Of Grass and French Men
update from the last few days in Dublin:
On Thursday afternoon, after the morning of Icky Throats and Nasty Coughs I found grass (the walking on kind)…..Thus Thursday shall be renamed and henceforth shall be known as The Day I Found Grass(The Walking On Kind). It still had a fence around it but there was plenty of it so I dont think this was the endangered stuff.
On the way to find the National Gallery I came across Merridon Square which is across the river on the south side of Dublin city. Its a beautiful haven of nature (suitable for aforementioned cleansing of the soul). You walk in and as if by magic (leprechauns??) the sounds of the traffic on the four surrounding roads dims. There’s lush green grass, nice pretty flowers (I couldn’t name them for you but I can state for a fact that they were definitely of the NicenPretty variety), people quietly talking, walking and eating lunch. It was a welcomed respite (?) from the city and I was quite amazed it existed – I dont think I was still hallucinating… There were some most ugly sculptures scattered around the gardens – religious I think, crosses and people in agony – but they were intriguing in their hideousness so that was okay. I left paradise and visited the National Gallery – the paintings were large and impressive but mostly of pre 20th century so not terribly interesting to me.
After the gallery I attempted to find my way to Temple Bar – supposedly one of Dublins hip hotspots. I dont think I found it – maybe I wasnt hip enough – but I did find Grafton road which was flooded with people across the whole street, lotsa shops and interesting buskers. There was even a piano accordian lady reminiscent of Taurangas old accordion lady (except she wasnt old and she sat on the ground not in a wheelchair). So I dint manage to find Temple Bar on this day but did find the accordian lady, and another cool three piece band of youths playing a weird kind of Irish folk punk rock. On the way back to the hostel I had some cauliflower soup to nourish me back to health. then checked into my new bed up five flights of stairs. Yay. I met an Australian girl there who said just hours before my bed had been occupied by another Kiwi, but nevermind, the Australian was the next best thing – except she of course preferred Vegemite over Marmite. Also 2 koreans, 1 german and a couple of other unidentified humans in the room.
Next morning I awoke with vigour. Well the third time I awoke was with vigour. I packed everything up and had a quick hostel breakfast of croissant, then set off. I had a plan. I would visit the much anticipated wax museum, the Modern gallery and Cobalt Gallery and cafe where according to LP I would have heary soup by a roaring fire. After about a ten minute walk I find the wax museum is shut, the modern gallery is under renovation and the cafe complete with roaring fire and hearty soup nowhere to be found. And I so wanted to visit the wax museum.
After that disapppointment, I decided to try again to track down the elusive Temple Bar district. I think I ended up walking through it because I did see the actual pub called the Temple Bar and I passed a couple of be-studded Goth/Punk ‘cool’ kids, so yeah that must of been it. I think its more ‘happenin’ at nighttime…or maybe you need to know the secret ‘hipnhappenin’ handshake. I passed Bank of Ireland (of which I know absolutely nothing about but it sounds impressive) and Trinity College which looked very inviting with the crowd of arty academics hanging outside. I then made my way back over the Liffey, had some more soup, this time celery and blue cheese which tasted suprisingly like the cauliflower soup. And as I ponder the similarities I am struck by a thought – Dont they use stock for soups? And isnt that stock sometimes chicken? And dont these soups tasted just like chicken? And I keep drinking anyway. Maybe its nutritious life juices will nourish me back to health. That would be kind of ironic though. Firstly me being a vegetarian, secondly chicken juice being a cure for French bird flu.
Anyway, enough about the slaughter of innocent chickens to feed my ailing body. That afternoon (Friday) Carmel picked me up outside the hostel and just in time too, as a hoard of French men arrived for the Saturday match (Ireland vs France) and Angela’s grandma tells me I should look out for French men so what a near miss that was and a grand stroke of luck I should be leaving just in time.
Tags: Dublin
Em