New Year's Eve: Dublin

Happy New Year from Dublin, friends! I'm excited about celebrating the new year in a foreign country. This week has been a week of firsts for me: first international flight, first stamp in my Passport, first time in an official pub, and now my first New Year's Eve party. While I'm not really into parties (and by "not really" I mean I'm worse than Mr. Darcy at the beginning of Pride and Prejudice), I'm looking forward to getting to people watch. Besides, when in Dublin...right? Right. But enough about our plans for tonight (which involves a ticketed party at a place called Fitzsimmons). Today we toured Newgrange and the Hills of Tara, and I finally got my first glimpse at the Irish countryside. Just in case you were wondering, if I wasn't with a group, I probably wouldn't have left. 

Our first destination this morning was breakfast before we got on the tour bus that would take us to Tara and Newgrange. Kristen, Sam, Luke, and I stopped in at Trinity Bar (which advertised the liturgical symbol for the trinity everywhere) for a traditional Irish breakfast, which was huge and delicious. I'm not a huge fan of breakfast food (and by "not a huge fan" I mean I eat Greek yogurt), but this was literally the best breakfast that I've ever had. I even got a half portion and couldn't finish it. The breakfast consisted of bacon (which was the texture of bacon but tasted more like Canadian bacon), a sausage link that wasn't greasy yet still had amazing flavor, a perfectly poached egg, black and white pudding (which was like a combination of a spicy hash brown and a fried bread pudding... it tastes better than it sounds), toast, and coffee. Every other breakfast food is now disgusting in comparison.

After the amazing breakfast (sorry for the rant about how much I love breakfast here), we joined a day tour that took us first to the Hills of Tara and then to Newgrange. If you ever get the chance to go to Ireland, these are must-see places, simply for their aesthetic beauty. The Hills of Tara are basically large barrows and tombs that are 2,000(+) years old. It is on this site as well that many a medieval king was crowned. Ironically, Margaret Mitchell named Scarlett O'Hara's home in Gone with the Wind after this location. There is a stone at the top of one of the hills called the Stone of Destiny (basically it's a five foot tall phallic symbol) where medieval princes became kings. The legend goes that if you presented the prince to the stone and the stone screamed, he was destined to be a king. If the stone didn't scream, then you'd made the wrong choice, and you would have to cut off an appendage of said prince (toe, leg, arm, pinkie finger, head... totally your call). Situated adjacent to the Hills of Tara is a beautiful empty Anglican Church that is receiving extensive repairs. 

The Stone of Destiny, photo courtesy of Sam McCurry

My favorite part about The Hills of Tara (and also Newgrange) was the view of the parishes from the top of the hills. Like looking out of a plane window when it's flying over land, you can see the patchwork makeup of the countryside--the different greens and browns, the hedgerows, the tops of houses, a cow or a sheep here and there--for miles, and once again you are overwhelmed, not only with God's grandeur but the expanse of God's creation. Windell Berry says, "I come into the peace of wild things…. /…For a time / I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”  This is how I felt when I was looking at the view from The Hills of Tara. In our textbook, Thomas Cahill ties this feeling of the immensity of nature to the Irish tradition when he says, "In this tradition, there is a trust in the objects of sensory perception, which are seen as signposts from God. But there is also a sensuous reveling in the splendors of the created world..." I understand this now.

The view from the hills. 

After we left the Hills of Tara we went to Newgrange where we had lunch in the visitors' center before taking a bus over to the actual site. My initial impression of Newgrange was a Neolithic Hobbit hole, but it's a little different than that. Not only was Newgrange a shelter for the people of the Stone Age, but it was also a burial site and a place of worship (or so historians speculate). Made completely out of stone, some weighing over five tons, this structure was built by hand over 5,000 years ago. The implications of this are immense. Not only is it astonishing that the people who built Newgrange would spend so much time and energy collecting large rocks and stones from miles away, but it is also incredible to think that this cave has been in existence for 5,000 years. Just to give you further context, that's before the pyramids were built. Understanding this, I think it's interesting (and really, allegorical) that no matter what has happened in the last 5,000 years, Newgrange still stands. The constancy of this building is not unlike the constancy of God's love for us, and while that love is not always tangible, it manifests itself in unique and surprising ways like at Newgrange. Another spiritual connection to Newgrange is the spiral drawings carved on the inside and the outside of the building. While no one knows what these spiral images mean, the three connected spirals are said to represent birth, life, and death, making it similar to the trinity.

Part of our group in front of Newgrange. Left to right: Me, Kristin, Kathleen, Sam, Kurt, Luke, and

Jordan.

With the new year around the corner, I am constantly reminded of God's blessings to me this year. Newgrange and the Hills of Tara were just two of many reminders that God's love is unfailing and that God's grace abounds. Like Emerson, I truly believe that one does not have to be in a church to feel the Holy Spirit or to see God at work in the world, and at the cusp of the new year, I am reminded of this once again.       

A Little Bit of Pixie Dust

This morning we woke up early to get breakfast, but the Irish must like to sleep in because the streets were empty at 8 am and most restaurants, etc. were closed. However, there was a corner market/liquor store open that sold danishes, yogurt, packaged sandwiches, and vending machine coffee down the street from our hotel, so we made the best of it with that. Afterwards we set out for The National Gallery, which was about a 45 minute walk from our hotel. After the National Gallery, we went to Eddie Rockets for lunch, and then we walked around for a while before heading back to the hotel. We rested up for a bit, and then we went to the Brazen Head for dinner and storytelling.

This is a scene of Dublin from the "Museum Highlights" gallery.

The National Gallery was fabulous, but then again, I could spend a hundred years in an art museum and never get bored. The National Gallery was built in 1864, so they are currently celebrating their 150th anniversary and making extensive renovations, which means part of the museum is closed to visitors. Still, they had a section of "highlights" from the museum as well as a special commemorative exhibit for the 150th anniversary and another exhibit on Irish writers that I will mention later. It was obviously my favorite part. I was surprised at the extent of their collection, which is mostly based on donations from private collections. Still, they had a Rembrandt, a Caravaggio, a Monet, and a Picasso just to name a few, though the majority of the collection celebrated Irish painters with whom I am unfamiliar. I feel like I need to take a crash course in art history before I make any further comments. 

The first exhibit we entered, however, was not the "highlights" exhibit but rather an exhibit showcasing the top ten winners of a portrait contest held at the museum for Irish artists. The portraits could be anything--videos, sketches, paintings, photographs, whatever, as long as it was a portrait. Now, I must (ashamedly) admit that I'm not a huge fan of modern art, but I love this painting (pictured below) by Geraldine O'Niell. I think it's so interesting how she has combined a multitude of artistic eras and styles into one piece of art and that the center of it all is Schrödinger's cat, whose existence is a question that reaches people on a multitude of levels. More than that, it raises art to a new level by brining in philosophy, psychology, science, and math. Then again, maybe it just reminds us that all these disciplines are a part of art. 

My favorite exhibit was called Lines of Vision and was a gallery devoted to artwork that has inspired works of literature by contemporary Irish writers. Sure, the National Gallery impacted W.B.Yeats and George Bernard Shaw (what is it with Irish men and having "B" middle names?), but the gallery has also influenced contemporary writers and changed the way these writers see the world. Art is so important for literature; you can see that in the poems by Robert Browning who portrays many artists in his poems (really monologues with a rhyme scheme). Still, I think it's cool that an art museum took the time to choose art that celebrated the literature of Ireland. They also compiled a book of all of the art inspired stories and essays. I would love to get a copy, but I wasn't sure if it was worth €30, so I'm going to see if I could find it somewhere cheaper.

A Monet from the Lines of Vision gallery.

After we finished touring the exhibits, we had tea in the café. After tea time, we went to Eddie Rockets for lunch, which was like Johnny Rockets in America (i.e. they served burgers, fries, and shakes and the decorations were the same). Their burgers were delicious, and they added a special sauce instead of mustard, mayo, or ketchup that was definitely mayonnaise based but sweet. I'm not a food critic, but I was impressed.

Tonight's dinner topped everything, though. The Brazen Head is not only the oldest pub in Ireland, but it's also the prettiest pub I've been in. It has a stone gate with greenery overhead and a pleasant cobblestone courtyard that doubles as an outside bar. The inside seems small, but it has three levels of spacious, 18th century style rooms, connected by a narrow wooden staircase. Our entertainment for the night involved a professional storytelling and some folk singers. The storyteller regaled us with tales of the famine, and explained to us how important the potato was to the Irish diet. If the poor had nothing else, they had potatoes. I've been trying to create an analogy for the potato famine to American culture, but I don't think I can. Just imagine the one thing you can't live without-the thing that would kill you if you lost it-taken away from you and slowly watching you, your family, and all your friends dying because of it. But then we moved on to happier tales of fairies and folk stories told by a fire. 

Because it's getting late here (almost midnight), and I'm tired, I'll just give you the highlights. 1.) Puck from A Midsummer Night's Dream is an Irish fairy who is apparently the worst, most mischievous fairy of them all. He kidnaps people from bars and carries them on his back for the night before dumping them in a ditch. To me, it sounds like someone got smashed and chose to blame a fictitious character for his or her irresponsible actions, but that's just my opinion. 2.) Leprechauns are fallen fairies because they are too ugly to actually be fairies, and they tend to mislead people by offering "fool's gold." For example, a leprechaun once tricked a man into burying his pot of gold under a tree marked with a red ribbon, but when the man went to get the gold the next day, all of the trees had ribbon around them. So leprechauns not only steal your breakfast, but they also aren't very nice. 3.) There are some nice fairies who do things like fix hunchbacks (someone needs to inform The Hunchback of Notre Dame that this is an option), but just as easily, they can be vindictive. Like most folk tales: good begets good and bad begets bad. 

The beautiful thing about the folktales we heard tonight is the impact that they have on Irish culture. One of the things I love about this country is their dependence on the past and their willingness to integrate it with the present. To many people it would seem ludicrous that the government spent extra time and money to build a road around a tree or that a major corporation built their building around a piece of sacred fairy land, but to me, it shows a reverence for something beyond the consumer-obsessed culture we have today. More than that, it opens up the mind to imagination in a way that very few things do. These Irish storytellers, sitting by their fires, are not only sharing the past, but they are creating a space where imagination can blossom into something beautiful and lasting. They are encouraging other generations to participate in a collective, cultural imagination of which I am extremely jealous. And now it makes sense why George Bernard Shaw, W.B. Yeats, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and so many other Irish writers had such prolific imaginations. I like to think they still believe in fairies. 

And before I forget, here's a group picture of us on one of the bridges crossing Dublin's only river, The River Liffey.

   

First Day in Dublin

Our flight went well (minus a cranky flight attendant who yelled at Cali for no apparent reason), and we landed in Dublin about twenty minutes early, which meant we actually got our luggage at 8:40 this morning instead of landing at the airport at 8:40 in the morning. Once our group freshened up (as much as you can freshen up in an airport bathroom) and Jordan joined the group, we set off for our hotel, which was harder to find than initially anticipated. Not deterred, we finally made it only to find that our rooms weren't ready. We stored our luggage at the hotel and set out to explore the city before we could get into our rooms at 3:00 pm (10:00 am EST) While sight seeing, we toured Christ Church Cathedral and St. Patrick's Cathedral. We stopped for lunch at Burdock's and ate authentic fish and chips in the courtyard of St. Patrick's. We returned to the hotel and settled in our rooms (four apartment-style hotel rooms with full kitchen and living room and a washer/dryer). After a qucik power nap (or a really long nap as the case may be for some), we went to the Old Mill Restaurant for dinner led by Sam, who did a great navigational job in the dark, with a tiny map print out, in a strange city. Regardless, we have made it back to the hotel safely, and we are ready for some serious sleep.

I have a few initial impressions of the city of Dublin (side street pitctured above) before I talk about what we did today. These impressions are:

1. It's quiet...really. I was expecting New York City, and I found something milder than Charleston. There are no angry cab drivers (in fact you rarely see a cab), traffic is minimal (albeit confusing to my Western brain), and the tallest building I have seen is a cathedral. (Or maybe the castle in the middle of town... All the towers blend together after a while...)

2. San Francisco has nothing on Dublin's hills, which were covered in a frosty layer of ice until late this afternoon. We had fun sliding around. 

3. Real fish and chips are amazing, especially from Burdock's at Christ Church, and especially when enjoyed from the courtyard of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

4. I can't tell tourists from natives, which I think has a lot to do with the fact that I am a tourist.

5. The showers at are hotel are weird. First, there's no shower curtain--just a plexiglass panel covering about a fourth of the length of the shower. Secondly, there are two temperature settings: Mordor and Elsa's Ice Palace. In Sam's words, "It was an adventure." 

6. The architecture in Dublin is an interesting mix of the old and the new. You can easily find a pub frequented by James Joyce situated by a pre-fab law office. The incongruity is noticeable, but I appreciate it. In some ways, it states that Dublin is celebrating the old and acknowleding the new, an important aspect of any culture.

Now, to discuss the cathedral visits. Christ Church Cathedral Dublin (pictured above) was originally built in the medieval town of Dublin, was founded by Nordic peoples, and was destroyed by barbarians only to be rebuilt in 1170 by Anglo Normans. Not only is Christ Church Cathedral one of the earliest churches in Ireland, it is also the home of the first Irish bishop, Dunan. AND (fun fact) the Christ Church Cathedral Choir was the first to ever sing Handel's Messiah, but they sang it st a different church because they believed the music to be too secular. I think my favorite part of Christ Church Cathedral was ghe cript underneath the church, which displayed treasures of the church, such as the tabernacle of James I and several handwritten books of explanation on the Trinitiarian Controversy (i.e. the great problem in early church history... Does Jesus come from the Father? Is Jesus part of the Father? How do we define the Holy Spirit?). I especially enjoyed looking at the manuscripts and noting the characteristic style of the period: flowery writing, red ink accents, etc. The upstairs was more in the Medieval tradition, plane decorations, except the altar, which is always (and probably always should be) ornate. 

Then we moved on to St. Patrick's Cathedral. Before I start talking sbout St. Patrick's the place, I feel like I should talk about St. Patrick the man. St. Patrick was originally from England, but he was kidnapped by Irish slave traders and spent many years in Ireland as a shepherd. During this time, Patrick grew in his faith in leaps and bounds. According to Thomas Cahill in our textbook How the Irish Saved Civilization, "Patrick prayed, made peace with God, and then looked not only into his own heart but into the hearts of others. What he saw convinced him of the bright side— that even slave traders can turn into liberators, even murderers can act as peacemakers, even barbarians can take their places among the nobility of heaven." When Patrick had the opportunity, he escaped from his masters, returned to England as a stowaway on a boat, earned his seminary degree, and came back to Ireland as a missionary. In fact, Patrick spoke out against the slave trade, which was unprecedented during this time, and he was successful in eradicating slavery in Ireland, which came hundreds of years before the British and the Americans would consider abolishing slavery. More than that, Patrick shaped Irish culture and religion in a beautiful and lasting way, and this can be seen in the architecture of St. Patrick's. 

St. Patrick's Cathedral, built in the fifth century, had breathtaking architecture inside and out. One of the coolest features about St. Patrick's besides its patron saint is the fact that Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver's Travels was dean of the cathedral for several years. And while I might not be the biggest Swift fan (Jonathan or Taylor), there's something to be said for stepping into the world of this writer, of picturing him at the lectern, of imaging what kinds of sermons he might have delivered, of what kinds of people constituted his congregation.  And that got me thinking. Sure, Swift was a famous writer of a classical book, and sure his satire is spot on, but the fame of one dean is not what gives the cathedral the eternal impact it has on the lives of others. It is amazing to me that people so long ago worked so hard and put in so many years of effort to build something so lasting that a thousand years later, people go on pilgrimage to these places. And I think this is where we see God in the cathedral. For these cathedrals were not built for the glory of man but for the glory of God. These cathedrals were built to make you stand in awe of God.

In a way, I think that is how we should live our lives; in such a way that one thousand years from now people are still impacted by our dedication and service to Christ. The best example of this is the story of the mosaic tiling on the floors of the cathedrals. Members of the church who wanted to offer their wares as tithes to the church decorated tiles to be used for the floor. This is a reminder that not only do we always have something to give (as in the case of the poor aritsans), but we always have something to give to the glory of God and the furthering of God's kingdom. In a time when there is so much despair in the world, I find this a comforting thought.

I'm Going on an Adventure

At the beginning of this blog, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the incredible opportunity I have been given to spend three weeks in Ireland. I have always wanted to travel the world, especially Europe, and having this opportunity means more to me than words can express. So I would like to thank everyone who made that possible: Erskine College, Dr. Elsner, my parents, and the many friends and family who have helped me save up for this trip. It wouldn't be possible without you! But it also wouldn't be possible without one special man in particular: my grandfather, Glenn Sturdivant. Even when I was still in a car seat, my grandfather encouraged me to travel the world. We would go on miniature adventures around the Chattanooga area and beyond, but those simple day trips instilled in me a traveling bug I've never been able to shake. I wish my grandfather and I could travel the world together, but I know that he is looking down on me with love.

Now, to talk about the title of this blog. I debated for an embarrassingly long time on what to call this blog. Having never blogged before and having no experience with international travel, I feel rather inadequate to embark on this venture. And then it came to me! Who better to draw my inspiration from than one of the most famous travelers of all? Bilbo Baggins. A reluctant traveler who likes to drink tea, eat cake, and confine his adventures to literature, Bilbo and I share many things in common--namely we like to drink tea, eat cake, and confine our adventures to literature. I may talk bravely about being an international traveler and facing the unknown, but really I'm a lot more like Bilbo was at the beginning of The Hobbit. And just in case you were wondering, "There and Back Again" is the subtitle to Tolkien's beautiful work.

But there are other reasons for naming this blog "There and Back Again." While we are in Ireland, we will be basically making a big circle of the country. We start out in Dublin (we arrive at 8:30 tomorrow morning), and we end our journey in Dublin. In between we will be visiting places like Cobh, Cork, Limerick, Armaugh, Gallway, the Aran Islands, Belfast, and probably more places, but I don't have the itinerary in front of me. And you might be wondering why I'm spending all this time boring you with logistical details about the trip and lengthy explanations of literary sources. Well, the real reason is about the only thing that I could describe to you now is the Philadelphia airport, which is significantly underwhelming in architectural beauty. I could also comment on the MSG saturated Chinese food we got from the mall food court-esque restaurant across from our gate, but you'd probably lose your appetite.

Still, I think these are all good things to mention. So much of what we think about when we think about adventures involves all of the exciting parts, and we tend to leave out the less-glamorous parts like waiting for an hour and a half at an airport gate while the woman behind you Facetimes her boyfriend to check on "Mr. Fluffy" whom she abandoned to go on this European adventure. (Presumably she is not concerned about the boyfriend, but I could be mistaken.) Regardless, I am about to board my first international flight on a 747--the largest plane I've ever been on, and I'm still in denial that I'm actually going to Ireland. It doesn't quite seem possible. But here I am on my first adventure, and I don't know that i have the vocabulary to express how happy I am about it.

Next time I post, I'll be in a different country!