Ireland Redux Part V: Navan

Reluctantly, we got back in the car on Wednesday.  We looked forward to the next leg of our journey, but the driving part was, well...

I had directions printed up through AAA and was determined to have no problems getting to Navan, County Meath, which was just over an hour away.  But, twenty minutes into the trip, we took a wrong turn and ended up in this nice, newly-developed area called Blanchardstown.  Since it was lunchtime, we stopped at KFC for a bite (yes, not authentic, but whatever).  I stared hard at the directions while I ate, thinking if I concentrated enough I would figure out how to get back on track.  Foolish, I know, so before we left I relented to the practical side of myself and asked the young men at the table beside ours for directions.  

It seems that we were headed the right way, after all, so a half hour later, we found our B&B without a hiccup.  The hostess' daughter checked us in as her parents were on their own holiday.  We got a spacious room with enough beds to accommodate a family, and a door between me and my sis should the need arise for solitude (which it did after a little argument the following day).  We rested then, since it was up the road, headed out to the Hill of Tara, the royal seat of the High Kings of Ireland. 

The roads to Tara were narrow and curvy, which spiked the stress level in the car, but we found our way without incident.  We made our way across the green, dodging sheep dung (they shared the same ground as the monument), and spent some time admiring the scenery around this ancient place.  

 After about a half hour wandering the area, we headed back to the parking lot.  Large crows weighed down the branches of the trees cawing at us.  It was loud and highly disconcerting.  A nice break from that noise was a gentleman sitting under the bus stop sign singing as he waited for a ride.

We checked out a gift shop, but then braved the narrow lanes back to the B&B where we rested again.  We spent more time than necessary vegging in our rooms, but we were that reluctant to get in the car again.

Once dinnertime rolled around, we walked into Navan to check out places to eat and ended up at a take-away/cafe.  Small and close, it's menu had simple fare.  I dug into a shepherd's pie, with which I ordered fries, er, chips.  That was way too many potatoes.

Afterward, we had a pint at the Stonehouse Inn.  We opened the door, expecting there to be a few people as it was late evening, but there were two men and the bartender watching and betting on horse races.  One chatted with us while we enjoyed our pints (my first Smithwicks, which went down smooth), but then it was time to go back to the inn for the night.

 

Ireland Redux Part IV: Dublin Town

The Guinness Storehouse had so far made our first full day in Dublin a success.  Next on my list to do was to visit Trinity College and see the Book of Kells.  An old family friend had moved to Dublin years ago and worked as a counselor at Trinity, and there was hope he would be able to get us into the Old Library for free.  I called him from outside the Storehouse and we made tentative plans to meet during a very short window of time just before the dinner hour, a short enough window that I knew he wouldn't be able to give us a tour, just say hello.  I hung up, thinking how he had really adopted the Irish tongue, and my sister and I started walking.

We had a handy tourist map of the city and made our way towards the Trinity College area.  We had a couple of hours before we were to meet up with our old friend, so we decided to visit the Old Library and then the Temple Bar area.  We walked for about a half hour and by the time we reached the university, the sidewalks were just teeming with people.  It was a busy spot in the city (I think everywhere is likely busy, though), and in the midst of the traffic, the noise, and mankind stood this old stone edifice. 

We went in through the front instead of finding an entrance closer to the Old Library, and I'm glad we did, because as a result we got to see more of the campus than we might have otherwise.  We snapped some photos then followed the sign to the Book of Kells.  I paid our way (Guinness is more my sister's cup of tea; the history and academia is more mine) and bummed that we couldn't take photos in the exhibit, or the Old Library, we entered the display room.

I admit that I don't know a lot about the Book of Kells, or of illuminated manuscripts in general, but they are things to behold.  The colors, the calligraphy, the age of these are remarkable.  There were videos playing in the exhibit, as well, and one documented book-making, which caught my attention.  What was more interesting, however, was the preservation room we passed on the way to the Old Library.  It was open so that visitors could see the work the staff does in repairing and conserving the rare books at the library.  This is what I would love to do, and imagine doing it at Trinity College!

Afterward, we scoured the offerings in the gift shop, I bought a coffee mug with the Old Library on it, and we went outside to see if we could contact our friend to meet up.  Unfortunately, he didn't answer the call and after about a half hour, we left campus.

Temple Bar is considered a trendy neighborhood full of shops and good food.  My sister and I aren't necessarily the trendy type, but we enjoyed a stop at a wine cafe where I had my second Irish coffee of the trip.  Then it was time to start the trek back to our hotel.  

The walk back took a while.  Some parts of the walk weren't exactly brimming with beautiful touristy sights, such as two teenage boys who broke a bottle over an old drunk man's head and blood dripped into his eyes as he stumbled away in an alley we passed.  Even the alleys and neighborhoods we had walked through on the way to Guinness seemed a little unsavory on the walk back in the dusk and light misting rain.  But, we made it back safely and rested before we decided to cross the street to dinner at an Italian restaurant upstairs of a pub, which we visited after dinner.

We returned to the hotel later that night in good stout spirits.  And an hour later, in our PJs, my sister decided she wanted another pint, so at midnight we went downstairs to ask the porter for a Guinness.

Happy that the second day in Ireland was better than the first, we prepared to leave the city the following day. 

Ireland Redux, Part III: Guinness Storehouse

Once I had gotten over the embarrassment of driving with the emergency brake on in the car rental parking lot, my sister and I set out.  According to directions I had printed from the Hilton website (my sister's kind husband offered his Hilton points for two nights gratis in Dublin), our drive should have taken no more than thirty minutes from the airport to the hotel.  

Traffic lights eased me through my first roundabout, and then we were on the M50 motorway.  But sis started in pretty early with concerns that I was listing too far to the left.  Every time I tried to use the turn signal, I set off the windshield wipers instead.  There were signs indicating a toll road, but no place to pay.  And for some reason, it took a lot of adjustment for me to get comfortable with speed limit signs in kilometers per hour, even though the speedometer was in kilometers as well.  Maybe I was just tired. 

But, we reached Dublin fairly early, so I knew that a bed and shower was only minutes away.  Except, we made a wrong turn somewhere, a very, very wrong turn.  As a result, what I most wanted to avoid occurred: I spent hours driving in the city.  Our hotel was supposed to be on the outskirts of Dublin, so this wasn't supposed to happen.  But one wrong turn became another and soon my sister and I were shouting at each other.  I turned into the wrong (right) lane twice, I got honked at more than I ever have, and it wasn't until a desperate call to the hotel three hours into the nightmare that we cooled it enough to focus on the directions given by the very nice desk person who probably couldn't understand how we'd gotten so lost.  We got to the hotel, checked in with barely leashed patience, and...took a shower and went to dinner.  It couldn't be helped; we were as hungry as we were tired.  And since we'd been up 32 hours, we knew once we went to sleep, we wouldn't wake until morning.

And wake we did, at a nice mid-morning hour the following day.  We promised each other that we would walk or take public transport in Dublin.  We were not driving until we left the city.  So, I got specific directions to the Guinness Storehouse, which was a 20 minute walk through alleys and neighborhoods.  This time, we only took one wrong turn, and then we were there.

For 15 euro, you can visit the museum, which documents the brewing process through multimedia, such as film, artifacts, and music, and receive a complimentary pint on the sixth floor in the Gravity Bar which provides a 360 degree view of Dublin.  

During the self-guided tour, there was also a half-pint sample, and an opportunity to build your own Guinness (which I was too chicken to do).  We ate lunch there, as there was a restaurant and cafe.  I had a very nice Guinness-enriched beef stew.

And my favorite picture from Guinness, because it says "Archive":

My sister spent a few euro at the gift shop and we left the Storehouse very pleased with our experience.  So far, it had been a much better day.

Ireland Redux, Part II: The Plane, the Plane!

I'm sure many would agree that the traveling is the worst part of any vacation.  First, there is the anticipation of reaching the destination.  Sometimes there are hours and even days between point A and point B.  It can be excruciating.  Then there are timetables to keep, luggage to haul, lines in which to grow anxious or bored, small vehicles crammed with the eager, the tired, the crying, and the nauseous.  Once, finally, at that destination, who really cares anymore?  Especially if you've been up all night.  

I was teeming with stress before I even packed my bags.  There was little anticipation, just nerves.  I wasn't worried about flying; I've done so many times and had just flown cross country the previous August.  No, I can't pinpoint what had me so wound up, but I was, which didn't make for an auspicious start to a trip abroad.

So I started that first day of travel frustrated and stressed.  I didn't like that, on a flight that connected three times, we didn't receive boarding passes for the second and third connections.  I really didn't care for the fact that our seats would not even be assigned until shortly before boarding on the first flight.  However, we made it to Montreal without a hitch.  Thank God.

But, wait.  We have to go through customs and check in, again, although we're connecting?  This was the message I got from staff at Montreal although in retrospect I think we could have had a much smoother experience had we found Transfers.  Instead, we waited in line at the Air France desk, time slipping before our flight to Paris was to leave.  I was getting more and more stressed and when we reached the ticket counter, two things happened that made that wire snap inside of me: My sister and I would not be seated together on the international and longest flight because we checked in so late.  What?!  We checked in hours before our plane left Detroit.  Second, we were not confirmed for the flight from Paris to Dublin.  That did it.  My eyes filled and I fell into a right sobbing fit.  I manage to find my confirmation in my paperwork and pass it to a supervisor who moved us out of line while she checked on it.  My sister was looking at me like I had grown horns and when everything was smoothed out and we finished checking in, the ticket lady pleaded with me in her very nice French accent not to cry anymore.  She even let me carry on my luggage although it was slightly larger than permitted.  

Then security.  Okay, I'm good with the new security protocols at airports.  Unfortunately, in Montreal they were essentially patting every other person down, even my sister, which took forever.  In fact, a final call came over the PA for boarding our Paris flight just as we left security, and our gate was far away.  Terrified, we ran until our hearts burst, pushing people out of our way, screaming that we were going to miss our plane, only to see a long line of people boarding and we were just fine, despite the fact that the announcement made it sound like the gate was closing.

Oh, that ash cloud?  It delayed our flight to Dublin for six hours, but that's paltry compared to what people experienced in late April, so I won't complain more than this.  We made it to Ireland.  Yes!

Then we got the rental car.  

Look, I wanted the flexibility of having my own transportation rather than relying on bus and train schedules to go anywhere significant.  But, starting with a very good argument on the part of the service rep for purchasing the extra insurance, which doubled the cost, the experience of driving the rental car was a dark one indeed.  First, I unlocked the door then opened it, only to have the car alarm go off and I didn't know how to stop it.  An employee came over, hit a button on the key ring to shut it off and wordlessly showed me that locking and unlocking the door required only a touch of that button.  Okay, I was embarrassed, but I would live.  I settled behind the wheel, which is on the right, and felt fine with this unfamiliar set up.  Oh, then I started forward and heard the gears grind.  Terrified the car was about the expire then and there, I made it around the corner to the office where a rep indicated me to wait.  I got out of the car and a light went off in my head.  I got back in and saw that the emergency brake was on.  

Well, hell.  

So, we headed off to Dublin...

Ireland Redux, Part I

Above are images from my first visit to Ireland in 2005 that I've briefly mentioned in a previous post or two.  It was a significant trip for me because it was one of those rare projects that I had started and followed through to the end.  For eighteen months I saved, and studied, and kept the fire burning.  I booked the flight on my birthday then waited an agonizing five months more before I boarded the plane.  I went alone which, I suppose, took courage that I never believe I possess.  It was a dream come true, a moment that I set aside from all of the others in my life to pick up and revisit and re-dream.  (My first such experience was the Horde Festival in the late 90s when I saw my then favorite band Blues Traveler in concert.  I remember feeling how profound it was this dream realized.  Then again, everything felt like a big deal when I was a teenager.)  Why, then, wouldn't I want to go back?


Five years ago I went to the West.  I flew in to Shannon and traveled for two weeks by bus to counties Clare, Galway, Limerick, and Kerry.  Here are more images from that trip:

This set of photos was taken at Muckross Abbey, which I had found by accident.  I had walked miles from Killarney to Muckross House and Traditional Farms then cut through the trees afterward to find the exit from the park, and there it was.  It stands beside a lake, and compels one to simply explore in silence.  Other than two men working among the headstones of the small cemetery nearby, no one else was present.  I remember feeling anxious, a tightness in my chest, and not alone.  It was eerie, and something I wanted to recapture the second time around.


This time I went to the East, to Dublin and its surrounding counties of Meath and Wicklow.  It was a trip planned in six brief weeks that almost got curtailed by an annoying Icelandic volcanic ash cloud.  I went with my younger sister, at my dad's urging.  It didn't matter to him that I went alone last time and that I was five years older and supposedly wiser; to him, the world in 2010 was far different and more dangerous than that in 2005.  So my sister and I imagined all of the pints we'd drink, the people we'd meet, the castles and sheep we would see.  No doubt, this would be the best sisters holiday ever planned.


Um, well...

Concentrate!

I can't seem to get my mind to settle on any one thing. I leave in a few days for a faraway place and I just know that there are some last minute details I need to attend, but for the life of me, I can't think of what. I'm either very efficient or lacking in the brain cell department.


Or maybe my brain cells are flying in too many different directions. In addition to the preparation for the trip, the job hunt, and the de-cluttering of my apartment, there are all of the things relevant to my future profession that I want to learn, like now. The most recent position to which I've applied includes caring for rare books and manuscripts that date back to the fifteenth century. This holds tremendous appeal for me, but I've only taken one conservation class. I need more practice. I want to order supplies from Gaylord, spread them out on my kitchen table, and damage a few books just so I can repair them. I want to research illuminated manuscripts, not because they are part of any job I've seen, but because they are the subject of a novel I'm reading and I will be seeing the Book of Kells very soon. I want to get my mind around all of the standards that govern the library and archival professions, because it's more than just knowing what all of the acronyms stand for; I have to actually know how to apply them to my work. And, I just want my work to involve these standards (my impatience for that first archival job is creeping closer).


Is it any wonder I can't figure out if there is anything left to do before I hop on a plane? Or maybe there is wonder. As a single, childless woman, the details of my life tend to be more manageable than for the amazing people out there who juggle marriage, parenthood, and mortgages. But it still stands that I refuse to focus.


GD, I better not forget my passport.

Snapped

I'd like to believe that I am of a gentle nature. I don't lose my temper at the drop of a hat, I don't burst into tears if someone looks at me funny (not usually, anyway), and I rarely yell. I have a decent sense of humor (I really do!), and while working under pressure will jangle my nerves, I will keep my cool.

So why did I come semi-unhinged yesterday? Well, maybe because I'm human. But even so, the instigating circumstance wasn't exactly something about which even the most fiery of tempers would get upset. A client just wanted an explanation of the billing practices of a company my agency represents. She was exasperated and confused, but never rude. When I got off the phone with her, however, I shouted to the office all of my frustration, directed more towards myself and the company whose billing practices would confuse a genius than towards the client. I could feel my skin getting hot, my heart racing, and even my throat tightening up in a sure sign that the tears may fall. They didn't, thankfully. I should be old enough by now not to weep like a child over silly matters.

The scene was over within minutes and I was grateful that I still worked with family because they can tolerate such a show of temper in a way that professional colleagues likely wouldn't.

My mood pretty much disintegrated after that and I spent the better part of the afternoon and evening trying to figure out why I had gotten so upset. I think it was my inability to satisfactorily answer the client's question. I feel like I should know all the answers, like I should have the information at my fingertips and be able to interpret them for the client. I think that if I can't, then what kind of librarian will I be?

Of course, it's not really up to librarians to interpret the information they provide to patrons; but they should know where to find it and how to organize it in a way that makes sense to the user. They should not leave them more confused than when they asked for their help. And that's what I did yesterday. Suffice it to say, I tanked on that reference interview.

I know that most of the time I meet the clients' needs. I've spent the past seven years gathering and disseminating information to our policyholders, and seeing as I am in the insurance biz, that is not easy information to handle.

I will say, though, my outburst (shouted in a tenor I rarely ever reach) felt really good.