All museums, government buildings, pubs, and many shops were indeed closed for Good Friday, today. So we wandered the streets of Dublin to see what we could find. Here are a few pictures we took.
View of the Liffey, a "tidal river," toward Temple Bar
The tallest building in Dublin
Ulysses plaque set into the O'Connell Street bridge
"Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" in Irish
Post History
In a multimedia outreach to educate folks about the Rising, Ireland's An Post agency has painted a few of its postboxes at historic locations a bright red and provided a text link to YouTube recreations of events that took place nearby in 1916. Try this text message out for yourself! Just don't get in the way of gunfire.
Directions from Tourist Information
Trying to figure out public transit routes to Collins Barracks where several historic exhibits are available, we stopped at Tourist Information. Mike politely asked, "How do we get to Collins Barracks?" The clerk stared back blankly, saying "Where?" After several attempts he finally said, "Oh, Collins Barracks?" Really, friends, my English accent isn't *that* bad.
No Sharing, No Waste
Desperate for something to drink, we entered a shopping center at the south end of Grafton Street (where is Bewleys when you need it?) and took the escalator to the fourth (really third) floor. In a beautiful but empty glass-ceilinged Chinese cafe we found plastic bottles of lemon-flavored iced tea. The table next to us displayed this unusual sign. Does it make any sense to you?
Coal to Newcastle, Alcohol to Avoca
Today being Good Friday and all perhaps football fans can be forgiven for bringing their own beer to the game. We ran into these two young gentleman on the Sandymount Station DART platform as we returned from our downtown adventures. What's funny? Well, between them they must have dropped every single can of the two half-cases of beer they were carrying, at least twice, and then dripped beer all the way up the road to Avoca Stadium. Best of luck, fellas!
And What is the Room Name?
Walking Merrion Road ("embassy row") yesterday we were impressed that nearly every home had its own name. With all the road closures about Dublin we decided to eat at the hotel tonight and ended up in a very snug corner of the Clayton's bar (a perfect spot from which to watch tonight's football match of Ireland vs. Switzerland.) Young waiter Fergil came to the table to take our order and when we decided to charge dinner to our room he asked, "The name on the room?" Nonplussed, Kate stared back blankly, frantically thinking, "How the hell should I know, the name is not printed on the door." The penny dropped and she realized that Fergil meant, "What name is your room booked in?" The long pregnant pause must have had the waiter wondering where we'd found booze on Good Friday.
No comments:
Post a Comment