Friday: Dublin
We woke ridiculously early, around 4 AM-thank you, jetlag-to the raucous sound of seagulls mobbing above the rooftops. When we went to bed, we had left the windows open for the air, and the curtains open mainly because we were so tired after our epic journey that it didn’t occur to us to close them. What this means is that we were assaulted by first light (that’s honestly how it felt) and awake as a result of not just the light, but the seagulls and jetlag. We are about six blocks from the banks of the River Liffey, and gulls are ubiquitous. We think that between the water and all the restaurants in the area, the birds have their pickings of what to eat. Every gull we’ve seen is large and fat and sassy. They are gulls; hear them squawk (and squawk and squawk)!
Since our hotel reservations included breakfast, we started the day with the buffet at the hotel. The dining space is actually a series of rooms on at least three levels connected by staircases. The rooms are relatively small, with architectural details that suggest an earlier, more elegant time, with glass chandeliers mounted from medallions in the ceilings, detailed molding along the corners, and subtle, patterned wallpaper on the walls.
Once we were done, we packed our day bags and headed out. We had one day to get a taste of Dublin, as thorough a taste as possible in a limited amount of time.
Trinity College and the Book of Kells
Our first priority was to go to Trinity College, to tour the campus and see the Book of Kells. From our hotel, we walked along O’Connell Street, a broad, busy thoroughfare separated down the middle by islands dotted with statuary here and there, as well as a tall silver spire pointing toward the sky, ending in a sharp point like a needle. Elizabeth observed that she was waiting for someone to spike a gigantic receipt onto it from the sky above. I may never get that rather terrifying image out of my head.
We stopped to pick up postcards, some gifts and stamps on the way, as well as unscented soap and sundries, and then crossed the River Liffey. There’s a lot of construction going on all around where we walked; the city is extending its light rail system, so few pictures will be without construction detritus of some kind.
The Trinity College campus is a quiet haven amidst the rush and bustle of the city. You go through a black, wrought iron gate and enter a beautiful symmetrical academic square with lovely, Georgian buildings all around, carefully trimmed grass, and a blocky but still graceful bell tower in the middle. Several yards inside the entrance, we bought tickets for a campus tour and entry to the Book of Kells exhibit.
Our tour guide, Geoff, turned out to be a dark-haired, dark-eyed PhD candidate good looking enough to be a model, with a sense of humor and enough personal charisma to make for an excellent guide and storyteller. He shared the history of the campus and a little bit about himself, including the subject of his dissertation: Jewish communities in the Greco/Roman period. (Elizabeth: “I would read the shit out of that!”)
After a half-hour’s tour in his congenial company, we joined the line to see the Book of Kells exhibit. Because we’d gotten there early, the wait wasn’t long at all. The exhibit, an excellent, museum-worthy gallery, explains the context and history of illuminated manuscripts, and their purpose and production. It offers some detail about other notable illuminated books in the college’s collection, and ends with a room devoted to the book itself. Rebound in the 1950s, the Book of Kells is split into the four Gospels. Two are on display at any one time, which means that visitors can see four pages-and only four. This 1,000-year-old book is not for the grubby hands of visitors if it is going to continue to survive the ages. It is stored beneath bullet-proof glass and, at night, is lowered into a locked, climate-controlled vault for its protection. Getting to see it up close is the only way to appreciate the delicacy of line and the condition of the pages. It looked to me as though some of the lines in the art were made with brushes that had three or fewer bristles, so fine and thin were they.
The exhibit then funnels visitors up into the Trinity Library Long Room, 223 feet of three tiers of bookshelves. I walked in and had to stop for a minute. For a booklover, the room is, literally, breathtaking. With its dark wood paneling, its lines of busts down each side and its arched ceiling, it is a temple to knowledge, a chapel to the written word. You can’t help but just stand there in awe and take in the vast stretches of bookshelves. You could wander forever looking at the books and poking into one here or there and never get tired or bored. The library is home to a copy of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, and Brian Boru’s harp, symbol of Ireland, but not ever having belonged to the last High King.
One we were done feasting our souls upon this place, it was time for lunch.
I need to end my post here, because I must rise, wash up, and get ready to hit the road. This was only half the day; I have more to share. There will be more, as I’m able.
Since our hotel reservations included breakfast, we started the day with the buffet at the hotel. The dining space is actually a series of rooms on at least three levels connected by staircases. The rooms are relatively small, with architectural details that suggest an earlier, more elegant time, with glass chandeliers mounted from medallions in the ceilings, detailed molding along the corners, and subtle, patterned wallpaper on the walls.
Once we were done, we packed our day bags and headed out. We had one day to get a taste of Dublin, as thorough a taste as possible in a limited amount of time.
Trinity College and the Book of Kells
Our first priority was to go to Trinity College, to tour the campus and see the Book of Kells. From our hotel, we walked along O’Connell Street, a broad, busy thoroughfare separated down the middle by islands dotted with statuary here and there, as well as a tall silver spire pointing toward the sky, ending in a sharp point like a needle. Elizabeth observed that she was waiting for someone to spike a gigantic receipt onto it from the sky above. I may never get that rather terrifying image out of my head.
We stopped to pick up postcards, some gifts and stamps on the way, as well as unscented soap and sundries, and then crossed the River Liffey. There’s a lot of construction going on all around where we walked; the city is extending its light rail system, so few pictures will be without construction detritus of some kind.
The Trinity College campus is a quiet haven amidst the rush and bustle of the city. You go through a black, wrought iron gate and enter a beautiful symmetrical academic square with lovely, Georgian buildings all around, carefully trimmed grass, and a blocky but still graceful bell tower in the middle. Several yards inside the entrance, we bought tickets for a campus tour and entry to the Book of Kells exhibit.
Our tour guide, Geoff, turned out to be a dark-haired, dark-eyed PhD candidate good looking enough to be a model, with a sense of humor and enough personal charisma to make for an excellent guide and storyteller. He shared the history of the campus and a little bit about himself, including the subject of his dissertation: Jewish communities in the Greco/Roman period. (Elizabeth: “I would read the shit out of that!”)
After a half-hour’s tour in his congenial company, we joined the line to see the Book of Kells exhibit. Because we’d gotten there early, the wait wasn’t long at all. The exhibit, an excellent, museum-worthy gallery, explains the context and history of illuminated manuscripts, and their purpose and production. It offers some detail about other notable illuminated books in the college’s collection, and ends with a room devoted to the book itself. Rebound in the 1950s, the Book of Kells is split into the four Gospels. Two are on display at any one time, which means that visitors can see four pages-and only four. This 1,000-year-old book is not for the grubby hands of visitors if it is going to continue to survive the ages. It is stored beneath bullet-proof glass and, at night, is lowered into a locked, climate-controlled vault for its protection. Getting to see it up close is the only way to appreciate the delicacy of line and the condition of the pages. It looked to me as though some of the lines in the art were made with brushes that had three or fewer bristles, so fine and thin were they.
The exhibit then funnels visitors up into the Trinity Library Long Room, 223 feet of three tiers of bookshelves. I walked in and had to stop for a minute. For a booklover, the room is, literally, breathtaking. With its dark wood paneling, its lines of busts down each side and its arched ceiling, it is a temple to knowledge, a chapel to the written word. You can’t help but just stand there in awe and take in the vast stretches of bookshelves. You could wander forever looking at the books and poking into one here or there and never get tired or bored. The library is home to a copy of the Proclamation of the Irish Republic, and Brian Boru’s harp, symbol of Ireland, but not ever having belonged to the last High King.
One we were done feasting our souls upon this place, it was time for lunch.
I need to end my post here, because I must rise, wash up, and get ready to hit the road. This was only half the day; I have more to share. There will be more, as I’m able.