I am so incredibly bored I actually set about doing something I intended to do a month ago; edit and post some anecdotes and photos of the Mad (European) Birthday Dash of 2004.
Unfortunately, I haven’t got many anecdotes. I think a peculiar combination of time, space, and weather have served to dull my memory. I had fun, that I know, but it was a dreary grey kind of fun. On then to pictures:
This is Dublin Castle, headquarters for the former British military administration. We stayed across the street. I did read an anecdote: the statue over the gate is justice – hence the scales – notice how she faces in on the Castle yard, with her back to the city, a typical British posture towards the Irish.
I call this: “Paradise.”
And of course: “Himself in Paradise” or, “Silly American, don’t you know it’s eighteen Euro for a pint in there and only three or four down the pub?”
This vista, however, is worth every ounce of that silly-ly colored money. The view, coincidentally, looks out toward our lodgings.
General Headquarters for the first government of the Irish Republic – the General Post Office on Sackville (now O’Connell) Street. I’ve now been to Dublin twice and have yet to actually go inside the building although I did finally see the famous Cuchulainn statue in the front window. The Irish Republic of 1916, incidentally, lasted five days. A good deal longer than the previous Republic and on par with your average French republic.
Our day down to the east-ish end of central Dublin – the Customs House. Crowned by, what else . . .
A crown. Victoria’s crown, I assume. Fecking British. Can’t even take their damned trinkets home with them when they’re tossed out on their ear.
It was a strange sight to turn the corner and run into an old friend. There are things from time to time which remind you of what an incredibly small world this is. Drinking a beer in Baltimore and another in Dublin in something less than twelve hours is one. This fine ship, another.
And finally, I spent a good while wandering the Financial District armed with my Easter Rebellion book looking for this site. All that remains of Liberty Hall, the Headquarters of the Irish Transport Workers’ Union and James Connolly’s stomping grounds. Another casualty of the British. Both Connolly and the building.
I am terrible with a camera. I take the bloody thing with me everywhere I go and rarely take it out. Four days in that country and I’ve got maybe twenty-odd pictures to show for it. No pubs, no people, nothing of real human interest. I’ll try to do better next time.