Vacation Day Two-Guinness Is Good For You

Up very late and have a full day planned for tomorrow, so this will be kind of choppy. I'll try to circle back and hyperlink stuff later.

Those of you in Austin and other parts of Texas will know that we've been praying so hard for rain that we're willing to take a hurricane. Or to ask Rick Perry to pray on our behalf for rain. I just hope he's not sneaking in any other requests on my behalf without running them past me first. Not sure I would ask my Lord and Savior for something ridiculous like A&M to be admitted into the Ivy League and the SEC simultaneously, or for President Obama to contract leprosy. But I will go for a hurricane striking anywhere between South Padre and Galveston (sorry Corpus Christi, you lost me when you commercialized the whole Selena thing...and kept sending Carlos Truan to the Texas Senate, our very own bobble head with a microphone). Anything to get some moisture in the ground. But just when all the "climate change" buzzkills started running their smack about how all the hurricanes from a few summers ago were absolute, irrefutable proof that the climate is changing and its all our fault, we seem to be in a hurricane dustbowl. Or they go places no hurricane has gone before. Like New York. Or...Ireland. Yeah, you heard me right. Hurricane Katia for some reason decided to go east instead of west, and its busted up pieces wound up playing hell with the whole country yesterday. By that I mean rain, winds, warnings of global catastrophe. Basically a bunch of wet Irish struggling to walk against the wind. Count me among the climate change cult though. Droughts, fires, floods, hurricanes, volcanoes, tsunamis (actually I guess a tsunami isn't necessarily weather related, but STILL), what's next? Personally, I'm expecting it to rain frogs, or see rivers start flowing with blood, any day now. You know, real Ten Commandments stuff.

No one warned me, of course, so I didn't have time to instinctively buy plywood from the local gougers, or drive a three hour drive in eight hours to get out of town. Instead, I started the day by getting up really early (7:30), and smugly running down the Grand Canal to start the day out right. Instead, for half the time I did my Charlie Chaplin, walking against the wind routine. Only in this case, it was genuine. I could barely keep it going at times. All the pale, discouraged Dubliners on their way to work had a little spring in their step, however, because they were all walking against the wind. I sensed their quiet dissapproval as I ran along. "Hmm...doesn't that guy know he's running in the hurricane? Dumb bastard." I hate that unspoken dissapproval that follows me throughout life. This was a shame, because the so-called Grand Canal, while not necessarily "grand" was a real, functioning canal with locks and gates. Though I didn't see any towboats pushing toxic chemical-laden barges along the way, it was really pleasant. It winds through a nice part of town, which around here means the pubs are brightly colored.

The number of people and cars pushing their way into the town center along clearly overwhelmed two-lane roads better suited for pushing hay wagons surprised me immensely. Somehow I had the notion that people would be looking for soup kitchens today. Lots of people are working; or at least their faking out their significant others by dressing up and heading out the door each day (like that guy did in Full Monty). Including this one woman who cracked me up when I saw her riding a bicycle, while wearing black high heels. Is that done? Seems like of all the shoes you'd wear to ride your bike, those would be the last ones. I thought you wore your sensible shoes to go into the office, then switched into your "whore shoes" for work and later for happy hour.

After my run, I had a "traditional Irish breakfast," consisting of eggs, sausage, ham (or boiled bacon, I never could figure which), "black and white pudding" (I never did figure out what this "tangy" concoction was, suffice to say, it looked, smelled and probably tasted like Gaines Burgers), and some sort of Guinness-looking bread (see below). Properly inculated with various types of serum cholesterol, I got cleaned up and set out for fun.

Which today meant taking the Dublin Bus throughout the town. Like I encounted in Savannah, a couple of operators run a bus fleet with "on and off" format. It has 21 or so stops throughout the town center. You see a place you want to visit, you just get off, and when you're done you catch the next bus. Or you can stay on and listen to the driver's narration.

Sidebar. All through the day, I kept running into or hearing Americans. You can definitely tell they're Americans. They look bewildered not knowing where to find the WalMart or TGI Fridays. Though I'm sad to report there's at least one TGIF in Dublin. Ugh.

Though I saw a number of the top tourist sites, I want to write about just a few given the time problem.

First was Dublin Castle. This is where the Brits first "set up shop" as the tour guide phrased it, in 1170 A.D. They built a castle in Dublin, at Prince (later King) John's orders. You remember that guy right? He's the one that was trying to kill Kevin Costner in Robin Hood. I'm just frustrated that he didn't get it right. Anyway, the medieval castle pretty much burned down (actually, it got slightly exploded when the British Viceroy, not the cigarette, tried to stop a fire from reaching the powder tower, seizing upon the brilliant move of trying to explode a different part of the castle to stop the fire. This "I had to destroy the village to save it" ethic apparently runs deep in Western thought.) Anyway, on top of the old castle's ruins, the Brits built a fancy new castle, palace actually, for the Viceroy. The difference between a castle and a palace escapes me for the moment, but the tour guide quickly corrected someone who made that mistake. Seemed like a questionable move for someone wearing a pink tie and gray tweed short coat, but hey, that's how people roll here I guess. The Irish took over the "palace" when they managed to car bomb the British into submission, and now use it for ceremonial purposes. Whether that means they have puppet shows and improv night, I'm not sure. But the interesting thing is that you can see the ruins of the old castle under the new palace. You also can see the one remaining tower, looking suspiciously like Maid Marian is still trapped there. It dates from the 12th century. Show some respect.

Next up was St. Patrick's Cathedral. This is another Anglican church. Apparently the British managed to wipe out or steal all the good Catholic cathedrals around here. That Henry VIII really could keep up a grudge, huh? I didn't take many good notes, because it was a self-guided tour, and my attention span is pretty poor while on vacation. I can tell you that as cathedrals go, I've seen better and I've seen worse. I would rate it in the third quartile of my personal cathedral portfolio.

Walking out of St. Patrick's the storm started to blow through. Thank God I was wearing shorts and a windbreaker with a hood. Otherwise I'd be entirely soaked instead of just 1/3 soaked. Happily, the "Perfect Storm" winds managed to make up for that oversight. But I did eventually manage to get back on the bus.

Which whisked me away to the Guinness Factory. The "Storehouse" actually, which is an old storage building they've converted into the visitor's center. Its seven stories, each one devoted to some aspect of the brewing process. Fun facts-Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000 year lease on the place (that's right, 9,000), at £45/year. Yeah, I'm working on one of those euro keyboards that have this symbol: "£" Ain't it cool? Anyway, you get to follow the brew process along, and listen to the ever-present self-congratulations in the narrative. I haven't heard that much personal back-slapping since the Obama Campaign (sorry for the political reference). They have several restaurants serving Guinness-infused dishes. I had late lunch at one; I noticed a group of Catholic priests walking up to have lunch too. That's nice of them to let the altar boys have a break every now and then. (What? Inappropriate? Come on...you were probably thinking it too. Seriously, the Irish Catholic Church has fallen on hard times lately, meaning they're having to make due with non-Petrossian caviar, due to people leaving the Church over the various abuse scandals. So that gives me cover). Guinness Is Good For You, quoted above, actually is one of their ad slogans. They used to tout Guinness as medicinal because of all the good carbohydrates (more than a glass of milk). Apparently Guinness is basically a loaf of bread plus some alcohol and foam. The tour ends up at the "Gravity Bar" which gives a 360 degree view of the Dublin "skyline." Which isn't much of a skyline because there basically aren't any skyscrapers. You get a free pint of Guiness at the end, and yes, I did have one. Finished about 3/4 of mine. I have to say, though I'm not any kind of beer drinker, Guinness to me has always tasted kind of like coffee grounds poured into driveway runoff. But over here, in Dublin, it tasted a LOT better. Much less sludge-like. Actually it was fairly good, though I don't really care for heavy, stout beers. Its a particularly noticeable difference. Must be the fact that I drank it at the brewery, and with a version using the Wicklow Mountains water supply that they use at that facility (I did sort of pay attention). While in the Gravity Bar, I met a guy from Australia. He was here with his wife on some sort of six week tour through Europe, and was bitching up a storm about it. He hates having to follow their schedule, and actually looked depressed at the thought that it was going to last another five weeks. His wife wouldn't go to the Guinness plant with him, because she wanted to spend the day shopping. Now, what kind of craziness is that, I ask you. You can shop anywhere. But only in Dublin can you get a Perfect Pint of Guinness.

I stayed longer than I thought, so I pretty much rushed the rest of the tour. Waiting for the bus at the plant was pretty tough. The winds became really fierce, literally pushing me along at one point as I waited for the bus. Don't think I've ever been in such strong winds, well, unless you count the time I spent over at the Capitol.

I'm finally starting to figure out this Irish accent. They don't pronounce their "h" so "thirty three" would come out "tirty tree." Vowels get run through a sausage mixer. "Ireland" is pronounced "Oyrland." "Come back" would be pronounced "cohm baaack." Its actually not far in some ways from a Boston accent.

Fascinating, Professor Higgins....

That night I had dinner near the hotel at a place called Hugo's. Unlike the Houston restaurant by that name, this one was decidedly French. Mon dieu! I had an excellent pork filet mignon and a goat cheese salad with mixed berries. Interestingly, the waiter was an Australian too, while the hostess was from London via New Zealand. The latter said she just likes to work somewhere a couple of years and then move on. Sounds like the Chris Reeder dating strategy applied to the career field. Although two years is far too long. She confirmed that Christchurch, NZ, which was one of the most lovely towns I've ever seen (in 2002) was hit hard in the earthquake. The cathedral, which had been the town's cultural and historical center, was leveled. I attended mass at that cathedral, and truly mourn for its destruction. Hope everyone adds Christchurch to their prayer list, if at least just for one time. That little patch of earth was absolutely idyllic, and we as a people are lessened by its loss.

Back to sarcasm now.

Among the other things I've noticed today ("Tell me what you learned today, Timmy." "Well, gee, sir, I learned not to talk to strangers for sure!"). Ok, I don't know what that last part meant. Anyway, I noticed there aren't any fat people around here. At least that aren't American tourists. There's also not any WalMarts or Box Stores. Wonder if there's any connection? This is definitely a walking city. People may drive in, but they have to park far away in most cases, and I can tell people walk a lot each day. Also, the number of Fast Fat food establishments is practically nil. Burger King and McDonalds (and Pizza Hut) are here, but they all have different menus. More "wraps" and so forth.

OK, I better shut this down. Its 1:30 and I have to get up "early" tomorrow. You know, before 8. I swear! The things I have to do for you people. Besides, I've been in an "internet cafe" for about two hours and I'm worried about catching some sort of staph infection through my fingers. (Cause of the keyboard. Oh, come on! I'm 47 years old! I'm not a scumbag anymore).

Next-the Rock of Cashel