Eire
[This section is in the earliest
stages of development: 14 February
2005]
Easter 1998: flew from Teesside to Dublin.
Easter is a bad time to visit Dublin
as a tourist, for Good Friday is taken very seriously
by Irish employers as a day when no work is done and no alcohol served. Much of
Dublin's more obvious heritage has been destroyed, which was disappointing. The Liffey might make wonderful Guinness, but it does not offer
anything like the same interest as the Thames in London,
the Seine in Paris
(or, in their different ways, the Wear in Durham
or Dee in Chester).
The multi-media presentation Dublinia giving a
history of Dublin was quite good.
On the other hand, the Dublin Viking Experience, if that is what it was called, was not a patch on the Jorvik
Viking Centre in York, UK.
Visiting the O'Connell Street Post Office held some more recent historical
resonance, and wondering round Trinity
College was quite pleasant.
Probably the most exciting aspect of the visit was the exhibition around the Book
of Kells. Living, as I do,
in the cathedral city of Durham, UK, which desires the regional repatriation from the British Museum in London, UK, of
the Lindisfarne Gospels, it is hard not to be aware of the reverence due to such
ancient books. The exhibition was far too text based and old-fashioned, but the
books on display were special.
Back in the 1980s, I took the ferry from Fishguard
to Rosslare. Arriving early in the
morning, the idea was to hitchhike across to County
Kerry. However, I got as far as Waterford,
which is probably quite picturesque when it isn't
pouring with rain. After 36 hours trying to hitch to Cork,
I switched to Plan B: heading for the Blackwater Valley.
This is beautiful and quiet, and the sort of place about which young people say
they would like to set up a small-holding in, and
older people say they would like to retire to. Two days later, in County
Kerry, I reached Killarney and then
Tralee.
My first and only visit to Dingle was in the early 1980s, when it rained so
much that the hillsides were simply awash with sheets of water. This was not
the first time, however, that I had been in the area. Back in the mid-1970s, I
had walked on McGillycuddy's Reeks and twice climbed Carrantouohill, the highest hill/mountain in Ireland.
Sadly, that was also the occasion when visited Cork
distillery, and became so drunk that I could not focus my eyes, and required
help to cross the road.
p.g.h@btinternet.com