Dublin
I came to Dublin because Ireland is the only country of my ancestry that I had never been to before. French, German, Russian, Irish, and whatever else slipped into the nether branches of the family tree. The Irish side of the family is the side I know the least about - I don't know why they left Ireland, though I can imagine. I don't even know where in Ireland they came from, or in what years they slipped away from the Irish shores and headed across the North Atlantic toward America. But Dublin is a good place to start, so here I have come.
And also, because Ryanair had dirt cheap flights to Ireland on the particular dates that coincided with reading week at school.
Which is probably how it ended up that, after a long train ride from King's Cross to Gatwick airport, I was walking toward the security gates when I heard a vaguely familiar voice call my name. I turned around and it was a gal from my health policy class, who is not in my track but shares a seminar session with many of us CID people. She was there with a friend from back home in Canada, and they were headed for the same place I was headed, albeit on a more circuitous route - they had missed their flight that morning and were on mine because that was the next to take off. They had some time issue getting from King's Cross to Victoria and then onto the Thameslink train to Gatwick; I almost didn't tell them but eventually gave in and mentioned that actually, there was a Thameslink train right at King's Cross - which probably would have saved them the missed flight if they had known about it.
In any case, we chatted for a while then got separated when we were just about the last to board the flight. I didn't get a window seat, which I would have liked for the view of the sea and of Ireland approaching on the horizon. Instead I napped for a good while, and woke up in time for one of those landings that reminds you that humans were probably not meant to fly - the plane touched down, torqued to one side, then correctly violently to the other, then mercifully straightened out as we slowed on the runway.
I met back up with the gal from my class and her friend, though I was starting to realize that I could not, for the life of me, remember her name. I racked my brain, but I was too embarassed to ask, because I see her all the time and have even gone out for drinks with her and some others from various tracks before. I knew she knew my name, so there was no easy way out of that mess. We started to head for the bus stop into town, but they had had some trouble getting last-minute hostel reservations and decided to stop off and the information desk to try to get some kind of reservation for Friday night, without which - they joked - they'd be sleeping on a park bench. We decided to split up, as I was anxious to get into town, though we made tentative loose plans to maybe meet up the following evening.
I caught the slow bus to the center of town, though I had little sense of direction or where I was going. I got off when I recognized the street name O'Connel, though I didn't know if I was near or far from the part of that particular street that my hostel was located at. After some wandering in several different directions, I found the side alley where the Litton Lane hostel sits, not half a block off the river Liffey that separates north from south Dublin. I checked in, and was grateful to have a reservation through my departure date, as the two guys ahead of me had failed to make reservations - though they were set for that night, they were to be thrown out Friday due to a full house. Rumor has it that some major sporting event is taking place this weekend, though I don't know what that might be, and for that reason everything in town is full despite the rainy off-season weather.
I dropped my gear and headed back out, mostly looking for something to eat in the gathering dark. I walked all over the north edge of town, encountering an expensive but slightly seedy shopping district that didn't really offer up anything appealing. I finally stumbled on an area the guy at the hostel desk had suggested, a small food court on a side street near the Ha'penny bridge. Though there were several more local-ish looking eateries inside there, I decided to try Mexican food, because I miss it and have been craving it for weeks. Bad idea. Despite all declarations to the contrary, there was nothing authentic about it, or even remotely tasty. But it was filling enough, and I set out again, figuring that I'd find another place to sit and get something desert-y to make up for the mediocre meal.
I crossed the river into the Temple Bar area. If I am looking for my roots in Dublin, Temple Bar would certainly be the least likely place to find them. Partly because the Temple Bar area only became a noteworthy neighborhood in the last 10-15 years, and partly because whatever drove my ancestors out of Ireland, it was not ready ability to afford overpriced espresso shops. This is the kind of district that every gentrified city has - expensive eateries, trendy shops, this could be downtown Palo Alto - except that in Europe, these always seem to be located in ancient neighborhoods of narrow cobblestone ways and buildings that predate the founding of my home country. That alone gives these sorts of neighborhoods an air of authenticity that makes them tolerable even amidst the invasion of Hard Rock Cafes and Starbucks.
I walked quite a ways, but eventually found a small cafe and got hot chocolate (delicious in the near-freezing weather) and a big chocolate muffin. Note to self: no matter how good an idea it sounds like, if you haven't had sweets in months, there is no way that 800 calories of chocolate in a single sitting is going to set well. No way. It was good at the time, but I'd forgotten how much my diet has changed since I've arrived in Europe, and how much I'm not used to refined sugary stuff, and how it really doesn't taste all that good unless you're feeding a minor addiction. But the crowded cafe ambience was nice - as was the warmth - and so I sat for a while before heading back to Litton Lane. At the hostel left my things upstairs then went down to read for a while in the lounge. This hostel has a little more of a cleanliness problem than the one I stayed at in Paris, as well as the fact that the room I'm in has ten beds, stacked in bunks in all corners. In other words, there isn't much place (or reason) to hang out in the room, and anyway, the lounge downstairs is comfortable and friendly. Though I have to say, for a packed room of ten people, it was a remarkably quiet place to sleep - I always bring earplugs on excursions like this, but even that wouldn't cut through the noise of roommates who really wanted to make a racket. And sleep I did, especially after realizing that even with my arrival in the late afternoon, I had managed to squeeze a good two or three hours' walk into the evening.
And also, because Ryanair had dirt cheap flights to Ireland on the particular dates that coincided with reading week at school.
Which is probably how it ended up that, after a long train ride from King's Cross to Gatwick airport, I was walking toward the security gates when I heard a vaguely familiar voice call my name. I turned around and it was a gal from my health policy class, who is not in my track but shares a seminar session with many of us CID people. She was there with a friend from back home in Canada, and they were headed for the same place I was headed, albeit on a more circuitous route - they had missed their flight that morning and were on mine because that was the next to take off. They had some time issue getting from King's Cross to Victoria and then onto the Thameslink train to Gatwick; I almost didn't tell them but eventually gave in and mentioned that actually, there was a Thameslink train right at King's Cross - which probably would have saved them the missed flight if they had known about it.
In any case, we chatted for a while then got separated when we were just about the last to board the flight. I didn't get a window seat, which I would have liked for the view of the sea and of Ireland approaching on the horizon. Instead I napped for a good while, and woke up in time for one of those landings that reminds you that humans were probably not meant to fly - the plane touched down, torqued to one side, then correctly violently to the other, then mercifully straightened out as we slowed on the runway.
I met back up with the gal from my class and her friend, though I was starting to realize that I could not, for the life of me, remember her name. I racked my brain, but I was too embarassed to ask, because I see her all the time and have even gone out for drinks with her and some others from various tracks before. I knew she knew my name, so there was no easy way out of that mess. We started to head for the bus stop into town, but they had had some trouble getting last-minute hostel reservations and decided to stop off and the information desk to try to get some kind of reservation for Friday night, without which - they joked - they'd be sleeping on a park bench. We decided to split up, as I was anxious to get into town, though we made tentative loose plans to maybe meet up the following evening.
I caught the slow bus to the center of town, though I had little sense of direction or where I was going. I got off when I recognized the street name O'Connel, though I didn't know if I was near or far from the part of that particular street that my hostel was located at. After some wandering in several different directions, I found the side alley where the Litton Lane hostel sits, not half a block off the river Liffey that separates north from south Dublin. I checked in, and was grateful to have a reservation through my departure date, as the two guys ahead of me had failed to make reservations - though they were set for that night, they were to be thrown out Friday due to a full house. Rumor has it that some major sporting event is taking place this weekend, though I don't know what that might be, and for that reason everything in town is full despite the rainy off-season weather.
I dropped my gear and headed back out, mostly looking for something to eat in the gathering dark. I walked all over the north edge of town, encountering an expensive but slightly seedy shopping district that didn't really offer up anything appealing. I finally stumbled on an area the guy at the hostel desk had suggested, a small food court on a side street near the Ha'penny bridge. Though there were several more local-ish looking eateries inside there, I decided to try Mexican food, because I miss it and have been craving it for weeks. Bad idea. Despite all declarations to the contrary, there was nothing authentic about it, or even remotely tasty. But it was filling enough, and I set out again, figuring that I'd find another place to sit and get something desert-y to make up for the mediocre meal.
I crossed the river into the Temple Bar area. If I am looking for my roots in Dublin, Temple Bar would certainly be the least likely place to find them. Partly because the Temple Bar area only became a noteworthy neighborhood in the last 10-15 years, and partly because whatever drove my ancestors out of Ireland, it was not ready ability to afford overpriced espresso shops. This is the kind of district that every gentrified city has - expensive eateries, trendy shops, this could be downtown Palo Alto - except that in Europe, these always seem to be located in ancient neighborhoods of narrow cobblestone ways and buildings that predate the founding of my home country. That alone gives these sorts of neighborhoods an air of authenticity that makes them tolerable even amidst the invasion of Hard Rock Cafes and Starbucks.
I walked quite a ways, but eventually found a small cafe and got hot chocolate (delicious in the near-freezing weather) and a big chocolate muffin. Note to self: no matter how good an idea it sounds like, if you haven't had sweets in months, there is no way that 800 calories of chocolate in a single sitting is going to set well. No way. It was good at the time, but I'd forgotten how much my diet has changed since I've arrived in Europe, and how much I'm not used to refined sugary stuff, and how it really doesn't taste all that good unless you're feeding a minor addiction. But the crowded cafe ambience was nice - as was the warmth - and so I sat for a while before heading back to Litton Lane. At the hostel left my things upstairs then went down to read for a while in the lounge. This hostel has a little more of a cleanliness problem than the one I stayed at in Paris, as well as the fact that the room I'm in has ten beds, stacked in bunks in all corners. In other words, there isn't much place (or reason) to hang out in the room, and anyway, the lounge downstairs is comfortable and friendly. Though I have to say, for a packed room of ten people, it was a remarkably quiet place to sleep - I always bring earplugs on excursions like this, but even that wouldn't cut through the noise of roommates who really wanted to make a racket. And sleep I did, especially after realizing that even with my arrival in the late afternoon, I had managed to squeeze a good two or three hours' walk into the evening.
posted by skylanda at 9:01 PM
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