We're back home.
The last day in Dublin was just us heading to the airport and on our way home. Of course, the last day of our vacation was the first day that I felt completely better from my illness. Of course.
We woke up very early and gave a parting thank-you gift to our friendly front desk people. (chocolates and California wine.) It was raining a little bit as we stood at the bus stop. The whole goodbye to Dublin was really kind of anticlimatic.
At the airport, JD and I bought some liquor at the duty free shop. Celtic Cross - something JD was looking for for quite a while - and some Irish cream. The flight back actually seemed a lot easier than the flight there. I think being in a plane with a bit more legroom helped. I fell asleep for a moment. I know, I couldn't believe it myself. But I couldn't help wishing that we were rich enough to fly first class. I'm telling you, the moment we win the lottery, we won't fly any other way. (Except, maybe, if we can travel by private jet!)
So I'm actually glad that we're home. It was an amazing trip, but nothing beats your own bed.
JD says he enjoyed his first foray into Europe.
In fact, you know what... I think for our next overseas trip, I'll have him write on this blog too.
You know what's even better, once I think about it, let me ask him some questions now....
**********************************************************
ME: I'm writing a retrospective interview with you on our recent trip to London and Dublin. Can I ask you some questions?
JD: Sure.
ME: What did you think about your first trip to Europe?
JD: I was so amazingly pleased. One of the biggest uncertainties I had, probably the weirdest, is that I didn't know what life 'looked' like outside of America. One thing I just wanted to know is what a foreign suburbia looked like-- or whether I would walk down the streets of London and feel like I was in an alien world. I was very, heh, relieved(?) that it was familiar while still being satisfyingly new and exciting.
ME: So I know one of the suckiest things that happened, that hindered the trip becoming so much more exciting, in my opinion, was that I got sick. I'm sorry about that. I hope it didn't limit your experience.
JD: Just being there with you was worth it. I would have felt just as bored as if I were in America trying to go explore bars and such on my own. We did get out and push through our cruddy health and exhaustion more than I would have expected. England had that annoying indoor/outdoor climate thing going on that makes me loathe the North East: that it's cold outside, so you dress for 40 degree weather - and wear a coat, but then you go into a pub and the heat is set to 82!!! How do they keep any kind of energy level up at all with that kind of hassle? I felt like I was maybe supposed to carry some khaki shorts and a hawaiian shirt to change into when I go into an establishment.
ME: I know, that bothered me a lot too. Just when you get used to the weather outside, you come inside a restaurant or store and you have to get your body to adjust to the new temperature. Not fun. I supposed i'm used to the So Cal weather. lol. I guess that's a good segue... now that I know what you liked least about the trip, what did you like best about both London and Dublin? What were your favorite experiences?
JD: The best part of Dublin was easily the Trinity College Library and viewing the The Book of Kells. I love illuminated manuscripts. The long room was fascinating, too. I got caught up trying to see if there were any secrets to the busts around the room... were they staring at a secret door, or glaring at the hiding place for some ancient masonic text? I dunno... but I spent most of my time studying the busts. Not to say that the Guinness plant wasn't awesome, too. But I'm a sucker for ancient art. In London, there was just too much. But I guess my favorite experiences there revolved around the oldest architecture-- Stonehenge, and especially Bath. I was completely enthralled with the underground excavations of the temple at Bath.
MO: Yeah, that was pretty awesome. I'm really looking forward to our 2007 trip to Spain. I know we won't have that pesky temperature issue to deal with, so I'm hoping it will be much more fun! (And hopefully, no more illness situations!) So before I sign off, is there anything else you want to add?
JD: Heh... I was talking with a man about all the different lines and patterns on the road and traffic violations. When I told him that in the US, if you get a ticket, you have a right to contest it in a trial, he was taken aback. Maybe he never had to contest a ticket... but I got the impression that they don't get that opportunity in England?
MO: Hmm, I'm not sure about that either. Maybe I'll have to post that question on my travel message board.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Apparently Free is not Good Enough
Today we had planned to go out with an alcohol-soaked bang with tours of the Guinness Storehouse and the Jameson Distillery, but because we headed out so late, (and because... well, I'll explain later) we only had time to visit Guinness before heading home.
It took us a while to get to Guinness. For some reason, busses were few and far between so we just kept walking towards the place with the hope that we'll run into a bus going in that direction sometime. 1 hour later we had succeeded in walking the near 3 miles from our hotel to the Storehouse.
When you purchase the 14 euro admission ticket, you receive a map of the factory and a special ticket which looks large plastic round, clear "dewdrop" with the Guinness brand embossed onto it and a little bit of "the black gold" rolling around inside. Attached to it is a plastic tab. The salesperson said that this plastic tab can be exchanged at the 360 view bar at the top of the Storehouse for either a free soda or a free pint of Guinness. Who orders a soda at the Storehouse? I thought to myself. Cuz, geez, FREE PINT, bitches! The salesperson explained further that once you trade in the plastic tab, the plastic half is now your official souvenir. Cool.
Anyway, I can understand why many people consider the Guinness Storehouse a total ripoff, but then again, I can also understand why Guinness is one of the most popular attractions in Dublin. See, if you're not a beer enthusiast - better yet, not a Guinness enthusiast, you would consider the 14 euro admission a complete waste of money, even with the free pint at the end. The Storehouse has several levels, with each level focusing on a certain part of the beer manufacturing process, or Guinness's history, both culturally and socially. In my opinion (as a Guinness lover), I thought the place was worthwhile. All of the exhibits were smartly designed with the visitor having some hands-on interaction in witnessing the Guinness-making process. It was all very interesting and very fun.
We finally made it to the top bar, and it had the best view of the city.
Dozens of people were in there, and I noticed that almost all of them were trading their tabs for pints. We did the same. I went to find a seat and noticed something offensive and sacreligious going on around us: People were leaving half full to completely full pints of Guinness behind. What the F*CK?!! I thought. JD eventually arrived with our pints and I pointed this out. Completely unbelievable, we both agreed. We even pointed it out to a server who was making his rounds clearing glasses from the tables. "Tis a bit shameful, in'it?" he said. Umm, YEAH, we replied. I mean, not to gross you out, and not that I would ever do this, but I was almost tempted to take these untouched Guinness pints and drink them myself. I mean, c'mon. Free Guinness, - the king of beers - and you're not going to even finish it? If you don't even like beer, order a soda for chrissakes and save us the black gold.
Anyway, before I took a good long sip of my beer, I thought - for a millisecond - that maybe I shouldn't be drinking this because of my recent IBS bouts. To hell with it, I thought almost as quickly, and guzzled my oh so satisfying bread soda... down the hatch. Here's some piccies of the calm before the storm:
Bad idea. By 30 minutes I was experiencing the worst bouts of stomach pain I've ever experienced. It was difficult getting myself to the gift store to buy souvenirs for my sister, her boyfriend and my coworkers. By the time 20 more minutes passed, I was barely able to stand. I had to sit and wait while JD called a cab for us.
We got back to the hotel in a few minutes and it was straight to bed with me. I mean, no joke, I was in so much pain that I was almost going to ask JD to take me to a hospital. I was sweating and rocking back and forth in a fetal position in bed. I even tried to induce vomiting, thinking that would help. No dice. I tried eating some granola bars to "soak up" the alcohol. Nope. I started breathing very quickly and very hard. Luckily, after 3-4 hours, the pain had subsided enough that I was able to go to sleep. IBS sucks. Gotta be more careful next time.
It took us a while to get to Guinness. For some reason, busses were few and far between so we just kept walking towards the place with the hope that we'll run into a bus going in that direction sometime. 1 hour later we had succeeded in walking the near 3 miles from our hotel to the Storehouse.
When you purchase the 14 euro admission ticket, you receive a map of the factory and a special ticket which looks large plastic round, clear "dewdrop" with the Guinness brand embossed onto it and a little bit of "the black gold" rolling around inside. Attached to it is a plastic tab. The salesperson said that this plastic tab can be exchanged at the 360 view bar at the top of the Storehouse for either a free soda or a free pint of Guinness. Who orders a soda at the Storehouse? I thought to myself. Cuz, geez, FREE PINT, bitches! The salesperson explained further that once you trade in the plastic tab, the plastic half is now your official souvenir. Cool.
Anyway, I can understand why many people consider the Guinness Storehouse a total ripoff, but then again, I can also understand why Guinness is one of the most popular attractions in Dublin. See, if you're not a beer enthusiast - better yet, not a Guinness enthusiast, you would consider the 14 euro admission a complete waste of money, even with the free pint at the end. The Storehouse has several levels, with each level focusing on a certain part of the beer manufacturing process, or Guinness's history, both culturally and socially. In my opinion (as a Guinness lover), I thought the place was worthwhile. All of the exhibits were smartly designed with the visitor having some hands-on interaction in witnessing the Guinness-making process. It was all very interesting and very fun.
We finally made it to the top bar, and it had the best view of the city.
Dozens of people were in there, and I noticed that almost all of them were trading their tabs for pints. We did the same. I went to find a seat and noticed something offensive and sacreligious going on around us: People were leaving half full to completely full pints of Guinness behind. What the F*CK?!! I thought. JD eventually arrived with our pints and I pointed this out. Completely unbelievable, we both agreed. We even pointed it out to a server who was making his rounds clearing glasses from the tables. "Tis a bit shameful, in'it?" he said. Umm, YEAH, we replied. I mean, not to gross you out, and not that I would ever do this, but I was almost tempted to take these untouched Guinness pints and drink them myself. I mean, c'mon. Free Guinness, - the king of beers - and you're not going to even finish it? If you don't even like beer, order a soda for chrissakes and save us the black gold.
Anyway, before I took a good long sip of my beer, I thought - for a millisecond - that maybe I shouldn't be drinking this because of my recent IBS bouts. To hell with it, I thought almost as quickly, and guzzled my oh so satisfying bread soda... down the hatch. Here's some piccies of the calm before the storm:
Bad idea. By 30 minutes I was experiencing the worst bouts of stomach pain I've ever experienced. It was difficult getting myself to the gift store to buy souvenirs for my sister, her boyfriend and my coworkers. By the time 20 more minutes passed, I was barely able to stand. I had to sit and wait while JD called a cab for us.
We got back to the hotel in a few minutes and it was straight to bed with me. I mean, no joke, I was in so much pain that I was almost going to ask JD to take me to a hospital. I was sweating and rocking back and forth in a fetal position in bed. I even tried to induce vomiting, thinking that would help. No dice. I tried eating some granola bars to "soak up" the alcohol. Nope. I started breathing very quickly and very hard. Luckily, after 3-4 hours, the pain had subsided enough that I was able to go to sleep. IBS sucks. Gotta be more careful next time.
Heads Will Roll Should The Birds Get Out
Our last day in London.
After (happily) checking out of our hotel and grabbing a quick sandwich from Marks & Spencer we headed to the Tower of London for a guided tour. Lots of fun, (we took these pictures of the famous ravens of the Tower), but I don't think it was worth the admission price.
Do you know about the ravens? Besides the Tudor history with its beheadings and hauntings and all that wicked, great stuff, the story of the ravens in the Tower was especially interesting. Supposedly no one knows when ravens first started living in the Tower of London courtyards, but there is a legend about their constant presence: At least 6 ravens must remain in the Tower or else the English monarchy will fall.
The tour guide told us a story about The first Royal Observatory which was originally housed in the tower. According to legendary accounts, an astronomer to King Charles II in the late 1600's or so complained to the king that the birds were... ahem... interfering (pooping?) with his telescopes and, therefore, his observations. King Charles was about to have the ravens destroyed until someone in his court told him about the legend and the destruction of the kingdom should the ravens leave. The king changed his mind and decreed that at least 6 ravens should live in the Tower at all times.
The Tower has seven ravens (1 extra, like an understudy I guess), all with their wings clipped to prevent their flying away. They seem pretty happy, fat and content. There's a yeoman warder or "Beefeater" (official guards of the Tower) who's sole responsibility is to take care of the ravens. He's called the Raven Master (not to be mistaken with the Dungeon Master - hah hah.)
(JD at the outside of the Tower of London)
In the afternoon, we said goodbye to London and flew back to Dublin. When we checked back into the Camden Deluxe, one of the front desk people (who we recognized and really liked) recognized us back and said with a smile, "you just can't stay away, can you?" We laughed... No, we're not done yet.
After (happily) checking out of our hotel and grabbing a quick sandwich from Marks & Spencer we headed to the Tower of London for a guided tour. Lots of fun, (we took these pictures of the famous ravens of the Tower), but I don't think it was worth the admission price.
Do you know about the ravens? Besides the Tudor history with its beheadings and hauntings and all that wicked, great stuff, the story of the ravens in the Tower was especially interesting. Supposedly no one knows when ravens first started living in the Tower of London courtyards, but there is a legend about their constant presence: At least 6 ravens must remain in the Tower or else the English monarchy will fall.
The tour guide told us a story about The first Royal Observatory which was originally housed in the tower. According to legendary accounts, an astronomer to King Charles II in the late 1600's or so complained to the king that the birds were... ahem... interfering (pooping?) with his telescopes and, therefore, his observations. King Charles was about to have the ravens destroyed until someone in his court told him about the legend and the destruction of the kingdom should the ravens leave. The king changed his mind and decreed that at least 6 ravens should live in the Tower at all times.
The Tower has seven ravens (1 extra, like an understudy I guess), all with their wings clipped to prevent their flying away. They seem pretty happy, fat and content. There's a yeoman warder or "Beefeater" (official guards of the Tower) who's sole responsibility is to take care of the ravens. He's called the Raven Master (not to be mistaken with the Dungeon Master - hah hah.)
(JD at the outside of the Tower of London)In the afternoon, we said goodbye to London and flew back to Dublin. When we checked back into the Camden Deluxe, one of the front desk people (who we recognized and really liked) recognized us back and said with a smile, "you just can't stay away, can you?" We laughed... No, we're not done yet.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
I Cried Like A Wuss
Sunday was the most exciting day yet. Woke up feeling tons better but purposely took it real easy to make sure we were at our best for our theatre matinee reservations later in the afternoon. Decided to nix our outing to Tate Modern (regrettably - I've been before but wanted to go again), and take a long and leisurely morning nap.
By the by, the other night I purchased a new suitcase. The one we brought on the trip failed us on the first day in London - one of the wheels broke - and so it seemed necessary to dish out extra money to replace it. It was fine with me anyway since the old suitcase was a flimsy budget buy with no real stability. I was prepared to go to Oxford Street and browse the department stores, but just as we turned to corner, heading to Earls Court station, I noticed across the street a small shop with tons of souvenirs, bags and suitcases for sale. Beeline. I found a really solid black rolling case for the "reasonable price" of 80 quid (about $157).
Segueing back... At about 12 pm we headed to Covent Garden, first to have lunch at Porters English Restaurant, a decent place with decent English food. The theatre lunch deal was good for what was left of our pounds, at least. JD and I had both ordered their St. Peter's Brewery Honey Porter, which was one of the most delicious beers we've ever tasted, no joke. It had a distinct honey aftertaste and when you finish your pint, the glass leaves a fermented honey scent.
While JD was in the restroom, I noticed this group at a table next to us with what looked like a box gift set of beer and glasses. I leaned over and asked the group how they got it. "Ask your server. We got the Honey Porter, it is by far the best!" they said. I responded, "that was what WE had! I agree, it was delicious." I thanked them and when the server came back with the check, I purchased a Honey Porter set for JD (2 bottles of Honey Porter, 2 beer glasses.)
After lunch it was time to go see The Lion King. JD has seen it in New York City when he was younger and he admitted to me that the opening number Circle of Life made him cry. I ribbed him and called him a wuss, jokingly, and said I wasn't going to cry over something silly like that. (Truthfully, when I first saw The Lion King trailer in the movie theatre circa 1993, it was the Circle of Life musical opening scene, and I bawled like a baby.)
So yeah... when the opening sequence began, with Rafiki singing lead and all the actors/dancers/singers coming out in their animal costumes, the first thing I thought was: "Oh my god." I was not prepared for the genius and beauty I was seeing. Nor was I prepared for when the ensemble finally chimed in at the chorus. By the time the dramatic, harmonic last lines of the song ended, I could hardly hold it back. I choked and sobbed like a damn wuss. Needless to say, the show was outstanding. Yes, everyone should see it.
By the by, the other night I purchased a new suitcase. The one we brought on the trip failed us on the first day in London - one of the wheels broke - and so it seemed necessary to dish out extra money to replace it. It was fine with me anyway since the old suitcase was a flimsy budget buy with no real stability. I was prepared to go to Oxford Street and browse the department stores, but just as we turned to corner, heading to Earls Court station, I noticed across the street a small shop with tons of souvenirs, bags and suitcases for sale. Beeline. I found a really solid black rolling case for the "reasonable price" of 80 quid (about $157).
Segueing back... At about 12 pm we headed to Covent Garden, first to have lunch at Porters English Restaurant, a decent place with decent English food. The theatre lunch deal was good for what was left of our pounds, at least. JD and I had both ordered their St. Peter's Brewery Honey Porter, which was one of the most delicious beers we've ever tasted, no joke. It had a distinct honey aftertaste and when you finish your pint, the glass leaves a fermented honey scent.
While JD was in the restroom, I noticed this group at a table next to us with what looked like a box gift set of beer and glasses. I leaned over and asked the group how they got it. "Ask your server. We got the Honey Porter, it is by far the best!" they said. I responded, "that was what WE had! I agree, it was delicious." I thanked them and when the server came back with the check, I purchased a Honey Porter set for JD (2 bottles of Honey Porter, 2 beer glasses.)
After lunch it was time to go see The Lion King. JD has seen it in New York City when he was younger and he admitted to me that the opening number Circle of Life made him cry. I ribbed him and called him a wuss, jokingly, and said I wasn't going to cry over something silly like that. (Truthfully, when I first saw The Lion King trailer in the movie theatre circa 1993, it was the Circle of Life musical opening scene, and I bawled like a baby.)
So yeah... when the opening sequence began, with Rafiki singing lead and all the actors/dancers/singers coming out in their animal costumes, the first thing I thought was: "Oh my god." I was not prepared for the genius and beauty I was seeing. Nor was I prepared for when the ensemble finally chimed in at the chorus. By the time the dramatic, harmonic last lines of the song ended, I could hardly hold it back. I choked and sobbed like a damn wuss. Needless to say, the show was outstanding. Yes, everyone should see it.
Translating Rocks and a Famous Killer No One Knows
Saturday we did two cool things: Visit the British Museum and go on a Jack The Ripper Walking Tour.
The British Museum is one of the most amazing museums in the world! We got to see the Rosetta Stone, which was funny because we didn't recognize it at first. It was like we were right in front of it and saw a bunch of people hovering around it and it never connected. JD walked up to a security guard nearby and asked him where it was and he looked at him with this expression like, "you're a retard" and pointed directly behind him to the crowd.
We had afternoon tea in the museum at the Court Restaurant, sitting at a table that had a view of the famed Reading Room below.
We must have stayed at the Museum for 4 hours or something because when we finally came out, it was dark. We took a nice walk around the neighborhood and decided to have dinner at this Italian restaurant near Earl's Court station.
There was this old guy sitting next to us at the restaurant with this girl who looked like she could be his granddaughter, but of course was his date for the evening. He was so annoying because I kept overhearing him talk about himself and she never said anything. When it was time for us to pay for our meal, this ass of a man leaned over and made a snide remark, asking us why we were shortchanging our server – "didn't you enjoy your food?" What he saw at that moment was us counting out 1 and 2 pound coins so we can give her a fat 25% tip. Dude, when your country's higher denominations come in coin form, you're gonna look cheap no matter what. (In retrospect, we really didn't need to tip our server that much per British custom, but that was beside the point.)
Afterwards, we hurried out to Tower Hill (overlooking the Tower of London) to meet up with our tour group for the Jack the Ripper tour. I was really really excited because our tour guide was Donald Rumbelow, who is renowned as the premier expert on Jack the Ripper history and the case. At the end of the tour, he did a little shameless self-promotion by offering his book for sale. Of course, I bought one and he signed it for us. But no joke, the tour was really great. I'm sure that sounds weird and creepy, and yeah, I'm kinda into famous serial murder histories….
Now I'm sure you're totally creeped out.
The British Museum is one of the most amazing museums in the world! We got to see the Rosetta Stone, which was funny because we didn't recognize it at first. It was like we were right in front of it and saw a bunch of people hovering around it and it never connected. JD walked up to a security guard nearby and asked him where it was and he looked at him with this expression like, "you're a retard" and pointed directly behind him to the crowd.
We had afternoon tea in the museum at the Court Restaurant, sitting at a table that had a view of the famed Reading Room below.
We must have stayed at the Museum for 4 hours or something because when we finally came out, it was dark. We took a nice walk around the neighborhood and decided to have dinner at this Italian restaurant near Earl's Court station.
There was this old guy sitting next to us at the restaurant with this girl who looked like she could be his granddaughter, but of course was his date for the evening. He was so annoying because I kept overhearing him talk about himself and she never said anything. When it was time for us to pay for our meal, this ass of a man leaned over and made a snide remark, asking us why we were shortchanging our server – "didn't you enjoy your food?" What he saw at that moment was us counting out 1 and 2 pound coins so we can give her a fat 25% tip. Dude, when your country's higher denominations come in coin form, you're gonna look cheap no matter what. (In retrospect, we really didn't need to tip our server that much per British custom, but that was beside the point.)
Afterwards, we hurried out to Tower Hill (overlooking the Tower of London) to meet up with our tour group for the Jack the Ripper tour. I was really really excited because our tour guide was Donald Rumbelow, who is renowned as the premier expert on Jack the Ripper history and the case. At the end of the tour, he did a little shameless self-promotion by offering his book for sale. Of course, I bought one and he signed it for us. But no joke, the tour was really great. I'm sure that sounds weird and creepy, and yeah, I'm kinda into famous serial murder histories….
Now I'm sure you're totally creeped out.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Wild Church Views
On Friday morning, I woke up feeling like I was getting better. After grabbing some convenient eats from Marks & Spencer Simply Food, we were off to grab the earliest London double decker tour bus we could find.
In retrospect, the double decker tour was probably a little unnecessary – for some reason it felt boring and long compared to the tour I took in 2004. We got off near St. Paul's Cathedral, which was our next destination. Unfortunately, I was actually feeling bad again, and what's worse, JD was starting to feel a bit ill too. We made a quick pit stop at a nearby coffee house to grab some tea and then to a pharmacist for some medicine.
I never had a chance to visit St. Paul's the last time I was in London, which was funny since I stayed just down the road. After a quick walk around the cathedral, we made our way up to the Whispering Gallery – 259 steps up a winding staircase. The climb made it embarrassingly apparent to me just how out of shape I was. That's all I will say.
(St. Pauls shot from outside)
The Whispering Gallery is named so because of the perfect acoustics which allow someone on one end of the gallery to whisper to someone clear across the other end and they will be able to hear perfectly. No lie. JD and I tried this and it was true. Truly awesome.
Later we climbed another level above the Whispering Gallery – the Stone Gallery – which can be reached after over 120 steps. This "gallery" is really an outdoor walkabout around the cathedral dome with a short stone wall separating you from a 173 foot drop. The view was unbelievable. It was also unbelievably cold.
I was planning to climb to the final and highest gallery, the Golden Gallery, but because I starting feel really unwell, I let JD get there on his own. The Golden Gallery was an additional 152 steps above the Stone Gallery. In total, this precarious "gallery" is 280 feet from ground level. According to JD, he had to climb these outside stairs which became almost near-vertical at points to reach this spot. Once there, though, he said it was all worth it. Again, this gallery was outdoors and offered an unparalleled view. Next time we're in London, I promised myself that I had to get to it.
(A shot JD took while climbing the steps to the Golden Gallery)
When we left St. Pauls, both JD and I were feeling totally under the weather. We decided to scratch some things off our itinerary for the next few days, move some visits around, and go back to the hotel that afternoon for some sleep. We woke up 4 hours later in time to grab some dinner and go on a ghost walking tour.
In retrospect, the double decker tour was probably a little unnecessary – for some reason it felt boring and long compared to the tour I took in 2004. We got off near St. Paul's Cathedral, which was our next destination. Unfortunately, I was actually feeling bad again, and what's worse, JD was starting to feel a bit ill too. We made a quick pit stop at a nearby coffee house to grab some tea and then to a pharmacist for some medicine.
I never had a chance to visit St. Paul's the last time I was in London, which was funny since I stayed just down the road. After a quick walk around the cathedral, we made our way up to the Whispering Gallery – 259 steps up a winding staircase. The climb made it embarrassingly apparent to me just how out of shape I was. That's all I will say.
(St. Pauls shot from outside)The Whispering Gallery is named so because of the perfect acoustics which allow someone on one end of the gallery to whisper to someone clear across the other end and they will be able to hear perfectly. No lie. JD and I tried this and it was true. Truly awesome.
Later we climbed another level above the Whispering Gallery – the Stone Gallery – which can be reached after over 120 steps. This "gallery" is really an outdoor walkabout around the cathedral dome with a short stone wall separating you from a 173 foot drop. The view was unbelievable. It was also unbelievably cold.
I was planning to climb to the final and highest gallery, the Golden Gallery, but because I starting feel really unwell, I let JD get there on his own. The Golden Gallery was an additional 152 steps above the Stone Gallery. In total, this precarious "gallery" is 280 feet from ground level. According to JD, he had to climb these outside stairs which became almost near-vertical at points to reach this spot. Once there, though, he said it was all worth it. Again, this gallery was outdoors and offered an unparalleled view. Next time we're in London, I promised myself that I had to get to it.
(A shot JD took while climbing the steps to the Golden Gallery)When we left St. Pauls, both JD and I were feeling totally under the weather. We decided to scratch some things off our itinerary for the next few days, move some visits around, and go back to the hotel that afternoon for some sleep. We woke up 4 hours later in time to grab some dinner and go on a ghost walking tour.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Stonehenge, Bath and Harry's Parents' House
It was a wet Thursday morning when we departed for our Stonehenge tour from a corner hotel 3 blocks from the Earls Court station. I couldn't help thinking when I sat in the hotel lobby how infinitely nicer this hotel was and I longed for its surely nicer beds and clean sparkling bathroom fixtures.
When I was last in London in 2004 I went on the "5,000 Years In A Day" tour, which focused more on south England ancient sites including Stonehenge. Because JD was with me this time, and he's never seen Stonehenge, I decided that I had to go on another tour for his sake. This time around, we went on a different tour that featured a 3 hour trip to Bath. I think I was more excited about the side trip to Bath than he was – I knew more about the town and I was a Jane Austen fan.
The gentleman who was our driver and tour guide was charming and chattering. A fulfilled requirement for a good guide. Standard for tour guides of these day trips are that they be walking founts of random and interesting knowledge. As we drove away from London and eventually into the beautiful countryside of the Cotswolds, he had trivia and stories for almost everything we saw along the way.
The drive was too calming and there were times I fought sleep so I could hear him talk some more and stare at the gorgeous scenery whizzing past me. There were times I lost. One point, I woke up to hear him singing "I want to be ... your Sledgehammer." So random! I burst out laughing, but was also pissed to think that I probably missed some Peter Gabriel trivia.
When Stonehenge came into view 90 minutes into our drive, I watched everyone's reactions. I think I was the only one in the van besides the driver who's been there before. There was a sudden, sober silence. Don't think that I was at all jaded. It was just as unreal as the first time for me too. And just like the first time, it was cold as hell as we walked around the monolith with our narrative handsets.
We finally climbed back into the van and were on our way to Bath.
Just so you know, when people think of English countryside, they are really imagining visions of the Cotswolds. Picture this: Traditional thatched-roof houses, rolling pastures dotted with grazing sheep, rambling estates and hedge-lined 2-lane roads… This is the Cotswolds. I couldn't help getting fleeting scenes in my head from Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Emma, Pride & Prejudice.
We then got stuck in traffic(!) a mere 3 minutes away from Bath. We sat in the van for more than 30 minutes, barely moving, and when we eventually got going again, one of the passengers found out via the internet connection on her phone that there was an accident. The wait was worth it – the beautiful honey-colored stone on Bath's buildings came into view and we were taken by surprise. This was one beautiful wonderful town.
We took a tour of the famous Roman baths (which Bath got their name from, duh.) It was awesome seeing the naturally heated mineral waters bubbling into the old Roman baths, even now, more than 2000 years later. There were great things to see like current excavations, statues, interactive histories.
But the most amazing thing by far was when we walked into the below-ground exhibit/excavations and heard this hissing, gurgling, roaring sound. I went into this gift shop and bought some lotion and JD continued on. I heard him call out for me and when I followed his voice, I came upon him staring at this gaping maw in rock face with ancient plumbing. The area around it was steamy and smelled of metal and sulfur. From this opening gushed this raw, hot, roaring water and the plumbing around the water was caked with iron deposits and other metallics. JD said, "this is water from HELL!" and I wasn't one to contradict him. I was disappointed that he didn't take a picture.
By the way, JD was not taking as many pictures of our trip as I had hoped. I wasn't aware of this until later this evening. Lame.
After the baths tour, we decided to take our tour guide's advice and have lunch at the famous Sally Lunn's Buns. Famous brioche-type buns that they use for sandwiches, as a side with soup, and even for breakfast and dessert. Delicious to the maxxxxxxx.
Needless to say, we wished we could have stayed in Bath longer. 3 hours was definitely not long enough, and we didn't even get to visit the Jane Austen museum. Ah well – another excuse to come back…
Before heading back to London, we made a quick visit to the town of Lacock, which is in the running as "the most charming town in England." A few things of note about the town: 1) the town's most famous resident is the Duchess of Cornwall, aka Camilla Parker Bowles. Her daughter was married in the town's church (St. Cyriac's.) 2) Before Camilla's move to Lacock after her divorce from her first husband, the town's most famous resident was William Fox Talbot. 3) Possibly the most famous house within the town is one a few steps from the church. This house was used to portray Harry Potter's parents' house in The Sorcerer's Stone. We included a picture (0ne of the few JD took. HAH.):
As well, the Warming Room in Lacock Abbey was used to portray Professor Quirrell's classroom in The Sorcerer's Stone.
We finally got back to London near 7 pm. After having some great Indian food for dinner, we begrudgingly turned in for the night.
When I was last in London in 2004 I went on the "5,000 Years In A Day" tour, which focused more on south England ancient sites including Stonehenge. Because JD was with me this time, and he's never seen Stonehenge, I decided that I had to go on another tour for his sake. This time around, we went on a different tour that featured a 3 hour trip to Bath. I think I was more excited about the side trip to Bath than he was – I knew more about the town and I was a Jane Austen fan.
The gentleman who was our driver and tour guide was charming and chattering. A fulfilled requirement for a good guide. Standard for tour guides of these day trips are that they be walking founts of random and interesting knowledge. As we drove away from London and eventually into the beautiful countryside of the Cotswolds, he had trivia and stories for almost everything we saw along the way.
The drive was too calming and there were times I fought sleep so I could hear him talk some more and stare at the gorgeous scenery whizzing past me. There were times I lost. One point, I woke up to hear him singing "I want to be ... your Sledgehammer." So random! I burst out laughing, but was also pissed to think that I probably missed some Peter Gabriel trivia.
When Stonehenge came into view 90 minutes into our drive, I watched everyone's reactions. I think I was the only one in the van besides the driver who's been there before. There was a sudden, sober silence. Don't think that I was at all jaded. It was just as unreal as the first time for me too. And just like the first time, it was cold as hell as we walked around the monolith with our narrative handsets.
We finally climbed back into the van and were on our way to Bath.
Just so you know, when people think of English countryside, they are really imagining visions of the Cotswolds. Picture this: Traditional thatched-roof houses, rolling pastures dotted with grazing sheep, rambling estates and hedge-lined 2-lane roads… This is the Cotswolds. I couldn't help getting fleeting scenes in my head from Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Emma, Pride & Prejudice.
We then got stuck in traffic(!) a mere 3 minutes away from Bath. We sat in the van for more than 30 minutes, barely moving, and when we eventually got going again, one of the passengers found out via the internet connection on her phone that there was an accident. The wait was worth it – the beautiful honey-colored stone on Bath's buildings came into view and we were taken by surprise. This was one beautiful wonderful town.
We took a tour of the famous Roman baths (which Bath got their name from, duh.) It was awesome seeing the naturally heated mineral waters bubbling into the old Roman baths, even now, more than 2000 years later. There were great things to see like current excavations, statues, interactive histories.
But the most amazing thing by far was when we walked into the below-ground exhibit/excavations and heard this hissing, gurgling, roaring sound. I went into this gift shop and bought some lotion and JD continued on. I heard him call out for me and when I followed his voice, I came upon him staring at this gaping maw in rock face with ancient plumbing. The area around it was steamy and smelled of metal and sulfur. From this opening gushed this raw, hot, roaring water and the plumbing around the water was caked with iron deposits and other metallics. JD said, "this is water from HELL!" and I wasn't one to contradict him. I was disappointed that he didn't take a picture.
By the way, JD was not taking as many pictures of our trip as I had hoped. I wasn't aware of this until later this evening. Lame.
After the baths tour, we decided to take our tour guide's advice and have lunch at the famous Sally Lunn's Buns. Famous brioche-type buns that they use for sandwiches, as a side with soup, and even for breakfast and dessert. Delicious to the maxxxxxxx.
Needless to say, we wished we could have stayed in Bath longer. 3 hours was definitely not long enough, and we didn't even get to visit the Jane Austen museum. Ah well – another excuse to come back…
Before heading back to London, we made a quick visit to the town of Lacock, which is in the running as "the most charming town in England." A few things of note about the town: 1) the town's most famous resident is the Duchess of Cornwall, aka Camilla Parker Bowles. Her daughter was married in the town's church (St. Cyriac's.) 2) Before Camilla's move to Lacock after her divorce from her first husband, the town's most famous resident was William Fox Talbot. 3) Possibly the most famous house within the town is one a few steps from the church. This house was used to portray Harry Potter's parents' house in The Sorcerer's Stone. We included a picture (0ne of the few JD took. HAH.):
As well, the Warming Room in Lacock Abbey was used to portray Professor Quirrell's classroom in The Sorcerer's Stone.
We finally got back to London near 7 pm. After having some great Indian food for dinner, we begrudgingly turned in for the night.
The Bathers and Sunflowers
When we arrived Wednesday afternoon in London, we crashed in our crappy room for a couple of hours and when we woke up, I turned to JD and said, "ready to explore?"
Jumped onto the Tube at Earls Court and exited at Westminster. The sun was about to set and one of the first things we saw when we came out of the Tube and onto the street was Big Ben and Houses of Parliament. JD got very quiet for a moment and I realized that he was probably finally taking it all in. "Welcome to London" I said with a smile and he smiled back a bit dreamily.
Our first London sightseeing stop was Westminster Abbey. The cathedral was a bit eerie and sobering, and I felt a little awed staring at the dozens of effigies, statues and crypts. JD whipped out his sketchpad and drew Shakespeare's statue while I did a little more walking, eventually having to leave for a moment to take a restroom break across the street.
(Here's a pic taken during our tour a few days later- better lighting and all.)
Later that night I took JD for a walk around Trafalgar Square. Ate at one of my favorite restaurants, Cafe In The Crypt, located in, yes, the crypt of St. Martin in the Fields Church. They give you way too much food for what you pay, though with the dollar-pound exchange rate, that's really a good thing nowadays.
BTW, the English can't do a proper apple pie for shit. I might be angering a few people out there, or even blaspheming (since the English were the originators of apple pie), but give me an American slice any day.
Afterwards we went to the National Gallery.
Now I love this museum, and the last time I was here, I spent 3 hours inside and looked at EVERYTHING. This time around JD and I focused on some key areas/periods, particularly the "Manet To Picasso" exhibition in the basement Sainsbury Wing. I had to make sure he bore witness to seeing such famous Impressionistic pieces like Sunflowers by Van Gogh and Bathers At Asnieres by Seurat in the flesh. It's pretty indescribable, even the second time around. As for JD, well...being an art major and having studied these masterpieces... it was bit mind-blowing for him.
This season's special exhibition was Velazquez, and I recalled seeing some of his works (including the famous Las Meninas) on display at the Museo Del Pradoin Madrid, so I was excited to see these works. Unfortunately, this was a paid exhibition and so we ixnayed this begrudgingly. Ah well, we're going to Spain next year anyway.
Most of London's museums are free. I really love that. Like, really.
Jumped onto the Tube at Earls Court and exited at Westminster. The sun was about to set and one of the first things we saw when we came out of the Tube and onto the street was Big Ben and Houses of Parliament. JD got very quiet for a moment and I realized that he was probably finally taking it all in. "Welcome to London" I said with a smile and he smiled back a bit dreamily.
Our first London sightseeing stop was Westminster Abbey. The cathedral was a bit eerie and sobering, and I felt a little awed staring at the dozens of effigies, statues and crypts. JD whipped out his sketchpad and drew Shakespeare's statue while I did a little more walking, eventually having to leave for a moment to take a restroom break across the street.
(Here's a pic taken during our tour a few days later- better lighting and all.)
Later that night I took JD for a walk around Trafalgar Square. Ate at one of my favorite restaurants, Cafe In The Crypt, located in, yes, the crypt of St. Martin in the Fields Church. They give you way too much food for what you pay, though with the dollar-pound exchange rate, that's really a good thing nowadays.
BTW, the English can't do a proper apple pie for shit. I might be angering a few people out there, or even blaspheming (since the English were the originators of apple pie), but give me an American slice any day.
Afterwards we went to the National Gallery.
Now I love this museum, and the last time I was here, I spent 3 hours inside and looked at EVERYTHING. This time around JD and I focused on some key areas/periods, particularly the "Manet To Picasso" exhibition in the basement Sainsbury Wing. I had to make sure he bore witness to seeing such famous Impressionistic pieces like Sunflowers by Van Gogh and Bathers At Asnieres by Seurat in the flesh. It's pretty indescribable, even the second time around. As for JD, well...being an art major and having studied these masterpieces... it was bit mind-blowing for him.
This season's special exhibition was Velazquez, and I recalled seeing some of his works (including the famous Las Meninas) on display at the Museo Del Pradoin Madrid, so I was excited to see these works. Unfortunately, this was a paid exhibition and so we ixnayed this begrudgingly. Ah well, we're going to Spain next year anyway.
Most of London's museums are free. I really love that. Like, really.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
What's That Smell?
Got off the plane this morning from Dublin to Heathrow airport (only an hour or so flight), as sick as a dog. JD was worried that I wouldn't be able to go on or even enjoy the remainder of our trip, and suggested that we cancel our plans and head home early.
To which I replied, "HELL NO."
I was going to take my chances.
We arrived at the hostel with JD exhausted acting as pack mule helping to lug my stuff because of my illness (my dear wonderful boyfriend.) The hostel, it turns out, was a bit of a shabby, smelly place off of Earls Court station and to make things worse, the double bed rooms they advertise don't freaking exist. To them and only them, a double bed (which is used to describe a queen or king size bed overseas), means a room with two twin beds. I was sick, I was pissed, and I was tempted to take our chances and find accommodations elsewhere. The woman behind the counter added that the room was small enough that we could push the two twin beds together. After a millisecond of angry thinking, I thought, "fuck it, we would lose one day's cost of accommodation and I'm too sick to care more about this" and paid for the rest of our stay.
The woman was not joking - the room was tiny as hell, the beds old and springy, and weird annoying smells were everywhere. The smells are like a mix of very bad Indian food, some b.o., mildew, and musty air. The shared bathrooms were even worse - they insist that they are cleaned every day, but apparently what I consider clean and what they consider clean are two different things.
I've said before that I'm the kind of person who doesn't care where I lay my head, as long as there is a bed and a bathroom. But let me change that now: I don't care where I lay my head, as long as there is A CLEAN LARGE BED and a VERY CLEAN BATHROOM.
So for any of you out there who are trying to find budget accommodations in London - don't book at Nevern Hostel. In fact, if you are a couple traveling looking for private rooms, it's worth the extra 10-20 pounds per night just to have something acceptable and CLEAN.
(For the record, when I visited London alone in 2004, I stayed at City of London/St. Paul's Youth Hostel near Blackfriar's Station. This place is wonderful for any lone traveler/backpacker in search of a single bed and not minding sharing a room with 3-9 other people. The beds are comfortable, the bathrooms very clean, and you a get free full English breakfast every morning with your reservation.)
I'm actually a bit tired so I will sign off for now. There is more to tell about tonight, but I will have to relay it all in the morning. My nasty-ass bed awaits.
Ta-ta.
To which I replied, "HELL NO."
I was going to take my chances.
We arrived at the hostel with JD exhausted acting as pack mule helping to lug my stuff because of my illness (my dear wonderful boyfriend.) The hostel, it turns out, was a bit of a shabby, smelly place off of Earls Court station and to make things worse, the double bed rooms they advertise don't freaking exist. To them and only them, a double bed (which is used to describe a queen or king size bed overseas), means a room with two twin beds. I was sick, I was pissed, and I was tempted to take our chances and find accommodations elsewhere. The woman behind the counter added that the room was small enough that we could push the two twin beds together. After a millisecond of angry thinking, I thought, "fuck it, we would lose one day's cost of accommodation and I'm too sick to care more about this" and paid for the rest of our stay.
The woman was not joking - the room was tiny as hell, the beds old and springy, and weird annoying smells were everywhere. The smells are like a mix of very bad Indian food, some b.o., mildew, and musty air. The shared bathrooms were even worse - they insist that they are cleaned every day, but apparently what I consider clean and what they consider clean are two different things.
I've said before that I'm the kind of person who doesn't care where I lay my head, as long as there is a bed and a bathroom. But let me change that now: I don't care where I lay my head, as long as there is A CLEAN LARGE BED and a VERY CLEAN BATHROOM.
So for any of you out there who are trying to find budget accommodations in London - don't book at Nevern Hostel. In fact, if you are a couple traveling looking for private rooms, it's worth the extra 10-20 pounds per night just to have something acceptable and CLEAN.
(For the record, when I visited London alone in 2004, I stayed at City of London/St. Paul's Youth Hostel near Blackfriar's Station. This place is wonderful for any lone traveler/backpacker in search of a single bed and not minding sharing a room with 3-9 other people. The beds are comfortable, the bathrooms very clean, and you a get free full English breakfast every morning with your reservation.)
I'm actually a bit tired so I will sign off for now. There is more to tell about tonight, but I will have to relay it all in the morning. My nasty-ass bed awaits.
Ta-ta.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
The City Tugs At Me
Dublin in my head is two cities. During the day, the old brick and metal buildings seem harsh and dirty against the autumn sun. There is smoke and rot and wetness and unfamiliar smells. Dublin in the daytime seems ugly to me. Yet somehow the air smells pure and everything is real. This city is solidly real, with no pretensions or social facades, it is what it is.
At night, Dublin transforms into something dark and cluttered but somehow warm and welcoming. The lights soften the buildings and there's comfort in the air. And yes, you hear music in the pubs.
The people are like the city, rough around the edges and a bit … unglamorous, but REAL and warm and so very welcoming. Everyone is friendly and the cab drivers tell you jokes featuring their wives and insist you take your time getting out of their taxi.
Ireland is a country of musicians and writers and I see why, albeit in my limited experience staying only within the confines of its largest and capital city. Dublin is filled with stories and walking the streets inspires me because this really is a city out of some novel, romantic and tragic, its people reflecting their centuries of hopes and struggles and simple joys. Yes, I'm sounding cliché, but I can't think of any other way to describe it. I look forward to a future visit, but this time to its hills and villages. Just to see. And to fall in love some more.
This is so refreshing, having lived in Los Angeles for almost 13 years. The two cities are so vastly different, though both the stuff of legends. I am intrigued by Dublin. I too, am compelled to write novels.
At night, Dublin transforms into something dark and cluttered but somehow warm and welcoming. The lights soften the buildings and there's comfort in the air. And yes, you hear music in the pubs.
The people are like the city, rough around the edges and a bit … unglamorous, but REAL and warm and so very welcoming. Everyone is friendly and the cab drivers tell you jokes featuring their wives and insist you take your time getting out of their taxi.
Ireland is a country of musicians and writers and I see why, albeit in my limited experience staying only within the confines of its largest and capital city. Dublin is filled with stories and walking the streets inspires me because this really is a city out of some novel, romantic and tragic, its people reflecting their centuries of hopes and struggles and simple joys. Yes, I'm sounding cliché, but I can't think of any other way to describe it. I look forward to a future visit, but this time to its hills and villages. Just to see. And to fall in love some more.
This is so refreshing, having lived in Los Angeles for almost 13 years. The two cities are so vastly different, though both the stuff of legends. I am intrigued by Dublin. I too, am compelled to write novels.
Manuscripts and something out of a movie
Today we walked around the city, having a late start because of my illness, and went to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College. We began the day with scones and tea and all sorts of yumminess at the Queen of Tarts, a fabulously delicious bakery and tea room on Dame Street across from Dublin Castle.
Dublin is a walking city. There is no subway, but there is a great and reliable bus service and taxis galore. But when the main stretch of the city is about 3 miles across, you can really get around just by walking .
The Book of Kells is located in Trinity College's library on permanent display. Trinity College was established in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I of England. It's a compact college, right in the heart of the city, with the Bank of Ireland building (former location of the Irish Parliament) across the way.
The Book is a set of ornately decorated and written manuscripts done by Celtic monks in the 1st century (around 800.) The Book contains the 4 gospels of the New Testament in Latin. The exhibit also features other famous Dark Age-period illuminated manuscripts, as well as offers a timeline based around these books and the history of Ireland at the time. There are videos detailing how these books were made and how these monks – artists in their own right, really – decorated and wrote these texts. I love calligraphy and the art of book-making and this exhibit fascinated me.
We later walked into the College's Old Library Long Room and it was something out of some period film, just utterly amazing. JD was floored. The Long Room is wall-to-wall first editions and bound books, many of them hundreds of years old. It's just hard to describe this place. I looked up information about the Long Room on wikipedia and supposedly, the Jedi Archives featured in Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was inspired by the Long Room.
After leaving the College, we spent some quiet time in Ireland's National Gallery. We are culture-heads, yes. We are not ashamed.
Hate to say it is an early night for us, as I was feeling a bit worse by late afternoon.
We depart for London in the morning!
Dublin is a walking city. There is no subway, but there is a great and reliable bus service and taxis galore. But when the main stretch of the city is about 3 miles across, you can really get around just by walking .
The Book of Kells is located in Trinity College's library on permanent display. Trinity College was established in 1592 by Queen Elizabeth I of England. It's a compact college, right in the heart of the city, with the Bank of Ireland building (former location of the Irish Parliament) across the way.
The Book is a set of ornately decorated and written manuscripts done by Celtic monks in the 1st century (around 800.) The Book contains the 4 gospels of the New Testament in Latin. The exhibit also features other famous Dark Age-period illuminated manuscripts, as well as offers a timeline based around these books and the history of Ireland at the time. There are videos detailing how these books were made and how these monks – artists in their own right, really – decorated and wrote these texts. I love calligraphy and the art of book-making and this exhibit fascinated me.
We later walked into the College's Old Library Long Room and it was something out of some period film, just utterly amazing. JD was floored. The Long Room is wall-to-wall first editions and bound books, many of them hundreds of years old. It's just hard to describe this place. I looked up information about the Long Room on wikipedia and supposedly, the Jedi Archives featured in Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was inspired by the Long Room.
After leaving the College, we spent some quiet time in Ireland's National Gallery. We are culture-heads, yes. We are not ashamed.
Hate to say it is an early night for us, as I was feeling a bit worse by late afternoon.
We depart for London in the morning!
Wow, there are drunkards in Dublin?
Welcome back, all. It's day two of our Dublin stay, and what do you know, I GET SICK. Of all the shit-ass luck. But did it stop me? Of course not.
A funny anecdote about last night from JD's point of view. While I was in the internet café typing away, JD chose to hang outside to give me some privacy and he becomes witness to an amusing drunken episode. So the café owner was outside talking to some guy (don't know if he was talking to JD too), and a few minutes later, one of the city custodians comes by and parks his wheelbarrow of trash. Suddenly, some drunkard comes up and grabs the wheelbarrow and starts running around with it doing a little jig and saying something unintelligible that sounds like "wheeeeeeeee!" with many more syllables.
Needless to say, the custodian does not like this one bit and mentions something to the drunkard about there being human waste in the barrow, and the drunkard needs to stop messing around with it. Then the drunkard comes up and put his arm around the custodian and was saying a bunch of stuff and ribbing the guy. To which the custodian was cowering and yelling "fuck off! fuck off! GAH!" The custodian manages to coax the drunkard away from the door to the internet cafe and when he leaves, the one guy who was friends with the proprietor looked over at JD and knowingly smirking... like "ay- kin ye believe that!"
Dublin rocks. More to come… ;)
A funny anecdote about last night from JD's point of view. While I was in the internet café typing away, JD chose to hang outside to give me some privacy and he becomes witness to an amusing drunken episode. So the café owner was outside talking to some guy (don't know if he was talking to JD too), and a few minutes later, one of the city custodians comes by and parks his wheelbarrow of trash. Suddenly, some drunkard comes up and grabs the wheelbarrow and starts running around with it doing a little jig and saying something unintelligible that sounds like "wheeeeeeeee!" with many more syllables.
Needless to say, the custodian does not like this one bit and mentions something to the drunkard about there being human waste in the barrow, and the drunkard needs to stop messing around with it. Then the drunkard comes up and put his arm around the custodian and was saying a bunch of stuff and ribbing the guy. To which the custodian was cowering and yelling "fuck off! fuck off! GAH!" The custodian manages to coax the drunkard away from the door to the internet cafe and when he leaves, the one guy who was friends with the proprietor looked over at JD and knowingly smirking... like "ay- kin ye believe that!"
Dublin rocks. More to come… ;)
Monday, November 13, 2006
The Shite Plane Ride and Gammon Steak
Ok...
I have been totally spoiled on JetBlue and British Airways.
To its credit, Aer Lingus DOES have some of the friendliest flight attendants in the business. But could it HURT to have the seats placed a little farther apart? I mean, I'm a midgetey 5 feet 2 inches and the seating was cramped even for me. I had to witness my poor boyfriend suffering with his knees practically to his chest the entire near-10-hour flight. We didn't sleep at all on the the plane by the way... surprised?
When we arrived at Dublin Airport, the weather was gorgeous - meaning gorgeous for Dublin standards - all pretty clouds and dappled sunlight and 60 degrees at noon. We arrived at our hotel, crazy exhausted and thinking only of ... well nothing... only to find out that check-in was an hour and a half away. We tried to kill some time, which in a normal state of mind, would not have mattered in the least, but in the current situation of mind-bending walking dead-ness, was mildly perturbing at best. When we finally checked in, it was like time ceased to exist. (Our hotel, btw, was lovely in the budget sort of sense, which mattered not to us, being of the budget sort of traveler. I found out later from the brochures that I happened upon in the lobby that the hotel was featured prominently in The Commitments!)
5 lost hours later...
Wandering Temple Bar and - yes - Dublin is fantastic. As I am writing this, JD and I had just finished a lingering boxty and irish stew dinner at Gallagher's, ending with an uber-bang of divine chocolate steamed pudding with fresh cream. For those of you who don't know, a boxty is like a huge potato pancake stuffed with various yummy stews or such, then topped with gravy, cheese, herbs, etc. Radical. Anyway, he ordered a "gammon steak boxty", thinking it was some sort of fancy irish-type BEEF, but when it arrived... gammon steak is some sort of ham. I didn't like it. He liked it a lot. You learn something new every day.
Anyway, I want to keep writing, preferably something wittingly observant and/or amusingly trivial, but I'm at an internet cafe right now and JD is standing out in the rain. Don't ask my why. I'll write more tomorrow. Just wanted to let all of you know we're well and good and ... goddamn we're in Dublin. I promise the next entry won't seem so rushed and checklist-ey. (I realize I make up a lot of words.)
JD also promised to take lots of pictures, so I've entrusted him with the camera. Unfortunately, no piccies today.
I have been totally spoiled on JetBlue and British Airways.
To its credit, Aer Lingus DOES have some of the friendliest flight attendants in the business. But could it HURT to have the seats placed a little farther apart? I mean, I'm a midgetey 5 feet 2 inches and the seating was cramped even for me. I had to witness my poor boyfriend suffering with his knees practically to his chest the entire near-10-hour flight. We didn't sleep at all on the the plane by the way... surprised?
When we arrived at Dublin Airport, the weather was gorgeous - meaning gorgeous for Dublin standards - all pretty clouds and dappled sunlight and 60 degrees at noon. We arrived at our hotel, crazy exhausted and thinking only of ... well nothing... only to find out that check-in was an hour and a half away. We tried to kill some time, which in a normal state of mind, would not have mattered in the least, but in the current situation of mind-bending walking dead-ness, was mildly perturbing at best. When we finally checked in, it was like time ceased to exist. (Our hotel, btw, was lovely in the budget sort of sense, which mattered not to us, being of the budget sort of traveler. I found out later from the brochures that I happened upon in the lobby that the hotel was featured prominently in The Commitments!)
5 lost hours later...
Wandering Temple Bar and - yes - Dublin is fantastic. As I am writing this, JD and I had just finished a lingering boxty and irish stew dinner at Gallagher's, ending with an uber-bang of divine chocolate steamed pudding with fresh cream. For those of you who don't know, a boxty is like a huge potato pancake stuffed with various yummy stews or such, then topped with gravy, cheese, herbs, etc. Radical. Anyway, he ordered a "gammon steak boxty", thinking it was some sort of fancy irish-type BEEF, but when it arrived... gammon steak is some sort of ham. I didn't like it. He liked it a lot. You learn something new every day.
Anyway, I want to keep writing, preferably something wittingly observant and/or amusingly trivial, but I'm at an internet cafe right now and JD is standing out in the rain. Don't ask my why. I'll write more tomorrow. Just wanted to let all of you know we're well and good and ... goddamn we're in Dublin. I promise the next entry won't seem so rushed and checklist-ey. (I realize I make up a lot of words.)
JD also promised to take lots of pictures, so I've entrusted him with the camera. Unfortunately, no piccies today.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
London part deux, Dublin part un
In 3 days, 1 hour and 15 minutes, JD and I will be on a plane headed to Dublin. It's the first time in Dublin for the both of us, and as I've said in a past blog, if I was going by myself I would be excited in a totally different and more introspective way. Having someone with you whom you love deeply, am more comfortable with than in one's own skin, and is new to the overseas travel process - it's a whole new excitement ballpark. 2 days into the trip we're doing a 5 day run in London and I can't wait to show my boyfriend around one of my most favorite cities in the whole entire world.
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
Heavens To Betsy ...
I finally made some time to start writing on this blog!
Welcome to What's Outside, my attempts at documenting excursions local and international, while enjoying anything under the sun from historical to gastronomical. I'll make attempt to post everything that's comical or visual, from photographs to encounters in order categorical.
Welcome to What's Outside, my attempts at documenting excursions local and international, while enjoying anything under the sun from historical to gastronomical. I'll make attempt to post everything that's comical or visual, from photographs to encounters in order categorical.
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