10 May 2012
527
R. Linda:
The saying goes, 'Ireland be a lovely country if only you could put a roof over her.'
Upon arrival (it was 7:30 a.m.) and after walking the "ten miles" to baggage retrieval, we headed out to our driver, who was waiting. He helped the ladies with their bags as Abdullah senior and meself hauled the rest of the luggage. We had to go out in the misty rain, something Dragon was upset over, and walk to the parking area. "You'd think after walking ten miles for luggage pickup, I would not be subject to another ten just to get to the car!" She had expected curbside pickup, and well, that wasn't happening. We got the ladies in first, then the three of us got the luggage in the boot and got in for a ride to hotel. The van, yes it was a van, was a Mercedes Benz, so for THAT, Dragon could not complain. Only the best for HER.
Well, our driver was an older man, dressed nicely in a business suit, tie and all. He was not exactly jolly at 7:45 in the a.m., but he was informative and friendly. He told us before he took us to hotel, he'd drive us around so we could see Dublin. Meanwhile, I was wondering if Mam and Da were still asleep at hotel or, even better, having a bite of breakfast, which seemed I would not be getting until after we took our rainy day ride around Dublin.
First, we drove through the city's outskirts, and all along, there were Sinn Fein signs to vote this way or that for a work referendum. This, for some unknown reason, fascinated the Dragon.
"Sinn Fein? What are THEY doing in the south of Ireland?"
"They live here," I said. "Can we not get political? It be too early in the a.m. for me."
R. Linda:
The saying goes, 'Ireland be a lovely country if only you could put a roof over her.'
Upon arrival (it was 7:30 a.m.) and after walking the "ten miles" to baggage retrieval, we headed out to our driver, who was waiting. He helped the ladies with their bags as Abdullah senior and meself hauled the rest of the luggage. We had to go out in the misty rain, something Dragon was upset over, and walk to the parking area. "You'd think after walking ten miles for luggage pickup, I would not be subject to another ten just to get to the car!" She had expected curbside pickup, and well, that wasn't happening. We got the ladies in first, then the three of us got the luggage in the boot and got in for a ride to hotel. The van, yes it was a van, was a Mercedes Benz, so for THAT, Dragon could not complain. Only the best for HER.
Well, our driver was an older man, dressed nicely in a business suit, tie and all. He was not exactly jolly at 7:45 in the a.m., but he was informative and friendly. He told us before he took us to hotel, he'd drive us around so we could see Dublin. Meanwhile, I was wondering if Mam and Da were still asleep at hotel or, even better, having a bite of breakfast, which seemed I would not be getting until after we took our rainy day ride around Dublin.
First, we drove through the city's outskirts, and all along, there were Sinn Fein signs to vote this way or that for a work referendum. This, for some unknown reason, fascinated the Dragon.
"Sinn Fein? What are THEY doing in the south of Ireland?"
"They live here," I said. "Can we not get political? It be too early in the a.m. for me."
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| The green signs were all along the River Liffey |
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| Pesky sign up close |
She sat there all ruffled up and indignant. But really? Must we get into THAT upon setting foot on land? Our driver took us past the Lord Mayor's residence and said the mayor had a one-year term and got to live in the lap of luxury for a year and then move on. This had the Dragon questioning the "stupidity" of such a thing, "You just move in, and then as you just get settled, you mean to tell me you move out?! I've never heard of something so ridiculous in my entire life." Oi.
Then, we passed Trinity College, where he suggested we see the Book of Kells later since it was a free day to do as we pleased. He gave us a history lesson on Trinity, a Protestant college set up by Queen Elizabeth I to educate Protestant males. Now it be open to Catholics as well. Well, this baffled the Dragon in saying the word 'Trinity' was a Catholic word, etc., not a Protestant one. Oi the woman, where she gets these ideas, I do not know.
It was then our Catholic driver began his best to explain everything from the Reformation, the land grabbing, the penal laws, the uprisings, the famine, and the "troubles" until he was blue in the face arguing with Mrs. Dragon, who informed him it was stupid to fight over such things. She couldn't understand what was wrong with the Irish people to do such. He tried again to tell her it wasn't the Irish people, it was the Cromwellians, it was the Protestant reformists, it was the British, it was the Scots, it was this one and that one, until I lost count of all the troublemakers who made life miserable for centuries. It was raining, it was gloomy, and here we were arguing at 8 a.m., and all I wanted was a warm bed and a hot cup of joe!
I don't know if our man was just mad and going to teach us a lesson, but we drove around Dublin until 11:30! I saw things we had passed an hour before, and I kept thinking, is he lost? Well, guess what? HE WAS! He had been driving us about the city he grew up in, and he didn't know where our hotel was! How is that possible? I knew the hotel was on the pedestrian mall, and we passed it no less than a dozen times! Finally, it dawned on me numbed brain what was happening, and I said to him, "Joseph, the hotel be right up dare it be," and I pointed in the direction, "Could we be a-goin' dare now do ye tink?"
He was all for it. He wanted nothing more than to unload the tongue-wagging Dragon, who had upset his brain so much he didn't know where he was or if he was coming or going. I tell ya. Once he knew the general vicinity, he started taking us down closes (alleyways) that were just wide enough for the van to get through them, and heaven forbid we meet another vehicle, we were screwed. Somehow, we made it to the drop-off and it was with a sigh of relief, I got out to stretch me cramped legs.
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| Our place in Dublin, The Westbury Hotel |
We got inside, the lot of us, and to the desk, which was up the golden staircase (causing me legs to cramp from being in a sitting position for so long; steps were the last thing I needed), only to be told our rooms were not ready. They'd keep our luggage but return at 3 p.m. Wait, it gets better. We need to be out the next day by no later than 12 p.m. I was livid. What a nerve, we can't have our rooms on time, but we must leave on time, or be charged for it! I kept me mouth shut because there was nothing to be done about it. But not so with Dragon; she let go a stream of objections that make being called an "ugly American" very appropriate. We nearly had to drag her off to the cafe below for breakfast just to get her to stop yammering. Then, we get down in the cafe and are seated by the stairs, which overlook us, when a tourist comes and places his luggage next to the glass above our heads. He leaves them. I thought that action made getting up the stairs and around his bags a virtual maze of falling down the stairs as they were entirely in the way. But all I wanted was coffee, and bags on the stairs were not uppermost in me mind. The Abdullah family left for the restrooms, leaving yours truly to order the food. I was sitting there waiting for a waitress when the manager of the cafe came running over and confronted me outright about leaving me bags on the bloody stairwell where I could cause an accident. I was amazed. I sat there staring stupidly up at him, wondering where he got that the bags belonged to me.
I informed him through gritted teeth the "bloody bags", as he so referred to them, were not mine! Remember now, I hadn't had a cup of coffee in a day! When he heard my accent, he apologised, saying, "Well, you'd be surprised some people have no regard for the welfare of others, sorry," and he went away.
And then a few minutes later the man who had left his bags on the stairwell returned with one more which he left there also and down into the cafe comes himself. The manager sees this, and as soon as the man opens his mouth with a good morning (the manager realises this be a countryman), then it is ok to leave the bags up there. I tell ya, Linda, I sat there wondering if my trip would be worth the headaches I saw coming.
As breakfast progressed with the Abdullah family grumbling over room check-in, it was decided, since there was nothing for it, that we'd go see the city. I had gone back to check on me own olwans to find they had left the building and were doing some sightseeing on their own, having not bothered to check if we had arrived! I tried to contain me annoyance and cursed to meself that I was already done, done, done!
So I told me party of three that me own parents were roaming the city, and we should do the same. We had nothing else to do, so let us catch the Hop On (bus) and see the sights. Never have you seen four more non-energetic, jet-lagged people trudge down the road to the bus pickup. We stood there in the pouring rain. Yes, it was doing that by the time we got outside, waiting for the bus. I had got bus tickets at the hotel, so we were set. First off, the volatile Trinity College and the Book of Kells. It was the only way to shut the Dragon up over her insistence, yes, insistence that Trinity was a Catholic college, not a Protestant one, and be done with it. Because I knew, yes I did, we'd never hear the end of it if she didn't go READ for herself INSIDE the place, just WHO initiated the place be built and for WHOM. Oi!
Here be the Long Library in Trinity, filled with tomes of valuable books, artwork, etc. No cameras are allowed, so I wonder how this happened. Maybe Tonya's mobile phone camera went off without her knowing! Sounds good to me.
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| Looking down the Longgg library |
If you have yet to go to Dublin, it is filled with young people. It be true there are several institutions of higher learning, and of course, your population be younger, but in general, Dublin is a hip place for 20 to 40-somethings; anyone older will feel out of place. If you are an alcoholic, you have ARRIVED! What with the Guinness Storehouse and the Jameson (replica) Distillery, and all the pubs that you can go maybe two or three storefronts and then a PUB! You can drink your way up and down each side of the street and not remember where you started or how you ended up where you might find yourself. In and around, you will see statuary of famous authors, musicians, and statesmen scattered about, or as Dragon complained, "WHY do they insist upon putting statues in the middle of the sidewalk?" The streets are crowded, and be aware if you don't like the smell of cigarettes, don't go to Dublin. It is filled with smokers; they puff everywhere, and the city smells like an ashtray.
One of the statues: Phil Lynott (Thin Lizzy) of Whiskey in a Jar fame on Grafton St. down from The Westbury |
We visited the Guinness Storehouse on the other side of the city with a group of touring Italians. The Americans we came across were sedate compared to these people. They were talking Italian, which Tonya understood (they had no clue), and they were making fun of EVERYONE. They weren't young people, but oldsters on holiday! Who'd a thunk it? They didn't take any of the beer-making seriously, which be a crime to an Irishman, and they didn't want to drink it, and all they could do was compare it to vino, which you can't really compare beer to in the first place. It was insane. While we were in the Storehouse, Tonya's hair had been growing; yes, she was sporting quite the Afro from the humidity, and she was not happy. One Italian woman said something to her friend about the hair, and Ms. Ton unleashed a barrage of abusive Italian in their direction. Yes, she did. This shocked the women that they stood there with their mouths hanging open, looking like naughty children. I had all I could do to move Tonya off in another direction.
"Talk about me, will they?" She said and turned around and shouted at them, "Ehi, Stupido! Cosa credo di fare?"
"Would you stop it?" I said, dragging her away from the old ladies. "They are scared to death of you."
"Well, they should be. I didn't say anything about their bag lady clothes, did I?" She said, looking back at them.
The rest of the walking around the Storehouse went fine, with no Italians in sight, UNTIL we walked outside to get the bus to Jameson. There, they were huddled in a group like sheep. As soon as they saw her, they all shut up. Tonya did her swagger, looking like Angela Davis and went straight for them, but I caught hold of her before she could get at them, but not quick enough. She was making like she was miming a glass of wine and said, "Compri sempre del vino da due soldi, eh!" And she did that hand gesture under the chin. They cringed. I walked her halfway down the street to keep her quiet. They huddled in a group, watching us, fearing she'd come at them again. It was bizarre.
"And YOU want to go to Italy next?" She said to me sarcastically, "The problem with THAT is it is filled with ITALIANS!"
Oh boy.
Here, at the top of the stairs, be where the hair incident took place in the Guinness Storehouse.
"Talk about me, will they?" She said and turned around and shouted at them, "Ehi, Stupido! Cosa credo di fare?"
"Would you stop it?" I said, dragging her away from the old ladies. "They are scared to death of you."
"Well, they should be. I didn't say anything about their bag lady clothes, did I?" She said, looking back at them.
The rest of the walking around the Storehouse went fine, with no Italians in sight, UNTIL we walked outside to get the bus to Jameson. There, they were huddled in a group like sheep. As soon as they saw her, they all shut up. Tonya did her swagger, looking like Angela Davis and went straight for them, but I caught hold of her before she could get at them, but not quick enough. She was making like she was miming a glass of wine and said, "Compri sempre del vino da due soldi, eh!" And she did that hand gesture under the chin. They cringed. I walked her halfway down the street to keep her quiet. They huddled in a group, watching us, fearing she'd come at them again. It was bizarre.
"And YOU want to go to Italy next?" She said to me sarcastically, "The problem with THAT is it is filled with ITALIANS!"
Oh boy.
Here, at the top of the stairs, be where the hair incident took place in the Guinness Storehouse.
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| Scene of the crime, well almost crime |
Finally, we caught a bus over to the Jameson replica distillery. The real one is just outside Dublin.
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| The Jameson distillery bar is good for a nip or two, or three . . . no Italians there |
By 3:30, the rain had stopped, and we decided to go to the hotel. Never one sighting of me, Mam and Da, but that was alright. Soon enough, I'd be putting up with Mam's nonsense to rival Dragon's, and for once, I was glad I was in a city where the alcoholic beverages flow.
We got into our room around 4:30, and I was glad to be away from family, even if it was for a wee bit. Of course, I rue those words now. I was still with Tonya. On the way in, we met my travelling parents, who didn't seem concerned our plane might have fallen into the sea. They were enjoying themselves, and that's good, but they hadn't given the rest of us a thought. But before we went our separate ways, a hardy discussion on where to have dinner ensued. For the life of me, a liquid dinner was looking better and better.
No one wanted to go where someone else wanted to go. That was a real problem, so we did the next best thing, we split up. The Abdullahs opted to dine at the hotel (SHE was tired), me parents were going over to Bono's Clarence House and Tonya and I really, really needed to find ourselves at the Temple Bar badly. And so we went up, took a short nap, got ourselves freshened up. Off we went for a night of frivolity. Or, so we thought. We get to the Temple Bar, and who do I find standing outside having a ciggy but me very own Mam! See for yourself, she befriended some young thing, and there they were (I blurred the faces because I don't know the young thing, and Mam probably wouldn't be happy to see herself on me blog).
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| Yup, there she was, like she just HAPPENED to be in the area. Eee-yeh. |
Her excuse was that Da had fallen into a deep coma (sleep), and she didn't have the heart to wake him, so she decided to go out and have a cold one. Yes, that is what she said. That's Mamise for "Gabriel, I don't care how old ye are, yer still me boy, and ye shouldn't be out in a big city on yer own." I be still 10 years old in her eyes. I need to be WATCHED. I might get meself into trouble or something. Already, I want to be on the road and vegging in the backseat. I might be vegging the entire trip!
She left for the hotel to get Da up for a late dinner. We, meanwhile, went into the loudest bar in creation. It was primarily filled with young males having one hell of a good time. I felt old in there; married couples, it seems, are a rarity, but we had the best sannies and drinks in Dublin. We were happy, except when we returned, and Tonya looked in the mirror. Yup, the hair was waving at her, and she was not pleased to see it had taken on a life of its own. What to do? She was jet lagged, buzzed and not thinking when she plugged her flat iron in without realising it needed a converter. SIZZZZZ, and it was dead. Yup. And she was . . . FURIOUS!
She threw it on the floor and started to cry that her hair would look like a Fatal Attraction haircut for the rest of the trip, or worse, she'd look like Diana Ross, and she wanted to go home! Oi. I stood there listening to this tirade, not really wanting to get engaged in it. I know better; you tell a woman she looks good even if she doesn't, and that's what I did. And I paid the price. She made my evening a living hell.
"I need a flat iron, Gabriel. I CANNOT go out in public LIKE THIS!"
"Well," says I, "I don't know where to get one, and it's only eight more days . . ." WRONG.
"EIGHT FREAKING DAYS!" She screamed at me. "I CANNOT LOOK LIKE THIS FOR EIGHT FREAKING DAYS! FIND ME A FLAT IRON, DO IT NOW!"
Oh, for sure. It was eleven at night, and I was going where to find one? I couldn't talk to her. I went to bed. It was the only thing I knew to do to shut off.
Around 2:30 a.m. I hear an Irish voice in the hallway talking at the top of its lungs. I don't know what was being said, but some other Irish voice was talking back, and they were having a conversation that seemed to be right outside me door! I was too knackered to get up, and Tonya had taken me pillow and covered her hair, I mean her head, with it. This happened every hour on the hour until 5:00 a.m. If I could have dragged meself out of bed, I would have complained, but I was so freaking tired I just couldn't do it.
The hotel was not me cup of tea. I wouldn't stay there again; the walls are thin, the corridors are noisy, and I never did like Dublin and never will. So the following day, we were ready to go up North, or at least I was, Tonya, not so much. The first thing out of her mouth were those two dreaded words "Flat Iron", which she also mouthed at me when she saw me look in her direction. I caved. I couldn't stand it. I told her we'd have breakfast and then go over to St. Stephen's Mall and look for one. She seemed appeased. I got meself dressed and went to sit in the red chair to put me shoes on while she went into the bathroom to apply her makeup. Only a strange thing happened, as soon as I sat down, the chair seemingly came to life, and I found meself being pulled down inside it!
"What the feck?" I said, struggling to get me upper torso forward as me backside slid ever deeper into the cushion. "TONYA! TONYA!" I shouted, and she came out. As soon as she saw me, she dropped her lipstick and ran over to pull me up by the wrists, but it wasn't happening. The more she pulled, the deeper I sank until she started laughing, and that was it. She let go, and I was totally enveloped in the red chair! She was on the floor in laughter as I finally slid meself on me side and told her to get me by the ankles and pull. She yanked, but little happened. I used all me might by pulling down on the chair arms and finally unstuck myself from the man-eating piece of furniture. I don't know where they got that chair from, but Jayus, that was a bizarre experience.
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| Looks innocent until you sit in it |
Once we got me unchaired, we went down to a family breakfast like the one the day before. No one got any sleep for the revellers who were talking loudly in the hallways. And the staff act like they are snob central. I was not impressed. The hotel is in a fine area, that's for sure. All the upscale stores there were totally overpriced for the tourist crowd, and that was one thing we did not do was: shop. It was our first day, and we had decided to wait until we were in the "country." In the meantime, I asked our waitress where we might buy a flat iron. She had no clue what I was talking about. "Hair straightening iron," Tonya said to her. I was looking at the lass and realised her hair was curly -- she had no clue. So I asked the woman at the concierge desk afterwards. She said, "A beauty salon, I should think." Right. On the way out, Tonya asked a cleaning lady, and she said, "Try Dunnes. You look in the catalogue and then go to the counter, and they'll get it." Right. It was too much trouble and didn't sound like a sure thing. So off we went.
"A chemist would have it," Tonya said.
There was not one to be seen, but upon arrival at the mall, we did find one, and sure enough, Tonya had her flat iron within minutes. My life returned from hell to heaven all because of a 25 Euro item that she'll only use for the next seven days, and then it'll be useless. Oh well, at least I have me peace of mind back, and she has straight hair.
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| The mecca of flat iron bliss |
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| Tonya's favourite item from Ireland |
Gabe
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(All photos are the property of © 2012 Irish Memories)
(All photos are the property of © 2012 Irish Memories)
