Showing posts with label Dublin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dublin. Show all posts
Saturday, July 4, 2015
Dublin Harbour, Ireland
Staying at the Maldron Airport Hotel, we were able to drop off our car the night before our plane left in the morning for Canada. To end off a beautiful day and use up some of the expensive gas I’d put in our Citroen I made a last trip into Dublin to see the harbour. As a sailor I dream of sailing my offshore SV GIRI, a 40 floor cutter rigged sloop to these Islands. I never would have believed I’d have sailed solo to Hawaii at Christmas one year so if that was possible it just may be that I will one day sail into this magnificent harbour. After our drive about Dublin for the last time we left the car with Hertz and returned to the hotel. There we had superb Irish steak, a last night of fine dining. Laura and I agreed that this trip had surpassed our every expectation. We loved Ireland and look forward to returning.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
Swans of Ireland
Laura and I first came across swans in the pond in St. Stephens Park, Dublin. These were the Mute Swans with the characteristic orange beak with black bump on their forehead. There we not only saw swans but their babies, called, cygnets. We loved watching swans later on the rivers. We especially enjoyed watching them fishing the rapid waters before bridges along the Long Walk beside River Corrib In Galway City.
W.B. Yeats, Ireland
I loved Yeats as a young man. I was a young man. He was eternal. Described as the “Last Romantic”. He was a poet of Irish legend, then political poet, but too conservative for his Suffragette Maude Maud Gonne He was a mystic who wanted a Celtic mystic club. One of the Anglo Irish Ascendancy, a protestant Irishman, he stood against the English dominance. In Draperstown we saw Yeats written on the walls. He was in Northern Ireland and Southern Ireland. He haunted Dublin. Wherever we turned he was there. Sometimes there were even statues of him. Quotations of his poems adorned the sides of vans. In the Long Hall at Trinity we saw his signed “Fiddler of Dooney”. To this day he is that much loved.
The Coming of Wisdom With Time, by W.B. Yeats
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun,
Now I may wither into the truth.
We visited his grave at Drumcliffe. He’d been happy in the Sligo area, the mountains, sea and wild. It was good to re visit the Yeats of my youth. I like him even more now that I am an older man.
The Coming of Wisdom With Time, by W.B. Yeats
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun,
Now I may wither into the truth.
We visited his grave at Drumcliffe. He’d been happy in the Sligo area, the mountains, sea and wild. It was good to re visit the Yeats of my youth. I like him even more now that I am an older man.
Monday, June 22, 2015
Irish Rail - Dublin to Belfast
What a lovely train ride. Laura and I enjoyed this very much. We had a table. They served coffee for me and sparkling water for Laura. They had sandwiches as well but we were still full from the Academy Hotel breakfast. The young girls across the aisle from us were having beer. We used the washroom on board but they used it more.
I loved watching the sheep on the vivid green hills. They truly are emerald. Then there were stretches of coastline and everything one would expect from Ireland where Vikings came south to invade the land. Wild seaside coupled with well groomed agricultural fields.
It was Laura’s first train ride. I remembered Dad and Mom taking us on trains from Winnipeg to Toronto and Winnipeg to Vancouver when we were very young. I remember playing with toys on the carpeted fields. After that theres been so many trips. The last was the end of the Orient Express jungle train from Singapore to Malaysia.
I love trains. The best toy a child could have was an electric train and here as an adult I’ve been blessed to ride them again and again. I especially loved this train.
I loved watching the sheep on the vivid green hills. They truly are emerald. Then there were stretches of coastline and everything one would expect from Ireland where Vikings came south to invade the land. Wild seaside coupled with well groomed agricultural fields.
It was Laura’s first train ride. I remembered Dad and Mom taking us on trains from Winnipeg to Toronto and Winnipeg to Vancouver when we were very young. I remember playing with toys on the carpeted fields. After that theres been so many trips. The last was the end of the Orient Express jungle train from Singapore to Malaysia.
I love trains. The best toy a child could have was an electric train and here as an adult I’ve been blessed to ride them again and again. I especially loved this train.
The Shadow of a Gunman, Abbey Theatre, Dublin
When I learned I was going to Dublin I checked on line for theatre tickets. The Abbey Theatre site was quite straightforward. The tickets I printed off half around the world worked just fine the night we arrived. The Abbey Theatre and the Lyric Theatre were producing “The Shadow of a Gunman” by Sean O’Casey, an Irish classic.
I’d actually thought it was about the Troubles which occurred in the sixties and seventies. Instead it was first shown in 1923. Sean O’Casey set the play in 1920. Sean O’Casey had died in 1964. The first title had been ‘on the run’ but later called “The Shadow of the Gunman”. We were staying on O’Connel street near the Post Office building where the 1916 civil war in Dublin had occurred. A local told us there were still bullet holes in walls left over from the fierce fighting of the day.
The Shadow of a Gunman was superbly directed by Wayne Jordan. The tragedy goes that Donal Dovoren, ostensibly a poet, is staying with Seamus Shields, a pedlar. The neighbours in the tenement all believe that Donal is an IRA on the run. Donal celebrates Shelley, the poet. Seamus, talks of the church and lights candles to Mary. They share in high minded conversation reminiscent of the lads in Ullysis. Mr. Maguire, another pedlar who was to help Seamus comes but says he can’t this day, leaving his bag in their apartment. Mr. Mulligan the Landlord wants his back due rent. Minnie Powell the pretty young girl is enthralled by the poet and wants him to write a poem for her. She asks him to type her name on page and his next to hers. Tommy Owens, a boy about Minnie’s age interrupts the almost kiss of Donal and Minnie to insist that he knows who Donal is and wants him to tell his friends that Tommy Owens is ready and waiting. Donal neither commits nor doesn’t commit to the collective idea that he is IRA. Mr Gallagher and Mrs. Henderson a truly humorous slapstick sort of duo come before Donal and want him to take a letter to the IRA asking them to investigate their neighbour. “and bring guns’. It’s a petty feud but they presume the IRA would be interested. It’s reminiscent of the peasants in Dr. Zhivago fighting over wood and elevating their petty concerns to ideological status. Not knowing what to do Donal takes the letter. Finally Mrs Grigson comes to the apartment despairing because Adolphus Grigson is late. This drunken Orangeman (prod) arrives late and climbs into Danal’s bed. It’s very funny. The two men are imposed upon by their neighbours, one of who doesn’t know he’s not in his room.
There is word that Mr. Maguire has been shot. The mood shifts. There are auxiliaries in the neighbourhood. There are shots and lights in the night. In fear Donal tears apart the apartment looking for the letter. Seamus asks if he put it in his pocket. Donal finds it. They burn it. This is amazing theatre. The direction and choreography and timing are perfect. There’s a moment of relief. The men go back to bed. Seamus then says to Donal, ‘wed best check what’s in Mr. Maguire’s bag.” It would be a spoiler to go on. For there’s a raid and Minnie Powell, the girl the men talked about in mixed terms, courageous but stupid, dies.
Whereas I’d been nodding off a bit in the first act I was on the edge of my seat chewing my nails through the second up to the very end. It was extraordinary how real a playwright could make the lives of an era transpire in the space of a day and night and commit all this to an hour or so of script. Everyone was affected. Everyone lived in fear. Even the Orangeman wasn’t safe and the British showed no respect for the ways of the people. The sense of an invading force, like the Romans in Israel, was conveyed in the writing. The insanity and triviality was all there. At the lowest reaches of the tenement there was true depth and yet a shallowness so much the fog of war.
Malcolm Adams, Gerard Byrne, Lloyd Cooney, Muiris Crowley, David Ganly, Dan Gordon, Louise Lewis, Amy McAllister, Mark O’Halloran, Jamie O’Neil, and Catherine Walsh were the incredible cast. Such a collection of professionals they became the characters and the story. I can’t imagine them as any other than those they played. Their collective wisdom broke through my weary world and lit it with new emotions and ideas. I came away feeling I understood the Irish dilemma in a way I’d never had before.
We walked out into the night. I was thinking of the year at university when I switched major from arts to science, decided against being a playwright and went on to be a physician instead. I’d left the world of dance and drama and taken up a scalpel and prescription pad. Ever since though I’ve had seasons tickets to the theatre. I watched Alec Guinness and Maggie Smith in London in the 70’s . Attended the best of Noel Coward. Later in the 80’s I’d fly to Manhatten and saw Lauren Baccall and Jeremy Irons. In Vancouver, Canada, my home , I love best Ron Reed’s Pacific Theatre. It captures those moments of great acting and pause when the director and cast trick you into being intimately apart of the show.
This was a perfect night of drama. This was theatre at it’s finest. God, it was good. It made me question my leaving theatre for medicine. Not entirely but I am glad that Sean O’Casey continued on to bring us such a play as this .
Shadow of a Gunman, Sean O’Casey, Abbey Theatre Dublin. It’s playing till August 1st.
I’d actually thought it was about the Troubles which occurred in the sixties and seventies. Instead it was first shown in 1923. Sean O’Casey set the play in 1920. Sean O’Casey had died in 1964. The first title had been ‘on the run’ but later called “The Shadow of the Gunman”. We were staying on O’Connel street near the Post Office building where the 1916 civil war in Dublin had occurred. A local told us there were still bullet holes in walls left over from the fierce fighting of the day.
The Shadow of a Gunman was superbly directed by Wayne Jordan. The tragedy goes that Donal Dovoren, ostensibly a poet, is staying with Seamus Shields, a pedlar. The neighbours in the tenement all believe that Donal is an IRA on the run. Donal celebrates Shelley, the poet. Seamus, talks of the church and lights candles to Mary. They share in high minded conversation reminiscent of the lads in Ullysis. Mr. Maguire, another pedlar who was to help Seamus comes but says he can’t this day, leaving his bag in their apartment. Mr. Mulligan the Landlord wants his back due rent. Minnie Powell the pretty young girl is enthralled by the poet and wants him to write a poem for her. She asks him to type her name on page and his next to hers. Tommy Owens, a boy about Minnie’s age interrupts the almost kiss of Donal and Minnie to insist that he knows who Donal is and wants him to tell his friends that Tommy Owens is ready and waiting. Donal neither commits nor doesn’t commit to the collective idea that he is IRA. Mr Gallagher and Mrs. Henderson a truly humorous slapstick sort of duo come before Donal and want him to take a letter to the IRA asking them to investigate their neighbour. “and bring guns’. It’s a petty feud but they presume the IRA would be interested. It’s reminiscent of the peasants in Dr. Zhivago fighting over wood and elevating their petty concerns to ideological status. Not knowing what to do Donal takes the letter. Finally Mrs Grigson comes to the apartment despairing because Adolphus Grigson is late. This drunken Orangeman (prod) arrives late and climbs into Danal’s bed. It’s very funny. The two men are imposed upon by their neighbours, one of who doesn’t know he’s not in his room.
There is word that Mr. Maguire has been shot. The mood shifts. There are auxiliaries in the neighbourhood. There are shots and lights in the night. In fear Donal tears apart the apartment looking for the letter. Seamus asks if he put it in his pocket. Donal finds it. They burn it. This is amazing theatre. The direction and choreography and timing are perfect. There’s a moment of relief. The men go back to bed. Seamus then says to Donal, ‘wed best check what’s in Mr. Maguire’s bag.” It would be a spoiler to go on. For there’s a raid and Minnie Powell, the girl the men talked about in mixed terms, courageous but stupid, dies.
Whereas I’d been nodding off a bit in the first act I was on the edge of my seat chewing my nails through the second up to the very end. It was extraordinary how real a playwright could make the lives of an era transpire in the space of a day and night and commit all this to an hour or so of script. Everyone was affected. Everyone lived in fear. Even the Orangeman wasn’t safe and the British showed no respect for the ways of the people. The sense of an invading force, like the Romans in Israel, was conveyed in the writing. The insanity and triviality was all there. At the lowest reaches of the tenement there was true depth and yet a shallowness so much the fog of war.
Malcolm Adams, Gerard Byrne, Lloyd Cooney, Muiris Crowley, David Ganly, Dan Gordon, Louise Lewis, Amy McAllister, Mark O’Halloran, Jamie O’Neil, and Catherine Walsh were the incredible cast. Such a collection of professionals they became the characters and the story. I can’t imagine them as any other than those they played. Their collective wisdom broke through my weary world and lit it with new emotions and ideas. I came away feeling I understood the Irish dilemma in a way I’d never had before.
We walked out into the night. I was thinking of the year at university when I switched major from arts to science, decided against being a playwright and went on to be a physician instead. I’d left the world of dance and drama and taken up a scalpel and prescription pad. Ever since though I’ve had seasons tickets to the theatre. I watched Alec Guinness and Maggie Smith in London in the 70’s . Attended the best of Noel Coward. Later in the 80’s I’d fly to Manhatten and saw Lauren Baccall and Jeremy Irons. In Vancouver, Canada, my home , I love best Ron Reed’s Pacific Theatre. It captures those moments of great acting and pause when the director and cast trick you into being intimately apart of the show.
This was a perfect night of drama. This was theatre at it’s finest. God, it was good. It made me question my leaving theatre for medicine. Not entirely but I am glad that Sean O’Casey continued on to bring us such a play as this .
Shadow of a Gunman, Sean O’Casey, Abbey Theatre Dublin. It’s playing till August 1st.
Sightseeing Dublin, Ireland
Laura and I arrived in Dublin with our trusty Lonely Planet, Discover Ireland guide. We were jet lagged and sleep deprived after the overnight flight from Toronto. Nonetheless we walked about the O Carrall Street neighbourhood of our Best Western Academy Plus Hotel that first day. I attended the College of Psychiatrists of Ireland Austism lectures at the Ashling Hotel and then came home to a glorious sleep.
The next day we were veritable troopers walking all over downtown Dublin. It’s truly a walking city. We got to all the sites that Lonely Planet recommended for a 4 day visit in that one day. Their ‘tour guides’ had a lot of stopping at pubs and visiting the Guiness and Jamieson Factories. I admit that in my day if I’d followed their guide on this matter I personally might have taken up residence in Dublin. I don’t drink anymore but it’s certainly a convivial drinking man’s town.
The fact is, Ireland has a major alcohol problem. The cost of work safety, health care, and early loss of life due to alcohol as well as it’s contribution to crime is staggering. The great irony is that the church and state only really got interested in addressing their alcohol problem when it was realized that the young were getting into booze so early it was affecting their ability to get good soccer drafts. Something about stunting one’s growth or ruining one’s ambitions. There’s no doubt a further contribution of teen age pregnancy , assuming young men are affected in anyway like I was by alcohol. All the women looked incredibly sexy and their breast got much larger with every pint I consumed.
Without being slowed down by booze we were able to tour Trinity College and the Book of Kells and the Old Library that first day. Then we headed along Dame Avenue to Dublin Castle and City Hall catching a bit of the Temple Bar atmosphere before getting onto Christ Church and the Dublin Wall. We saw Four Courts as well. We loved St. Stephens Green with the baby swans. We even made it to the National Museum of Natural History and Archeology. After that there was still time for Laura and I to visit a Irish Sweater shop where I bought a marvellous blue Irish sweater. Next door to the sweater shop was the Irish Tweed store where I bought an Irish tweed patch vest. I’d bought Laura a silver and gold celtic bracelet while she’d been buying presents galore all day for her family. The gift shops at Trinity College, Dublin Collge and the National Museums were the very best places to buy fine Irish gifts. There’s schlock and bric brad everywhere. We both loaded up with fridge magnets and key chains as well as the post cards.
The next day we were very slowed down. A trip to the chemist got me some ibuprofen. All that exercise had a profoundly negative effect on the feeling in my lower back and feet. Once I got moving again I was fine. The breakfast at the Best Western Hotel was so attractive as to draw me from bed to shower and down to the waiting eggs and sausage and fruit and coffee. Once we were moving again the aches left me and we hiked over to the National Gallery where I was just uplifted by the works of the great masters. We then hiked cross town to St. Patrick’s Cathedral where we loved the history, architecture, craftsmanship and art. It’s a truly spiritual place of peace and worship.
Then last night we attended Sean O’Casey’s incredible play Shadow of a Gunman at the Abbey Theater, the National Theatre of Ireland which had as a director in it’s day W.B. Yeats. The play was riveting. An incredible drama that slowly built then cresce
ndoed to an amazing surprising conclusion. The acting was truly amazing. Both Laura and I couldn’t recall another experience like it. And I’m a real theatre goer, one whose seen Maggie Smith and Alec Guiness on stage in London, Lauren Bacall and Jeremy Irons in Manhatten and always having seasons tickets to theatre in Canada. I love Pacific Theatre in Vancouver. But there was nothing like this.
The young Irish Band Script was playing to 80,000 in the park this night so there’d been young people all over town when we’d gone out early in the evening. It was an older crowd at the theatre, at least over 30. On the streets daily we’re struck by the high density of 25 to 35 year old vibrant Irish young people.
Dinner of cod and chips after the theatre was fabulous.
Yesterday we attended early eucharist in the Lady Chapel at St. Patrick’s Church, attended a meeting at Molesworth Hall, and heard traditional Irish folk music with banjo and guitar at the Old Storehouse in Temple Bar. I ate the most delicious Irish Stew.
We have been enjoying ourselves. Great weather, sunshine and pleasant spring tempter. Dublin is certainly a tourist city. Exciting place to live with all the book stores and music. Everywhere we’ve heard Irish music. Van Morrison, Donovan, U2 and so many more original artists have come from Ireland. The Irish tenor is world renown and there’s the Riverdance and all that artistic energy exported to us overseas. It’s been a joy to be here. Today we catch a train to Belfast
The next day we were veritable troopers walking all over downtown Dublin. It’s truly a walking city. We got to all the sites that Lonely Planet recommended for a 4 day visit in that one day. Their ‘tour guides’ had a lot of stopping at pubs and visiting the Guiness and Jamieson Factories. I admit that in my day if I’d followed their guide on this matter I personally might have taken up residence in Dublin. I don’t drink anymore but it’s certainly a convivial drinking man’s town.
The fact is, Ireland has a major alcohol problem. The cost of work safety, health care, and early loss of life due to alcohol as well as it’s contribution to crime is staggering. The great irony is that the church and state only really got interested in addressing their alcohol problem when it was realized that the young were getting into booze so early it was affecting their ability to get good soccer drafts. Something about stunting one’s growth or ruining one’s ambitions. There’s no doubt a further contribution of teen age pregnancy , assuming young men are affected in anyway like I was by alcohol. All the women looked incredibly sexy and their breast got much larger with every pint I consumed.
Without being slowed down by booze we were able to tour Trinity College and the Book of Kells and the Old Library that first day. Then we headed along Dame Avenue to Dublin Castle and City Hall catching a bit of the Temple Bar atmosphere before getting onto Christ Church and the Dublin Wall. We saw Four Courts as well. We loved St. Stephens Green with the baby swans. We even made it to the National Museum of Natural History and Archeology. After that there was still time for Laura and I to visit a Irish Sweater shop where I bought a marvellous blue Irish sweater. Next door to the sweater shop was the Irish Tweed store where I bought an Irish tweed patch vest. I’d bought Laura a silver and gold celtic bracelet while she’d been buying presents galore all day for her family. The gift shops at Trinity College, Dublin Collge and the National Museums were the very best places to buy fine Irish gifts. There’s schlock and bric brad everywhere. We both loaded up with fridge magnets and key chains as well as the post cards.
The next day we were very slowed down. A trip to the chemist got me some ibuprofen. All that exercise had a profoundly negative effect on the feeling in my lower back and feet. Once I got moving again I was fine. The breakfast at the Best Western Hotel was so attractive as to draw me from bed to shower and down to the waiting eggs and sausage and fruit and coffee. Once we were moving again the aches left me and we hiked over to the National Gallery where I was just uplifted by the works of the great masters. We then hiked cross town to St. Patrick’s Cathedral where we loved the history, architecture, craftsmanship and art. It’s a truly spiritual place of peace and worship.
ndoed to an amazing surprising conclusion. The acting was truly amazing. Both Laura and I couldn’t recall another experience like it. And I’m a real theatre goer, one whose seen Maggie Smith and Alec Guiness on stage in London, Lauren Bacall and Jeremy Irons in Manhatten and always having seasons tickets to theatre in Canada. I love Pacific Theatre in Vancouver. But there was nothing like this.
The young Irish Band Script was playing to 80,000 in the park this night so there’d been young people all over town when we’d gone out early in the evening. It was an older crowd at the theatre, at least over 30. On the streets daily we’re struck by the high density of 25 to 35 year old vibrant Irish young people.
Dinner of cod and chips after the theatre was fabulous.
Yesterday we attended early eucharist in the Lady Chapel at St. Patrick’s Church, attended a meeting at Molesworth Hall, and heard traditional Irish folk music with banjo and guitar at the Old Storehouse in Temple Bar. I ate the most delicious Irish Stew.
We have been enjoying ourselves. Great weather, sunshine and pleasant spring tempter. Dublin is certainly a tourist city. Exciting place to live with all the book stores and music. Everywhere we’ve heard Irish music. Van Morrison, Donovan, U2 and so many more original artists have come from Ireland. The Irish tenor is world renown and there’s the Riverdance and all that artistic energy exported to us overseas. It’s been a joy to be here. Today we catch a train to Belfast
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
