; it wasn't hard to imagine why she decided to devote herself to the cause.
After that, we stopped at the Patriots Inn for lunch before walking to the Storehouse for some Guinness swag -- no, you can never have too much. We hopped back on the bus at that point, getting off again near Grafton Street for more shopping. Well, the girls shopped. Cee bought a cigar, and then we went wandering, stumbling upon the James Toner Pub for a pint before meeting the girls back at the Porterhouse for, you guessed it, another pint (of their own porter in my case -- delish!).
Within minutes of greeting Jae the previous evening, she'd mentioned Montys, a Nepalese restaurant she'd heard about; that was on the docket for supper. Well, what a treat! From the opening recommendation -- dumplings! -- we were hooked. My lamb ledo bedo (traditional Nepali curry) was amazing, and the peshwari nan was ridiculous -- seriously, probably the best I've had to date, and I'd like to think that means something now, after a year of trying great curries.
We finished the night off with a few more pints and live music at O'Neill's.
Friday, July 16, 2010
We started with another good breakfast at the hotel before heading to the train station to take the DART to Howth. The Victorian row houses gave way to greenery and, finally, the beautiful Irish Sea and Ireland's Eye. The air was heavy with salt as we left the train, and while the sun was shining through the clouds, we'd packed for showers. We noted Beshoff Bros fish and chips shop immediately, knowing how good that would taste after our cliff walk.
The harbour, Dún Laoghaire in the distance
Walking up the trail, the cliffs falling off to our left, reminded me of childhood walks around Cape Spear, and our recent trip to Cornwall. The cries of the seagulls and the crash of the surf accompanied us as the showers began. They were more cooling than anything; we really couldn't have asked for a better day. As we neared the top, a spectacular view of the town of Dún Laoghaire (which sounds like 'Dun Leery', I believe), across the harbour, greeted us. It was then that we noticed the houses, and the pub. It was a bit disheartening, thinking we'd conquered some significant mount, only to discover a thriving community in our midst. We attempted to cover our embarrassment by busily talking amongst ourselves, but a local quickly picked us out, stopping his car and leaning out the driver-side window with a friendly smile, "Do you know where you are?"
When we pointed at what we thought was the way down, he replied, "No, that's the boring way. What you want is there," pointing to a gap in a low wall that was in a similar, yet entirely different, direction. He said the way was intuitive: that so long as we were heading down, we were heading true. He emphasized that, while it was simple, we wouldn't see "any big German signs pointing the way," which had us in stitches for most of the way down -- Cee in particular, given his heritage.
Down we went, past row houses painted such bright colours you'd swear we were in St. John's. At one point we passed some guys unloading kegs from a flat-bed truck; they had this great system where one guy'd get a keg to the edge of the flat-bed before letting its weight carry it to the pavement below, and this little pillow they'd set for that purpose. The keg would bounce off that, turning on its side in the process, where the next guy would ensure that its momentum carried it right through the pub's side doorway. It was like something out of Donkey Kong!
The fish and chips from Beshoff Bros hit the spot, just as we'd imagined. Sated, we decided to pop into the tourist information centre quickly before heading back to Dublin. On the way, we noticed a crowd by the dock and were surprised to find a group of sea lions frolicking for the masses. A few people bought some bags of fish heads at the nearby shops, and the sea lions just went wild for them. Perfect timing!
Once back in Dublin, we decided to take the Laus (pronounced 'louis') -- or really neat, futuristic tram, as we liked to think of it -- to Abbey Street for more shopping. We were a bit confused about where to catch it, and ended up waiting longer than it would've taken to walk the distance, but it was worth it: we couldn't very well leave the city without riding it, after raving about it for days. While Cee went with Jae to buy his sweetie a ring, Tea and I crashed for a bit in St. Stephen's Green.
At Salamanca
We planned to meet another friend, Aye, who was returning from Prague, at the Spire around 6 p.m., so we headed back to the hotel to freshen up beforehand. That done, Cee and I were just finishing up a pint in the lobby when Tea came running back in, telling the staff to call an ambulance. She'd just gone out with Jae a moment before, so both Cee and I thought something had happened to her. As it turned out, they'd been standing on the sidewalk for but a moment when a cyclist flipped over his handlebars and landed horribly on his unprotected head, out in the street right in front of them. Some others trained in first aid took over from Jae, telling the man not to move (once he regained consciousness), as the rest of us directed traffic around him and tried to avoid looking at the pool of blood spreading around his skull. The ambulance arrived very quickly -- within five to seven minutes -- allowing us to gratefully take our leave. He seemed to be O.K. by then; undoubtedly concussed, but moving under his own steam. Always wear a helmet, kids!
We met Aye shortly thereafter and made our way to the tapas restaurant we'd spied earlier, Salamanca. The place was packed, so we put our name on the list and went to a different Porterhouse close by. Aye was shocked when they told him they didn't have Guinness on tap -- 'til we explained it was a microbrewery. The hilarity continued when we were seated in Salamanca, however, because they didn't serve it either. As he said, we probably found the two places in Dublin that don't serve it (and it was all he'd dreamed about having since his flight had touched down). We got the story out of the waitress eventually -- apparently you have to buy Guinness in such large quantities, that it doesn't make sense if it won't appeal to most of your clientele -- and consoled ourselves with a few Murphy's (and sangria for the girls, a Paulaner for Cee).
At the Mercantile
With a few dishes a piece, it wasn't long before our large table was full of delicious morsels. Tapas has to be some of the most fun you can have at a meal, picking and choosing, and all on those small plates that slows you down before you're ridiculously full. Sated again, we set out to get Aye his pint of Guinness. The Mercantile, while not much to look at (under construction as the façade is), caught our ear, so to speak. More pints, laughs, and a bit of air guitar for good measure, followed, into the wee hours -- and Aye didn't miss his flight home the next day!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Match day!
It rained heavily all morning, which was just as well, 'cause Tea and I slept late. (Cee got soaked on his morning walk, though.) It started to clear up in the early afternoon, so we went to a pub for a late brunch before heading to Croke Park for the 3 p.m. hurling match. As we got closer, you could see the crowds converging, with plenty of supporters of the boys in blue: Dublin.
Hurling match at Croke Park
I had this big ole grin plastered across my face five minutes after finding our seats: there was this fantastic cacophony and barely concealed tension in the air. Both these matches, back-to-back, were play-offs: this was the GAA Hurling All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal was between Dublin and Antrim, to be immediately followed by the GAA Football All-Ireland Senior Championship Quarterfinal between Dublin and Armagh; as we found out later, the latter was a real grudge match: the last time Dublin and Armagh met in the play-offs was five years earlier, with Armagh clinching the victory.
Fans pile in for the football match
We still found so many opportunities to laugh, though, like when the five-year-old behind us squeaked, "Take their heads off!" Another time, as I was just about in the lou, this giant of a man grabbed me by both shoulders, and, staring down most earnestly, said, "Is there anything blue on my face?"
As if the question weren't strange enough, his heavy accent really threw me. "Anything blue?" I said.
"Yeah!"
"U'm, no." (I decided to ignore all the little bits of paper towel all over his face; the guy had obviously been scrubbin' somethin' fierce in there.)
"Ah, bless you!" he said, taking off for the stands.
I saw him again later as the last match was letting out, and noted that he was sporting no colours while being harassed by a crowd of his friends, all dressed in blue. Cee had speculated earlier that supporters of the boys in blue had painted a rival fan -- against his will, shall we say -- and this gave weight to the argument.
I'll close out this section with a video clip from the football match. Just after it ends -- with Dublin winning, as should be obvious -- the guy in the middle of the frame turned to us and said, "We've waited five years for that!" Awesome!
At Chameleon
For our last supper in Dublin, we decided to try an Indonesian restaurant called Chameleon. Our good fortune continued as the host said that we'd have to sit on cushions and be on our way by 9 p.m. (still two hours away). We heartily agreed and were soon reclining in our cushions like so many sultans. Another fantastic meal followed, and we were asking for the bill with mere moments to spare. (And then had to walk through a significant line of waiting diners!)
The raucous Temple Bar then greeted us, in full swing by this time, and we set a meandering course. A few streets later our way was blocked by a crowd. Peering over heads, standing on tiptoe, we picked out the band and stopped to listen. Folks of inner circle were dancing as that song finished, and then a haunting tune was struck up. We were mesmerised by the crescendo, swaying, and then clapping, faster and faster, when suddenly this "Wop! Wop!" of a police siren pierced the bubble. Against the odds, they'd decided that this was their best bet of getting through Temple Bar to whatever crime was in progress. I took a hasty video of it, and, as you'll see, they did make it.
And that, other than momentarily losing the girls as we walked along the Liffey, thanks to a series of well-built gentlemen deciding that ironing in the buff in their well-lit apartments was the best way to spend a Saturday evening, was our trip to Dublin, done and dusted.
On a bit of a whim, we took last Thursday and Friday off and went to Dublin. It's something we're thinking about doing more regularly, this extended long weekend away; it's enough time to see a lot without eating up all our leave. The traveling was some of our easiest to date: a quick train ride to Birmingham, a short tram to Birmingham airport and a Ryanair flight right to Dublin. It's worlds away from the travel days we used to dread back home; we got back on Sunday afternoon, still in high spirits, and watched that fantastic nail-biter of a hockey game to boot.
In the Gravity Bar
We stayed at the Brooks Hotel in Dublin. It's about twenty minutes from the airport, close to everything, with a great atmosphere. The staff were really friendly and the room had all the little extras you forget you love: turn-down service with chocolates, an antique radio playing local music as we entered (once the key was inserted in the wall switch -- I really like that idea), free newspapers, etc. And the breakfast, while extra at our rate, was well worth the price: traditional Irish breads, lots of spreads, cheese, fruit, and you could get a hot breakfast too; I went for the porridge with brown sugar and Irish whiskey a few mornings in a row. Yum! Speaking of whiskey, the bar has been recognized for its excellent selection, and included a daily recommended selection in the newsletter that was left as part of the turn-down service (just like a cruise, we both remarked).
In Dublin Castle
We spent most of the first day getting our bearings: we picked up the Dublin passes Tea had ordered for us on-line -- well worth it, incidentally, as most of the tours I'll mention here are free with it -- at the tourist information centre and then got on one of those hop-on-and-off bus tours; happily, it wasn't one of those audio ones, as both guys we had throughout the day had us in stitches. I really did feel like I was back in Newfoundland for a lot of the trip, and no more so than when a cabbie or tour guide was in the middle of a great story.
Along the Liffey
We finished that day off with a tour of the Guinness Storehouse. I'd recommend that tour to anyone; it's so well done, with whole floors dedicated to the John Gilroy ads, for example. And, of course, there's the tasting room, and the free pint at the Gravity Bar up top. They say that pint has been brewed no more than five days ago, and you really can taste the difference. Even Tea loved it! The restaurant is amazing too, by the way; we both had the beef and Guinness stew, which was absolutely delicious. We decided to walk back to the hotel along the river Liffey, which runs through the city; it really is a beautiful stretch of the place.
Tasting at the Old Jameson distillery
We slept in a bit on Friday and headed to the old Jameson distillery for a tour later in the morning. I actually enjoyed this one a bit more than the Guinness one. The replicas of the equipment used when it was a working distillery, the amazing bar, and the multilingual tour guides -- one of the other tours that was in the bar with us at the end was a French group, and the guide's accent was perfect! -- combined to edge out the Guinness one, for me. Thanks to Tea, I knew to put my hand up right away when the call for tasting volunteers went out. They sit you in front of a measure of Johnnie Walker Black Label, one of J. D., and one of Jameson and ask you to pick your favourite. Believe it or not, I'd never had J. D. before that moment, and found the woody, flowery notes in it to be... really odd, to be honest; I can see why some people don't drink it straight. Anyway, you get a certificate with your name on it afterwards, and it's just a lot of fun; I was up there with men and women from Sweden, France, Norway, the U.K. and Spain; those moments remind you just how different these vacations are -- when's the last time you weren't surrounded by Americans on vacation?
The food emporium
After that, we tracked down the food emporium that Tea had read about: well, they had all sorts of tasty cuisine there, but we couldn't get the fish and chips that we'd smelled as we came in out of our heads. It was so good! And the coffee shop there is excellent too -- can't comment on whether it's the best in Dublin, though. (A claim we'd read during our research.) Then it was off to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells. This was a highlight for Tea for a number of reasons, including the academic tour group that we tagged along with through the main exhibition and the breath-taking Long Room; it was truly humbling, being in the presence of those books, and all that human history.
In St. Patrick's Cathedral
Saturday morning was spent on a couple of tours: first up was St. Patrick's Cathedral, a truly awesome sight, inside and out. Jonathan Swift was a Dean there, so amongst the many exhibits is a bust of him. Then we went on a fantastic tour of Dublin Castle; our guide was very well informed and entertaining -- something you often fail to appreciate 'til you've had a mediocre or poor one. The many viceroys throughout the colony's history, including Thomas de Grey, Second Earl de Grey, brought to mind the similarities in our two countries' pasts (even though the De Greys were no relation to the Earls Grey, including our Albert Grey).
It was down to the Temple Bar area after that, which we'd walked through before, but hadn't spent any time in. There was great live music, even in the middle of the afternoon, so we enjoyed a few pints over some cribbage. Then we finished up the trip at an excellent Thai restaurant, of all places, later that evening.
Our afternoon flight allowed us a nice, leisurely morning; we made it to Bristol with plenty of time to spare, even considering the long check-in line for Ryanair. What Bristol International Airport lacks in size, it makes up for in foot and air traffic; that little airport was simply hoppin' when we went through, and it was all the more chaotic with severe weather conditions closing airports in Northern England and the Netherlands. We were happy that our flight was only delayed an hour and a bit, and that they actually announced it early on (as opposed to the fifteen-minute intervals we were used to with Air Canada).
Thanks to careful packing, our checked luggage was under 15 kilograms and our two carry-ons were under 10 kg each, thereby avoiding a number of Ryanair's many surcharges. Once we boarded the plane, it was easy to see why they have to limit the size of carry-on luggage: it was as cramped as I've ever seen a plane – they don't even have pouches on the backs of their seats, 'cause there'd be no room for your knees! – and, with the free-for-all seating (198 seats!), it was even more chaotic than the terminal. At one point, Tea and I were thinking about offering our seats to a family of four, as the youngest son was terribly upset that he couldn't sit near his mom, who was across the aisle from us; however, eventually they sat him across the aisle from his older brother, which he seemed quite happy with.
I mean, don't get me wrong: the flight was fine; it's just that I'm not a big fan of air travel to begin with. And the prices really are worthy of all the talk they generate, particularly if you can take advantage of their deals. One final point: what's with the colour scheme, Ryanair? Honest to goodness, I felt like I was on an enormous life-raft for the entire flight; a sensation that's no doubt enhanced by the emergency information that's printed on the back of the seat rest, which, thanks to the cramped quarters, always takes up a large portion of your field of vision at any time. That said, it was a smooth flight, and we even managed to make up some time in the air.
Aside: O.K., I lied; one additional point: smokeless cigarettes. The image of a smiling stewardess walking down the aisle, asking, “Cigarettes?” as she offers the tray of glossy packs in her hands was one that I thought was relegated to the movies of my parents' day. I gather they contain some nicotine, but I can't imagine it's very satisfying; first of all, how do you know when you're done? And while I'm on the subject, the catalogue in Ryanair's magazine includes a USB-charged, smokeless cigarette. Have you seen this thing? Apparently, while the charge lasts, it produces a 'harmless' vapour – that allows you to blow authentic smoke rings, the ad highlights – that simulates the real experience; can't remember if they contain any nicotine. The charger was the best bit: it looked like a cigarette holder for your computer, and, hey, those jokes just write themselves.
The car rental went smoothly as well, considering we booked it the night before and required an automatic. (It's bigger than we would've liked – an Opel Astra – and semi-automatic, which means it drives much heavier than we're used to, but I think that, second only to our fantastic apartment, it, and the freedom it gives us, will really make this vacation.) It was well after dark by the time we got on the road, but since we took the A-7 all the way from Málaga to San Luis de Sabinillas, Tea had no problem with the drive. (They also drive on the right in Spain, which no doubt helped.)
The final leg of our journey, however, was anything but smooth. We found our way through Sabinillas with little difficulty, but quickly realized that we'd failed to grasp the extent of the construction going on around our apartment complex, Arenal Duquesa: nobody, and I mean no one, was about, and most of the windows were dark; metal fences abounded; and there was little street lighting. Combined with the heavy rain, it was very eerie, to be honest. Worse still, there were many blocks of identical complexes, all gated, with no signs and few numbers to speak of. We really had no idea which complex was ours, and eventually decided to try our electronic fob on a random gate.
While I got a green light from the panel, the gate remained locked. Having driven around aimlessly for some time at that point, we decided to park the car on the road and see about exploring on foot. The pedestrian entrance associated with that gate didn't seem to work, but we found one further down the road that seemed to have a working keypad that accepted the code we were given. I should really pause here and note that it didn't look like more than five to ten percent of the apartments were occupied yet; the whole area felt like it was months from being ready for occupancy, to be honest, but we pressed on, in bull-headed fashion, really (upon reflection).
Since we'd been given directions to the apartment from the parking garage – it had been assumed that we'd find the appropriate gate and drive in – we went in search of the garage associated with the gate we'd just entered. The inner vehicle gate was down and locked, but the door off to one side was open, so in we went. The first thing that struck me was the lack of cars – none, to be precise – quickly followed by the few lights. As we explored, looking for the appropriate parking spot number, we passed all sorts of construction equipment, our footsteps echoing in the distance. We were out of sight of the door when we heard an enormous bang; it sounded like the wind might've caught it, but those few moments of doubt, surrounded by all those dark doorways (that would lead to the elevators at some point, but were just yawning empty then), had our hearts racing.
As we headed back to the first gate we'd tried – now inside the series of walled, attached complexes – we noted that the keypad on the pedestrian entrance was emitting a piercing alarm – and had been for some time, we realized – and the associated vehicle gate was now open to the street! Had we failed to wait long enough earlier? We had no idea, and were even more spooked to be standing around listening to this alarm that no one was paying attention to. Either way, we knew that even if this did turn out to be the right parking garage, this inner vehicle gate was still locked, and, unlike the other garage, we couldn't find another way in to explore.
Eventually, after we'd been wandering blindly in the rain for a good forty minutes, we spotted a man leaving his apartment to walk his dog. Luckily he had an excellent ear for English – and was even able to say a few words – such that we could confirm that we were in the right general area. However, the letters and numbers on our keyring were as foreign to him as they were to us (still are, in fact; they seem to bear no resemblance to the few numbers on the outside of the building).
We were a few minutes away from calling the owner of the apartment when we stumbled upon a vehicle gate leading to two separate parking garages. Like something out of an Indiana Jones or Mummy movie, Tea and I looked at each other and said, simultaneously, “A gate leading to two parkades!” – honestly, it's like our page of written instructions had become an ancient map to a long-buried treasure, and now, almost upon it, we were able to decipher the previously-cryptic direction markers. In all the confusion, we'd forgotten this key piece of information; all the outer vehicle gates to this point had led to one parking garage.
When we tried the fob on the outer gate, we got a green light again, but it also began to open. We ran down the ramp, sensing that we might soon be warm and dry, and quickly found our parking spot. From there we were able to locate the elevator, fumbling for the keyhole in the dark, thanks to poor lighting again, and finally, to the apartment itself.
There were other difficulties – the heating took a long time to kick in, which meant that the marble floors were unbearably cold, and, now getting on for 11 p.m., we couldn't get any groceries – but the worst was behind us. We couldn't help but laugh and shake our heads as we snacked on what food Tea had squirreled away in her carry-on throughout the day; as the kind gentleman who'd helped us said, we really set ourselves up for quite the first evening in Spain.
