Dublin Doors

Most modern cities reach up so high, they block out most of the sky. In Dublin, the sky is part of the landscape, at first blustery with cold winds and bitter rain, then the clouds whisk away to release streaks of clean sunshine that make the landscape glow. Yesterday we walked, past old stone buildings, rows of brownstones (if that is what they are called here), through parks and over a canal that feeds to the sea. The new urban design is ancient here, with street-level shops below living space decorated with oversized window sporting flower-filled window gardens. Instead of skyscrapers, the buildings are human scaled and most weathered with age. An ancient church is decorated with rare gargoyles and bas relief sculptures that are almost indistinguishable with age. And yet, walking over ancient stone sidewalks, an electric train silently slides by.

We stumble upon a professor lecturing a group of students about Irish history in St. Stephen's Green and follow meandering paths that lead to a center couryard filled with sculpted flower gardens, just missing the peak blooms of tulips. Everyone is young and in love, it seems. Up a weathered stone stairs we see a couple lost in each other's arms. Beside the water another couple seem to whisper secrets.

The streets are in use, but not crowded. As we walk we hear accents from all over the world, so many, in fact, that my brain becomes lost in the sea of cultures. Although I normally can tell a French accent from a Spanish one, I start getting confused. Lovely lilting voices all blend together into a symphony that is Dublin English.

Grafton Street is bustling with activity and shops that mostly seem filled with tourists. We see shops of Irish goods, linens, woolen sweaters, plaid caps. But Alan is looking for a cellphone repair shop. As we walk, a lovely young Chinese woman offers a free acupuncture consultation. My shoulde is aching, so I take her up on it and agree to a 45 minute session of acupuncture, massage and cupping. When it is over, I feel a little better and she talks me into massage oil and some herb to reduce inflamation. Fifteen pills twice per day for a month.

Next we see a sign for the Book of the Kells, one of the most ancient Christian texts in the world. Held at Trinity College (around since 1592) we view four books and an impressive series of educational exhibits that tell how ancients texts were made and what they mean. Afterwards we are fed through the Long Room, a lovely arching library filled with thousands of old books from notable and less notable authors. A series of worn busts depict famous authors including Jonathan Swift and Cicero. Outside we see lilacs in bloom and I pick up a light purple head that has fallen in the shrubbery. It's sweet scent takes me back thirty years and i bring it to my nose again and again throughout the rest of our walk.

On the way back we head toward Oscar Wilde park, really Merrion Square. Again, winding private paths filled with birdsong lead to a umber of grassy areas with sculpted flower gardens and again, we see the deadheads of tulips as well as a few stragglers to show us what we missed. It is beautiful anyway with other flowers in bloom, including pale azealias. Two kiosks near a sculpture of Wilde reclining on a rock are carved with his more memorable sayings about love, life and boredom. As we pass out of the gardens we see a stature of Thomas Collins, depicted in the middle of a shout. A man and a little boy approach. Alan had captured them walking toward us in the shadowed lane. "Did you take our picture?" he demands. "Yes," Alan says. "Can I have a copy?" I see Alan breath out in relief. "My name is Thomas Collins, too." We enjoy a companiable hour of Irish history, learning how Collins' negotiations with the English led to years of civil war and the revolutionary's eventual assassination.

By now it is close to sunset and the wind is picking up, threatening more rain. We stop by a number of pubs that dot the streets on the way back, but can't find any that serve food. "It is a bank holiday," we hear, although that doesn't clear things up much to us. Alan photographs the brightly painted doors, framed by a never-ending variety of intricate glass designs. We eat Malaysian food and then I fall into bed, exhausted and content.

Getting There

It is 6:30 in the morning and I seem to have escaped jet lag entirely, waking up at my normal time, thanks to an Irish friend and frequent traveler's advice to "sleep as little as possible and stay up late the first night." We flew over on MaxJet, a business class only airline that initiated direct flights from Vegas to London last winter. The flight was elegant and fun with champaign with a sweet strawberry on arrival, a canape a few minutes later and a very decent dinner a few hours into the flight. Part of the pleasant experience was deparating from Terminal 2, a human scaled terminal that was significantly less crowded than the domestic one. While the almost fully reclining seats weren't exactly comfortable after sitting in them for 9 hours, at least my bones weren't screaming like they usually are after a long flight. In fact, the flight was such a contrast from the usual cattle car that I almost expected to see Cary Grant walking down the ailes to stretch his legs. "This is what travel is supposed to be," I said to Alan. So this is how the other half lives.

Ryan Air, the only airline with a connecting flight from Stansted to Dublin, brought reality crashing back. Their reputation of customer non-service holds in our experience. We were hours early for our flight and when we tried to check our bags, were told that we couldn't check in until X:30. Got in line a few minutes before that and tried to check our luggage. Ended up being charged 135 pounds for additional weight, even though we had already paid extra when buying the ticket to check two extra bags. However, by the time that was all settled, the check in person (who actually did seem to want to help us) looked at the time and said that we were five minutes past check in time for our flight. Apparently three previous agents that we talked with misread our ticket and thought we were catching the following plane. By the time we went back to the ticket counter, paid another hundred pounds to change the ticket, rechecked our bags and ran to the gate, we barely made the new flight in time and didn't even have time to call the Dylan, where we were staying, to let them know that the transfer to the hotel that they had arranged wouldn't be needed until the next flight. (Apparently they waited for an hour at the airport, thinking that they had just missed us.)

The Dylan is lovely, in a residential sectioin of the old part of Dublin, from what we understand. The suite is spacious with heated tile floors, a rain shower, indirect lighting, a large closet and lots of nice, very high tech touches like a space age phone, flat screen TVs (inlcuding one in the shower) and modern pop decor as well as lovely silver antiques scattered about in lighted niches. We ate at the restaurant last night and found the staff very friendly, young, all from other countries including Poland, Brazil and Argentina. Cirque du Soliel had given us one inch pins from their newest show, Love, that we gave to most of them. ("We'll scatter Love buttons all over Ireland," we told Cirque.) The chef is Irish, we were told, who had created a very impressive menu. Alan had rabbit, served in a dozen bite size pieces of various bits of rabbit artfully prepared and arranged. I had halibut with a creamy artichoke sauce. The multicourse meal lasted a little over 2 hours and we noticed, unlike Vegas restaurants, that seemed to be the standard dinner experience. Afterwards we walked around the block, finding a variety of pubs, lots of old stone and brick and a variety of wonderful designs on doors and windows. It was midnight here and we had started our trip at 5 pm the previous day, so it was time for some sleep after asking for an ice pack to put on my painful shoulder, wrenched at the airport. Slept like a baby.

We're Off!

How many years have I been paying for my domain name without having a website? Let's be kind and just say, "Too many!" So now, I not only have a website, I have a blog! How cool is that?

I am sure that you want to know everything about my life and there is so much going on both with me, and in Vegas, that I'd like to share some of that excitement with you. Last week I shipped the Fourth Edition of Fun with the Family in Las Vegas, and now I am heading out to Ireland for a story for Luxury Las Vegas Magazine on food, whiskey and spas for one of my favorite editors. (I've decided I agree with Elwood P. Dodd, who recommends pleasant, so I only want to write for pleasant people.)

The bags are packed and we are ready to go. Although we leave on Saturday, we arrive on Sunday where we will wait for five hours in a London airport before getting our connecting flight to Dublin. We have a name of a friend's father to invite out for a glass of beer, so we have friends there already. Bon voyage! -- Lynn