Original Email No. 7 - Ireland

Aloha!
(I can officially say that because, like I said before, Ireland has palm trees.)

Alright, you're going to have to forgive me because this one is going to be a LONG one. I mean... getting pulled over in our black Mystery Tour van, having the cops check our tour guide, the night club in our hotel's basement, the Hill of Tara (graves of ancient kings), the Book of Kells, private box seats to River Dance, monks in confession, ladies speaking Gaelic on the street corner, AND getting lost on the streets of Dublin? Yes, I apologize for, what inevitably, is about to be a very long, very boring email.

Where to start? Well, as Maria sings in the Sound of Music "We'll start at the beginning." (Heck yes, I DID just quote the Sound of Music... because the hills ARE alive, which I will explain later.)

Yesterday was, at first, nice and snuggled into that goopy ketchup format that we've been following for the last couple of days- we all slept in a little bit, had our breakfast to the sounds of French Techno ala the Desk Clerk (who seemed to be a big fan of French Techno, along with a few other things that he probably shouldn't have been blatantly admiring from the front desk's computer) and started the day off with a leisurely stroll through St. Stephen's Green. It was a beautiful park full of beautiful people basking in the sunlight to the sounds of a traditional Irish band playing from the gazebo and the sounds of a helicopter hovering inches above their heads. We have yet to figure out the purpose of the helicopter's incessant hovering- at first we all thought it was trying to LAND in the park, and then we decided it was actually trying to land in the gazebo, but after about half an hour, both the Irish band and the Irish helicopter left, and so did we, mystery unsolved. Maybe the helicopter was there for a a performance stunt, these days, who knows? Either way, the park was absolutely stunning, with rows and rows of holly and flowers spangled like fallen fireworks all over the St. Stephen's Green- which, I might add, is rightfully named.

We then wandered down to Trinity College via Graften Street. Graften Street was another fun little road full of street shops and street performers- violinists, human statues, bird callers, magicians, and human fortune cookies, tossed between carts brimming with lilies, lilacs, roses, daisies, danishes, donuts and bowler derbies- two for the price of one. Colored scarves, glass bangles, and handcrafted boxes- I can't begin to name it all. One road met another and eventually we reached Trinity College (after passing a statue of Dear Sweet Molly Malone and ducting into a few overstocked bookstores).
Trinity College houses the world's largest one room library in the world- and a collection of some of the oldest documents in Europe; included among these is the renown Book of Kells. The Book of Kells is the oldest surviving piece of Christian literature in Europe. It is a hand written copy of the four gospels, complete with illustrations, dating back to the 6th century, AD. The dyes for the book were so specific (so there would be no color discrepancies throughout the pages) to list not just a rare breed of beetle to be crushed for the red dye, but a pregnant female one at that. In the words of our campus tour guide "How they ran the pregnancy tests on those beetles in the 500's, the world may never know." The pages through which these dyes ran were made of velum- or stretched calf skin- and it was figured that the hides of over 150 calves went into creating it. I suppose that answers the age old question "Where's the beef?"

My mom especially enjoyed the IMMENSE library above the Book of Kells Exhibit- the Long Hall. For those of you who know my mother well, or work with her, the second she set foot into that room she was struck by her next big idea, and immediately started copying down the poems and lyrics from the display of Puritan "Beginner's Readers", which, she said "reminded her of the Basal System." She would have stayed there all night had the historians not shooed us out.

I must say, that Long Hall WAS a sight to see- books straight up the ceiling... two stories worth! For those of you whom have seen Disney's version of Beauty and the Beast... you know that part where the Beast decides to give Belle his library- and they open the windows and it looks like they've entered the palace form of Barnes and Noble? It was like that. Old leather bound books from the very beginning of printing HISTORY lined those shelves- and with the strangest organization system. Every book was recorded by a two letter, one number code based on their sizes, so unless you knew the book's code- you could have spent all day their searching literally high and low for it. I would have gladly moved in. So would my mother. Dad, too- a perfect fusion of history and literature? He was just as much at home as I was!

After the Long Hall- we got severely lost searching for St. Patrick's Cathedral and ended up touring at least three other cathedrals that we had no intention of touring at all. Which reminds me-Kevin? Over here, you are not only sainted, but you have a Cathedral named after you. It has no roof, and all of the windows are missing, but it's still very nice. Just thought I'd let you know. Anyway, each of these Cathedrals was very lovely, but we spent so much time wandering around them, that by the time we DID reach St. Patrick's Cathedral, we decided that we were all "Cathedralled out" and went to find dinner instead. If anyone would like to see photographs- I have about three of the front gate and six of the restaurant we ate at next. I had the Shepard's Pie- delicious.

Well, after our long day of Cathedral hopping (we decided to nix the hop-on hop-off bus tour), we decided just to head back for a good night's sleep and a nice, Ketchupy evening back at the hotel.

After diving headlong back into the winding streets of Dublin (where we, again, were immediately lost), we just happened to stumble across the Gaiety Theatre and the original dancing cast of River Dance. Oh, how my family is Blessed. My Mom, thinking it would be really neat to see River Dance performed by the original cast IN Ireland itself- so she decided to see if, by any chance, they had left over tickets.

We got to choose- four seats in the nosebleed section or, for a mere five dollars more- four reserved seats in private box seven, front and center, first balcony.
My family is known for our eye for deals, so I'll just let you guess where we were sitting: here's a hint... Not only did we have a perfect view of the show, but it was so clear that we could see the taps on the dancer's shoes. Now THAT was an adventure! Talk about luck! The dancers were UNBELIEVABLY talented- they through every ounce of themselves into that performance... stirring everything from City tap to Flamenco into one of the most inspiring displays of Irish Step Dancing I have ever even imagined. They told a story of life, love, and history through their movements- everything as simple as a flick of the wrist expressed a part of the tale. The costuming was beyond stunning- sunsets couldn't compare- and the music, my goodness, the music! I thought we'd gotten reserved seats in private box seven, front and center, first balcony of heaven!

Needless to say- yesterday can in no means be qualified as a Ketchup Day... it was a wonderful day for adventures, and we had our fair share.

Now, here's that nice little break where I got to sleep and you get to keep reading. I really ought to leave an intermission in this thing. Seriously, go get a cup of coffee or something, because this is only the half way mark (don't say I didn't warn you!)

This morning was one for the Early Birds. We all got up, had a quick breakfast, and headed out immediately to find our tour bus for our day trip into the country.
Needless to say- the second our feet hit the pavement, we were lost again. The best part is, we were getting picked up in front of the Tourist Information Center. I see some small cosmic irony in this fact.

Well, we wove our way into the city, got stuck in a couple of knots, and asked directions from at least 50 people, including a bag lady and a bicyclist. We eventually found ourselves lost in another Cathedral. I swear- this is only a small feat, because there are a lot of Cathedrals in Dublin. Lucky for us, this one just happened to double as the Tourist Information Center- so everything worked out for the best.

Apparently, the Tourist Information Center is a popular meeting place for most Day Trippers and Tour Guides, because there were buses lining the block of all shapes, sizes, and colors. While our parents searched out our tour guide, Nick and I sat on the Cathedral steps and cracked jokes about some of the names of the Tour Bus Companies. Come now, when you have names like WILD WICKLOW! and THE MYSTERY BUS, jokes come a dime a dozen.

THE MYSTERY BUS was our favorite target- a squat little thing painted pitch black and COVERED with white question marks... it looked like a Scarab Beetle suffering from a mutated form of the chicken pocks. Written in huge white letters across the side? THE MYSTERY BUS. We were joking about what the big mystery was... who the driver was? Where he would take them? The price?

More cosmic irony: the bus was ours.

We all loaded up (with noted hesitation) and started off. The driver's name was Patrick, and he was a very nice older fellow with a face perfectly pink and round, like an eraser stub. We got to watch a funny series of expressions go across that eraser stub when we were pulled over by traffic cops for a routine tour bus check and we discovered that poor Patrick had left behind his papers. While we waited for Patrick's boss to arrive with her copy of his papers, the kindly police man asked us where we were going, how much we had paid, where we were from, and whether or not we knew we were going.

Seems we weren't the only ones with a few questions about THE MYSTERY BUS.

Well, to all our reliefs, Patrick WAS a registered tour guide, DID have a driver's license, and WAS a legal citizen of Ireland. We WEREN'T carrying drugs, there was NO mystery price, and Patrick had NOT spent any time in the prison system.

Mystery aside, we took off on our tour.

I do have one correction to make from last night: we did not visit Newgrange, but rather, we visited another, much smaller tomb of the same century, and got to spent more time exploring it with less interruptions than we would have at a tomb as large or commercialized as Newgrange. Apparently there are hundreds of those types of tombs- all of about the same age- scattered across the Irish countryside. By choosing our smaller tomb, we were allowed to have our own private visit of an equally historically significant, but less commercialized, grave site. Basically, it was a huge pear-shaped mound with a short entryway into a domed structure filled with little stone carvings from the Megalithic days- complete with a carving of an evil mythical king who shot fire out of an eye between his should blades.

After the tomb we hit Mellifont Abbey, which is an ancient French division of a monastery in Ireland. It dates back to the 1100's, and was the first stone monastery in Ireland. Unfortunately, there wasn't very much left of it, because whoever owned it in the 1500's had sold off the bricks one by one to various house-builders and wall-menders. Apparently, after Henry VIII took over Ireland and struck his blow to the Catholic church, ancient monasteries weren't highly considered.

Still, it was fun to hear the strange little stories of the monks and their antics- how, even after taking a vow of silence, they found secret ways to speak to one another and decided among themselves that it wasn't considered a sin to break their vow of silence as long as the abbot didn't overhear. Of course, the abbot found out every morning at daily confession that the monks HAD been speaking to one another, either way. Morning Confession was the only time when the monks were allowed to speak, and only to the abbot. They'd have to list of their sins from the day before, and if they choose not to say anything, another monk was elected to speak on his behalf. Hehe. I thought that was a cute story.

From Mellifont, we went to see another collapsed monastery which houses the three largest Celtic crosses in Ireland. These were great, huge, ten-feet tall, ornate stone crosses which told the tales of Christianity for the illiterate farmers to come and see. I must say, they were stunning, and I wish I could remember more about them, but it's getting late and my memory is slipping. At this same monastery was a massive pointed stone tower where the monks used to hide with their amassed treasures when the Vikings attacked. I suppose it was interesting to learn that my great great great great great great ancestors had a reputation for ransacking monasteries. Oof-da.

We stopped then for lunch in a small town off the way and ended up wandering into a private room for wedding guests at the restaurant we were eating in. We didn't know much better, and all the regular seats were taken, so my family accidentally ate on the fine white linen set out for some one's wedding reception. Congratulations, whoever you are... sorry if we left any crumbs!

From there we went on to the Hill of Slaine, which was where St. Patrick (not our tour guide, but the other Patrick) lit his fire on the hillside to announce the coming of Christianity. The Hill of Slaine is not far from the Hill of Tara, where the old kings resided, so when this flame was lit on a holy holiday where no one but the old kings were allowed to light their fires, Patrick was immediately called to Tara to be questioned for his defiance. St. Patrick was then said to explain his shamrock philosophy of the trinity (one God, three parts) to the old kings, and was allowed to spread his ideas throughout all of Ireland.

Need less to say, the Hill of Tara was our next and final stop. Tara is a hill shrouded in myth and history. The old kings were said to have resided there as far back as 5000 years ago, and they ruled there for thousands of years. Several mounds and tombs have been discovered there, as well as evidence of several wooden structures. The stone still stands on the top of one of the mounds where the King- if he was meant to rule- would set his hand and the stone would shriek, telling the people that they had found their new king. Here's where the hills sing, for my Mom immediately burst into the chorus of "The Sound of Music."

There are all sorts of other neat legends of fairy queens and cruel kings and hostages, too, wrapped up in those mounds... for those of you who are interested in myth and legend, this is a spot you want to check out.

I must say, though, it was funny to be hearing all of these stories about power and murder while watching sheep graze their way up the side of what was once the national seat of power. Natural lawn mowers- those fuzzy little buggers- I have yet to figure out Why there were sheep roaming over the hill of Tara, but one of them left a lovely souvenir beneath my shoe.

It was a short trip back to the city, and we took a nice stroll back through Graften Street, did some shopping, got ice cream cones, and moseyed our way back through St. Stephen's Green to the hotel. I'm typing, again, from the Leeson Inn lobby, which, again, is right next door to our own Leeson Hotel (didn't have time to write from last night- hence, the epic email which has just shorted out your inbox). For the next week or more, though, we'll be renting a cottage in the Cottswold, smack dab in the English countryside, so the chances of you receiving another email as dangerously long as this one are very low (bet you wish you'd taken that intermission time now, don't you!). You'll probably be hearing from me again a week from now... which is just enough time for you to mentally recover from (or finish reading) this one. It's been wonderful typing to all of you, again, this is a nice little incentive to document a dream come true holiday for us, so, thank you so much for putting up with my little stories and history lessons. Type to you again once we reach Oxford! My Mom can't wait to present! Alright, I'd better let you go now, before your eyes turn into soup from all this staring at computer screens.
Ooh, before I go, I'd like to also make a quick apology for any major grammar or spelling errors you've noticed. Again, it's been a long, fun day of walking and learning and my brain is too packed full of fresh memories to be catching the differences between "there" and "their".
I hope you're all having wonderful summers and really enjoying yourselves. I can't believe how fast everything is going!

Oh, yeah, speaking of going...

Much, much love, miss you all very much! XOXO
-Sara