A Revel in Ireland

It's true Ryan Air charges you £35 if you don't print out your boarding pass ahead of time. Another £35 if you want to check a bag in, or if your carryon is too big. They don't even let you carry more than one item on board. Toiletries, clothes, camera, laptop, book, umbrella, liquor - it all has to fit into one smallish bag. But if you can manage all this, then for £20 roundtrip, you could fly from London to Dublin and back, all taxes included.

So I compromised. I brought two cameras and a bottle of scotch, and left behind my laptop and umbrella. Of course, I got to Dublin in the middle of a cold summer downpour. Luckily, my hilarious dancy friend Johnny was there to pick me up and take me home to cocktails, pizza, and good music.

I met John two years ago outside a bus station in Villazon, Bolivia, on the southern border with Argentina. He and three fellow travellers had missed the morning bus to Tupiza (where the alien beautiful salt flat tours begin, and where I was heading myself), and in the chilly boring hours had decided to buy tracksuits. When I got to the bus station, I saw four jokers (including Johnny) sitting around in matching red and blue tracksuits. Love at first sight. I ended up travelling with them all through Bolivia.

Johnny had promised me a cheap as chips July vacay in Dublin, and fun to boot. It was all that and beautiful too. On Saturday, we checked out the lovely little Biorhythms exhibit about music and the body at Trinity College, and then met up with Cynthia (!) on her last gypsy outing before starting up her new king of the world job in NYC.

The three of us had a great rainy walk around Grafton Street - where I had my first real Irish Guinness (it was ok. Yeah, just ok) (gratuitous photo of a pint of Guinness to the left) - and St. Stephen's Green (see photo above where Johnny and I demonstrate very weak ups). Then drinks at the fancy Morgan Hotel, in Temple Bar, and (natch) a night of dancing.

Apparently there's free fun dancing to be had most any weekend in Dublin's eminently walkable city centre. Shebeen Chic has a tiny ornate little basement, and the DJ ducks under red beaded chandeliers to do his thing. Bia Bar is a bit more spacious and regular-ish (except for this awesome writing on the wall). Both were tremendous fun, and then John and I stumbled home and ate mini pancakes before crashing (don't carbs taste like manna at 3am?)

Sunday, the rain finally cleared up, and so we set off on a roadtrip. First up, Powerscourt Waterfall, the highest in Ireland, tripping down a towering stone mountain, while you stand at the base and watch. Then we went to Glendalough where Saint Kevin, the hermit monk set up camp, only to have his rabid followers follow him there and establish a monastery, school, cemetery, and other buildings now in ruins. As you might know, I love cemeteries, plus this one is in a lush valley with two lakes and some great hikes.

We wrapped up the weekend by eating dinner at the famous (and highest) pub in Ireland, Johnnie Fox's, which while frequented mostly by tourists, boasts fabulous food. I had mahi mahi, Cyn went with paella, and John ordered giant Balti shrimp. All were yum, plus we got to watch Spain beat the Netherlands in the World Cup finals (although I'm still bummed about Ghana).

Monday, Cynthia and I rented a car and drove south. Even though I made her switch the rental to an automatic (manual plus the left side of the road would be too much for me), I still almost killed us when I pulled out on the wrong side of the road in Cashel, and instead of swerving, I jammed on the brakes in panic. [Note to self (everyone), don't rely on my quick thinking in an emergency situation.] Luckily, the driver of the oncoming car had a bit more presence of mind and was able to stop just in time.

The weather held up - sunny and cloudy in turn - but no rain! And so we got to wander the lovely rock of Cashel with its ruined castle on a hill and pastoral landscape all around.

In Cahir (pronounced 'Care'), we skipped the castle, and went on a hike through the verdurous woods alongside a babbly brook, and then took a tour of a 'Swiss Cottage' - a cutie playhouse for the Butlers, nobility of old Ireland.

We got to Cork in Southern Ireland just in time for drinks with some of Cynthia's own travel friends, Ciara and Tyg (who she met at a music festival in Malawi, Africa) (those Irish get around).

Unfortunately, Tuesday was a bit rushed as I had a flight back to London in the evening, but Cyn and I still managed to pack quite a bit in. In Cork, we wandered the Old English Market, which has amazing amazing food (I want more of those quiches, Cyn!), and the Crawford Municipal Art Gallery, which despite its mundane name, had a great collection.

Among my favourites - the lushy sexy "Red Rose" painting by John Lavery, Carl Zimmerman's stark and peaceful "Wild Boars in the Snow," the mournful muted painting "The Keyboard Player" by Gerald Dillon, and two of Sean Keating's, forlorn Irish emigrants in the prosaically titled "Economic Pressure," and the larger than life watery eyed soldiers in "Men of the South." But the highlight was Harry Clarke's sumptuous jeweled stained glass work (pictured above), which caused a sensation when they came out in 1924, and were heralded as "a revel in blue." Indeed.

On the drive back to Dublin, we stopped for lunch in the cutie quainty town of Kilkenny with its imposing castle, and sprawling design museum and shop. I wish we could have had more time here, but we were already cutting it way too close, and when Cyn finally dropped me off at Dublin's airport, I had to sprint all the way to the gate to make my flight (which was thankfully delayed a bit).

I've been to Ireland three times now. The first was a solo trip to Dublin where I did all the pretty tourist stuff and walked everywhere. The second was a rollicking trip to Galway with Irish travel friends I had met while trekking to Machu Pichu (like I said, they get around). And now this third time - all totally different, but such warm fun experiences that I'm always left wanting more. I'll be back, Johnny, and not just because you're the perfect host with the prettiest eyes. Or maybe just because of exactly that.