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3/21/2009
We woke up early on Saturday, hoping to drive to Dublin in the morning without losing a day of sight-seeing in transit. Getting up and out of the hostel at 7:45 turned out to be useless, though, as the garage we parked in was locked up until 8. With time to kill, we walked down the banks of the River Corrib, taking in the surprising quiet of a town that had been partying until about four hours ago.
Once we freed the car, we headed back to Craig's to pick up him and Dave. Craig, Paul, and Dave piled into the back of the car, commencing a hilarious road trip in which Dave kept making ridiculous yet awesome music requests. I also STORMED back in Zitchdog. Before that drive, I think it was Tom with 36, Paul with 33 and me WAY behind with 22. By the time we got to Dublin, it was Tom-38 and Paul and I tied at 34. It had been an EPIC run.
At one point, Tom passed another driver, getting into the other lane and flooring it (which does little in the Great American Death Trap). By now, we had forgotten the special feature of our little vehicle, but nothing reminds you quite like the sound of the gas compartment door popping off, catching its plastic connector to the gas cap, and beating mercilessly against the side of the car.
After a flurry of cursing, we stopped and looked at the damage…which was bad. The side of the car behind the gas cap was covered in scratches. Since neither we nor anyone else in the world thinks to double-check a functional-looking gas cap when they're inspecting a rental, we worried they might charge us for it. Tom said that, in that event, he'd be giving them an earful about renting us a busted car.
Fast forward to Dublin, where we drove to the airport and found the Dan Dooley car rental lot. While the rest of us collected our stuff, Tom called the attendant over to our car.
Tom: So, this compartment door is broken, but still connected to the gas cap and about 20 minutes after we left Dublin last Sunday, it popped off and wailed on the side.
Dooley rep: Huh, oh yeah, it popped off...eh, that sucks. Oh well, safe travels.
Once again, we worried far too much about a situation considering we were in Ireland.
Thus, we bid our goodbyes to the Great American Deathtrap, a car that had taken us to wonderful places with the speed and structural integrity of an R/C car.
A van took us back to the airport, where Dave split off to fly back to Oxford. It was sad to see him go after how much fun we'd had hanging out with him; he was a great addition to the trip. After a round of goodbyes, he signed the sandal and went on his way.
After having some lunch at the airport, we hopped the familiar bus to the center of town. The ride felt odd after so long and varied a trip, as though we'd be starting the week all over again. Craig hopped off in the city, while Tom, Paul and I rode onward to our hotel. Since it was just after noon (amazing considering we'd been in Galway that morning), the room wasn't ready once more, so we checked our bags once more and set off into Dublin once more. We had decided to take the first day back in Dublin to see easy stuff, things you didn't need to go in and pay for, with the exception of The Book of Kells.
We walked through St. Stephen's Green and on to Merrion Square, stopping at the wacky statue of Oscar Wilde once more.
From there, we made our way to Trinity College, a gorgeous campus where the Book of Kells is kept. Trinity’s buildings are so much older than those at most US schools and the part of me that wishes I'd studied abroad wishes I'd gone there. Of course, I didn't know I loved Ireland until I went second semester Junior Year, which would have been my abroad semester, so a bit of a Catch-22.
Finding the library building for the Book of Kells, we sat and waited for Craig to join us. While we waited, I checked inside and came back to report a 12 Euro admission, pretty steep by our standards. Hearing that, Tom decided to pass, but since Paul hadn't been and really wanted to, he and I decided to still go. After Craig arrived and declined as well, we left the three of them on the bench outside and headed into the gift shop to buy our tickets. While in line, I noticed a book called "Titanic: A Boy's Adventure,” which might be the worst kids' book ever.
The Book of Kells is a beautifully illustrated copy of the Four Gospels and stands as one of the most stunning examples of Illustrated Text in the world. Since they obviously can't tear the book apart to show all the pages at once, the exhibits leading up to it are all blown-up photos of the pages along with explanations of the different iconography. Then, like the crown jewels in England, you finally get to walk around this glass case containing the Book itself as well as several other ancient religious texts. It is breathtaking work made more amazing because it's so damn old.
My preferred part of the admission price, though, is the Old Library you walk through after the Book itself. Picture the perfect library, along hallway with marble floors and dark wood bookshelves two stories tall with busts of famous writers all along the corridor. Both times, I found it difficult to leave the place. They also fill the lower floor of the library with visiting exhibits, in this case the history of the detective novel. Each case displayed original copies of pulp detective books from Victorian times. It was fascinating to look down at such a book and think, "That was like a Victorian Tom Clancy novel, and now it's in a museum."
At last, we made our way back through the gift shop, resisted temptation as the good Book had advised, and met back up with the crew to plan our next steps.
I believe we were in Waterford when I last mentioned the 6 Nations rugby match between Ireland and Wales that would give Ireland a Grand Slam for the first time in 61 years. Six days later, the match was upon us and we all agreed that we had to watch it. Where we disagreed, though, was how to watch it, with Tom mentioning he wanted to watch it in a pub with a real crowd. I saw how that could be awesome, but also felt that it was the first time in a week we had an actual hotel room where we could relax and watch it. As a tie-breaker, Paul and Tom had intended to do laundry back at Craig's place on our first night in Galway but hadn’t, so they desperately needed to take advantage of a laundromat by the hotel. With that ultimate override, we split with Craig, who still wanted to watch in a pub, making plans to meet up for a night on the (hopefully victorious) town after the game.
On our way back, we stopped in a convenience store to load up on pre-made sandwiches, the beginning of a gluttonous feast of these over the next two days. Once we made it back to our room, I felt a swell of relief. Most often, I’d been the person pushing us to do and see more stuff, but now I was prepared to seize the serendipitous rugby match as a reason to slow things down. Furthermore, we got a real kick out of watching rugby, catching England-Scotland before the Ireland-Wales match started. Paul and Tom popped out to hit the nearby laundromat and return to the convenience store, returning with more sandwiches and vital information.
"Dude, they have 2Euro cans of Guinness there"
Guinness Count: 49.
The Ireland-Wales match did not disappoint and we even developed favorite players on the Irish squad. When the game ended, with Wales missing what would have been a game-winning kick, the three of us erupted in our room and immediately got ready for a night out.
One long and now-familiar walk later, we were back in the heart of Dublin, meeting Craig at the Stag’s Head. Everyone who hadn't been eating whole shelves' worth of sandwiches was hungry, so I ran into the Stag's Head to check if they served food. The same bartender who'd served us our first drinks in Ireland listened to the question and quipped, "Well, I'll tell you what, I serve a tasty Guinness, and an absolutely delicious helping of ale."
“We’ll be back!” I said.
We eventually decided on a burger joint, little more than a takeout counter and a small crowd of tables. Not hungry, I waited outside for everyone, figuring we'd just eat quickly on the way back to the pub. Tom soon joined me, burger in hand, and when the others sat down at one of the tables, we motioned that we’d meet them at the Stag.
Once we returned to the Stag’s Head, I realized I was about to have Guinness #50 in the same pub that hosted Guinness #1. Of course, I immediately decided it has to be from the same bartender as well. Despite my earlier encounter, we couldn’t find him anywhere in the Stag's Head, so Tom and I decided to head down into the basement bar, the Stag's Tail. Since it had just opened up for the night, it was significantly less crowded, plus we’d have a good seat for the live music later. Once we found good spot with enough room for the whole crowd, I took one more lap upstairs before deciding I’d just have to have my 50th poured by someone else.
Guinness Count: 5- WAIT!
Suddenly, the first bartender appeared behind the one I’d just gotten my beer from. Tommy leaned over and said, "The next drink you FINISH is your 50th.” Inspired, I marched up to the bar and flagged down my guy. He told me he was off his shift and pointed me to the other guy. At this point, I had nothing to lose.
"I know he's working, but see the thing is, you served me the first Guinness I had in Ireland this trip and I'd like it if you could serve me my 50th. I know it’s probably the weirdest request of your day."
Now, the bartender had been really cool on the first day, chatting with us about soccer and rugby, even telling us other good pubs in Dublin. When I made this request, however, his face fell and I knew I'd become That Tourist. Oh well...it wasn’t HIS vacation.
He started the pour and told me he'd bring it by. Before he did, I asked him to sign the sandal, figuring he already hated me. He did, also somewhat begrudgingly.
Thus, I had my 50th Guinness of the trip after tasting my 51st.
The rest of the crew arrived somewhere during that episode, so we all began a long and pretty much normal night of drinking. We recounted some stories from the trip, as well as stories we always tell (The Rat in The Bathroom), then listened to loud, but excellent trad music when the band started up.
A few hours later, it was time to go, so we filed out the door, which is when two magical things happened.
First of all, Paul's Kelly Kelly occurred…except Paul was in the bathroom, making him the only one who didn't hear it. Instead, he walked out to us shouting "Dude, you missed it. That girl just called someone a 'gobshite!'" With Paul understandably (and drunkenly) bummed, I decided to cheer him up with something I'd promised him. See, after he slapped me for the honor of his ancestors in Cork, we agreed it would be hilarious if both he AND Craig slapped me, thus creating the Double O'Sullivan Atonement Slap.
Right there in Dublin, in front of our beloved Stag's Head, it was time.
We wanted photographic evidence of this moment, so there was a lot of lead-up and unfortunately, more than one take…since some shots didn't come out. The first two slaps went fine; I stood like I was in front of a firing squad while the guys counted off and slapped after three. The final one, though, Paul decided a video would work better than trying to capture the moment of a slap in a picture. Setting up the shot, Paul got back into place.
Paul: "One...Two...Three......."
Ian (opening his eyes): Guys, what are you wai-
SLAP
Great timing, fellas. With the sins of my ancestors once more atoned for, we set out southward towards our hotel, passing all the familiar Dublin sights: Trinity College, St. Stephen’s Green, and of course, a guy pulling a rickshaw down Grafton Street dressed as Spider-man.
Next up, the last full day!
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