On Saturday I arrived in the other land of my people: Ireland. I’m Irish on both sides — Norman invaders on my dad’s side (O’Bhál) and Celtic clansmen on my mom’s side (O’Treasaigh). According to the guy who made my coffee this morning, it doesn’t count unless I was actually born here, but that’s water under the Ha’penny Bridge.
I started out my first day of sightseeing with the Guinness Storehouse tour, and I feel like I need to accompany that statement with a strong reassurance that I am not an alcoholic. It just so happens that the Guinness Storehouse is the only thing open in Dublin on a Sunday morning, and since I really don’t drink anyway, it seemed as good a plan as any. I actually really enjoyed learning about how Guinness is made. I really had no idea what beer is or how it’s made other than the fact that there’s grains and yeast involved, so I thought the tour was really cool. I did the Tasting Experience, which was a little bizarre. It involved walking down a long, dark tunnel that opened up into a bright white room with four pillars giving off thick white mist called the Flavor Fountains. Each mist pillar had the scent of a different flavor element of Guinness — roasted barley, hops, yeast, and malt. We were then each handed a teeny tiny miniature pint of Guinness and taken into a space called the Velvet Room, lined with gilded black wood panels and portraits of Arthur Guinness. We were instructed on proper breathing and tasting technique, then finally told to have a drink of the teeny tiny Guinness. When the guide asked if I could distinguish the four rich flavors, I nodded sagely, but I was really just thinking, “Why did I do this? I hate beer!” I also learned how to pour the perfect pint. It’s rather complicated, actually. There’s a lot of timing and angling of the glass involved. Apparently I did a good job because none of the beer ended up on the floor, and I pawned off my pint on some tipsy Russian ladies before sitting down for a chat with some fellow Madisonians I happened to run into.
After the Guinness Storehouse, I did some exploring. I ended up at Dublin Castle, which is not actually a castle. It was a castle at one point, and was known as “the worst castle in Christendom” before it burned down under mysterious circumstances and was replaced with a small palace. Today it is a museum, concert venue, art gallery, and government building. Bedford Tower, part of the governmental complex, once held Ireland’s crown jewels before they were stolen in 1907. The thief was never caught and the jewels were never found. The palace at Dublin castle was the residence of the British Viceroy and as such was a symbol of British oppression before Ireland gained its independence in 1922. The most telling symbol of inequality was a statue of Lady Justice beside the Bedford Tower, who, unlike most sculptures of Lady Justice, was not blindfolded and held scales that were moveable and could become imbalanced. She also inexplicably faced in toward the building instead of out toward the street, and over time garnered the following delightfully offensive rhyme: “Lady Justice, mark her station — her face to the castle, her arse to the nation.”
The second day was one I had really been looking forward to: a nice, relaxing bus tour out to Cork and Blarney. My dad’s side of the family is from Cork, and I guess we still have some distant cousins out there. I went with Paddywagon Tours, which is a company I strongly recommend. My guide Freddie was hilarious. He had a stuffed potato called Paddy who told jokes and even had arguments with the Freddie, who referred to the mustachioed plush potato as a “feckin’ eejit”. We drove down to Cobh first, the last port of call for the Titanic, and then headed off to Cork. Cork was more or less a quick lunch stop, which was disappointing since I wanted to explore the land of my people, but I did get to do plenty of fun people-watching and visit the English Market, which actually reminded me a lot of the Triana Market in Sevilla. After that came the main stop, Blarney Castle. It is by far my favorite place I have ever been. I struggled through a brief hailstorm across the castle grounds and by the time I actually got to the base of the castle, it was brilliantly sunny again. I find Irish weather super confusing.
Anyways, I climbed up to the top of the battlements, and when I say “climbed” I really mean it. The castle is only half standing, and the only way to the top is a steep spiral staircase that meanders through a variety of small rooms and tunnels. At the top, I did the thing everybody goes to Blarney to do — I kissed the Blarney Stone. I had to lie down and lean my upper body out over open air nearly a hundred feet off the ground before planting a kiss on Ireland’s most hygienic rock and, according to tradition, receiving “the gift of the gab” for seven years — the ability to talk my way in and out of anything. That ought to come in handy in law school.
Blarney also has a lot to offer besides the stone. It has really beautiful gardens, including one filled entirely with poisonous plants, one dedicated to Druidic ritual and Irish legends, and my personal favorite, the Fern Garden, which is tucked away in a little glen and has a lovely waterfall. Blarney really made me understand why Ireland is called the Emerald Island. It’s not just that it’s green — it’s that it’s nothing but green. At home, farmlands include fields of different crops in different colors and various shades of wildflowers, but in Ireland, literally every plant is bright green. I think it’s absolutely beautiful.
My second bus tour couldn’t quite live up to the first, but it was delightful nonetheless. I went to the Cliffs of Moher via Galway, and I must say, the windswept western coast of Ireland is certainly a sight to see. The massive Galway Bay is guarded by the Aran Islands, the westernmost point in Europe and the only landmass between me and home. The Aran Islands also produce the most delightful sweaters. They are famous for their unique knitting patterns, which change depending on the clan to which the wearer belongs. I was promised the sight of “zillions of sheep” and west coast delivered. I even spotted three rainbows — and I’m sure that if I could just find the end, I’d never have to take out a loan to go to grad school!