OT : What I did in Dublin, fit the first.
Rik Shepherd
called GEAC.
And they have a user group.
And the user group has regular conferences.
And the previous chair of the user group was a very nice man called Trevor,
who works at Trinity College, Dublin.
And the very nice man called Trevor somehow made Carol believe that she
wanted to be chair of the user group for the next two years. He threw in an
offer to host the 2003 conference at Trinity...
So, despite not getting to bed until 3am (why pack the night before when you
can do it the same day ?), we're up at 5am, picking Carol's colleague Ruth
in a taxi at 6am, and drinking coffee in Manchester airport at quarter to
seven. The plan is to catch an 8.15 plane, and taxi straight to Trinity,
where Carol will do another presentation on the Reveal project (which is an
absolutely excellent idea, by the way, and is at
http://www.revealweb.org.uk). It's a little alarming, then, when, with the
minimal possible fuss, the departure time slips to 8.45.
After a while, we go to gate 25, where the wait for the plane to be prepared
is enlivened slightly by overhearing a couple of women conversing about the
plane I'm intending to fly in - "they wouldn't put people in anything *that*
small" (I suspect they were waiting for a different flight)
Eventually, we get on a plane, a BAe 146, in which it appears a previous Aer
Lingus customer has been sick.
The captain cheers everyone up by apologising for the wait and adding that
we'll not take off until someone's looked at the doors, becuase the ground
crew aren't convinced that it shut properly.
Eventually, it turns out that the ground crew were wrong, and we say
farewell to Manchester. Somehow, the smell of the hot food being handed out
to the posh folk in front of the curtains of class heightens the ghostly
stench of former vomit.
One comment on the BAe 146 : it's a noisy thing, the flaps make hideous
wing-about-to-fall-off noises when they work, and the pilot probably
shouldn't bother trying to talk to the passengers at all.
We land at Dublin airport, and take a taxi into Dublin.
To make things more interesting for us, they're installing trams in Dublin
at the moment, so there's a big hole where O'Connell Street ought to be
(well, it's limited to one lane in each direction, which amounts to the same
thing). And someone is having a demonstration about something, so the radio
person advises not going anywhere on our route from the airport to Trinity.
After a combination of long waits in gridlocked traffic (well, box junction
rules don't apply to a giant tour bus, do they ?) and manic racing through
tiny back alleys , ginnels, and peoples back yards, we pull up outside the
rather impressive front door of Trinity College, and we're only an hour and
a bit late.
We find the GEAC conference, and find that a series of voice mails left
before the flight have worked, and Carol's presentation has been rearranged.
Lucky Carol. Trevor gives me a map, marks up some places he'd advise
looking at, tells me where the tourist information place is, and whisks
Carol off to do her thing, telling me to be outside the Kells shop at half
five.
I hang around Trinity for a while; all the graduates who were being
photographed outside when we arrived have gone inside to graduate, and I
leave, trot up to Suffolk Street, and to the tourist information office.
Averting my eyes from the hideous display of leprechauns, I succesfully
purchase an A-Z of Dublin, a guide to the opening times and costs of visitor
attactions, and a too-big-to-use-outdoor map with comments of Dublin.
Then I set off to Temple Bar because it's close, and because visitors are
supposed to go there. I work out why that is later. I'm the other side of
the Liffey, via the Halfpenny Bridge, before I realise that eating might be
a good plan.
So I scamper back into Temple Bar, decide against various potato and cabbage
dishes on offer (that would only enrage Carol), and stop at La Med, where I
feast on pumpkin soup and a mezze of tzatiki and hummus with pitta bread.
Then I start to walk a little.
Sticking to the South side of the Liffey, I walk up the various Quays until
I'm level with the Four Courts. This is a rather impressive domed building
that was occupied by Countess Marcovitz (and, no doubt, some less famous
Irish people) during the Easter Rising. It was also shelled during the
Civil War, then rebuilt. Interestingly, the bullet scars from the British
army shooting at the Countess were carefully not repaired, and are mentioned
in the guidebooks, but there's no visible evidence that the Irish Free State
punched holes in it with artillery while Anti-Treaty forces did their best
to .
After examining the dents on the pillars of the Four Courts, and pondering
that I have no idea what the Four Courts is actually for, I continue up to
O'Connell Bridge, and then attempt to walk up O'Connell Street to the
General Post Office. On days when tramlines are not being installed, this
is probably a wonderful vista of statues, Georgian buildings and a big shiny
needle. As I'm there on a day when tramlines *are* being installed, it's a
fairly ropy vista of road work signs, barriers, statues surrounded by
hoardings up to their necks, and Georgian buildings. And a big shiny
needle.
So I walk up to the General Post Office, another impressively large building
occupied by the Easter rebels, blown up, and fully restored apart from the
bullet scars on the pillars. Cynics might be suspicious that the the only
obviously damaged parts of both the GPO and the Four Courts are the pillars
of the porticos, but I'm not a cynic (even if I may be godless). Anyway,
Dublin has the grandest Post Office I've ever seen, with high ceilings, lots
of windows (which was one of the reasons the rebels selected it for
occupation) and a couple of plaques to the 1916 Rising. And several
tourists, taking pictures while the plain folk of Ireland buy their stamps.
I leave the GPO, fearing that someone will expect me to buy some kind of
postal service, and cross to the big needle thing, which is some kind of
Millenium jape. This is something like 6 feet in diameter at the base,
oodles of feet high, and is of polished metal with sort of blotches with.
And it comes complete with a battered looking old man apparently conversing
with his own reflection.
I scamper down the other side of O'Connell Street to O'Connell Bridge, where
I notice, a bridge and a bit further down, the Customs House. I admire the
outside of the Customs House (similar to the Four courts), but the visitor
centre is so closed it's invisible, so I cross Bull Bridge, nip douwn a side
street and wander up Pearse Street in a vague attempt to get to the National
Museum of Natural History, as reccomended by Trevor.
After a while I realise I'm on the wrong street, but a quick look at the map
shows I'm not very wrong, so I turn right under the railway and end up where
I wanted to be, but not by the intended route.
After a pleasant wander through the winding paths of Merrion Square, I
stroll down Merrion Street Upper to the the Natural History Museum. This is
a small building beside the government buildings, and is a very old
fashioned natural history museum indeed. Basically, it's a collection of
stuffed dead things, which does get a little creepy after a while, but the
fittings of the building are rather terrific, too. Oodles of cabinets and
drawers (sadly, usually containing beetles and so on), two galleries so you
can look down onto the elephants, and the largest collection of glass models
of sea anemonies I've ever seen (honesty compels me to add it's the only
collection of stuffed dead things, which does get a little creepy after a
while, but the fittings of the building are rather terrific, too. Oodles of
cabinets and drawers (sadly, usually containing beetles and so on), two
galleries so you can look down onto the elephants, and the largest
collection of glass models of sea anemonies I've ever seen (honestly compels
me to add it's the only collection of glass models of sea anemonies I've
ever seen)
When the staring eyes of the beasts get too much, I hobble round to the
National Museum (Archeology and History) on Kildare Street. This is another
splendid building, crammed with splendid stuff. There's a galleries
covering prehistioric Ireland, Celtic Ireland, Viking Ireland, Medieval
Ireland, the 1916 Easter Rising and the war of Independence (but not the
Civil War). There's also a gallery on Ancient Egypt, which doesn't really
seem to fit the pattern. They've got a couple of brilliant cup and ring
marked stones, golden hoards a-plenty, a wide collection of small arms and
various bits of stone and wood. I get a slight attact of BMitis, in which
all the mighty treasures of the past merge into one, and I suspect this even
appliued to the museum people - in one gallery we start with loving
descriptions of golden items, and end with captions like "hoard of golden
items", which struck me as a little terse. And obvious. Exhausted by the
trteasures, I venture into the shop, where I spend a few minutes in the
centre of the circular round, head back, gawping at the domed ceiling like a
total village idiot. All the items for sale are around the walls, so
there's this big space for just standing, and it's a bit like the reading
room of the BM would be if it wasn't full of readers, and desks and stuff.
Checking my watch, I realise it's time to head back to Trinity, so I do, and
meet the assembled GEAC users outside the entrance to the Book of Kells
exhibition. Somehow, we've been granted free after hours entry to see the
Book itself, and have a glass of wine or several in the Long Room. We go
through the exhibition pretty quickly, and look at the book... or rather
books, because it was conserved from one volume into four volumes, of which
two are displayed. Pretty impressive, but it is just a nicely written
church Latin text, and hasn't got anything useful like a primer in Old
English, like the Lindesfarne Gospels do. From there we go upstairs to the
long Room, which is another room that makes you stop and go "I want one!".
Two storeys, the upper storey being a gallery. Amazing wooden barrel vault.
Books from floor to ceiling, arranged in bays, with one of those very clever
cataloguing systems where every book has its place and its place depends on
how big it is and not anything new fangled like author subject. Every bay
with its own ladder. Fine place.
So we have some wine, and then we walk out in a gang of librarians and
computer programmers (one of the GEAC guys has been forced into a suit, and
looks like he's about to run amok) to the Pearce Street DART, and take a
train to Lansdowne Road and our hotel.
The evening meal is in the hotel and is, well, not really very nice, so I'll
not go into detail. Except to say that the tomato soup removed all natural
feeling from my lips. Still, the wine was okay.
And after a nightcap, we creak upstairs and so to bed, Carol dreaming of the
next days meeting, me dreaming of more aimless wandering.
ian
years since I did all the Dublin museums.
If you are still in Dublin when you read this, you might try walking out
of Trinity's front gate and straight up College Green to Christ Church
Cathedral, where you can see Strongbow's tomb, and then hang a left down
to St Patricks Cathedral, where you can see Johnathan Swift's tomb. Both
cathedrals are quite old, and built on even older sites. The buildings
of the area used to be very old too, but many may have been cleared away
since.
St Michans Church, north of the Liffey, used to let you shake hands with
the mummy of a preserved Viking, down in a very large, dry tomb. I
believe they are more restrictive in their offerings now, but it might
still be interesting.
If its nice out, buying some bread to feed the ducks in St Stephens
Green is always enjoyable. And Bewleys is always good for a pot of tea
and a break. Take some of their 'Regency' tea home with you, there's
none better.
Up Wicklow Street (off Grafton St), near the Tower Records store, look
for signs for a nice used book store (or ask someone).
Enjoy the rest of your trip,
Ian
David Matthews
>
Nice report Rik. I especially liked your tongue in cheeks comments.
The Irish are a charming, talented people and I've long admired their
selective history :-)
About your visit to the library :-
"Books from floor to ceiling, arranged in bays, with one of those very
clever
cataloguing systems where every book has its place and its place
depends on
how big it is and not anything new fangled like author subject".
I think John Cleese must have visited there. I remember a Monty Python
sketch where Cleese was a librarian.
Customer ; I'm looking for Burton's "The Anatomy of Melancholy".
Cleese : What color is it?
Customer : -er- I believe it's red>
Cleese : Is it big or little?
Customer -er-: I think it's rather large.
Cleese ; I see, a big red book, well all our big red books are now on
the second floor.
Dave in Toronto.
Joan
a visit see most often. (Was there in September.) It is over 400 years old and
many of the tomes within are older than that. The current library collection,
however, is housed in eight different buidlings--some off campus, and storage
is becoming difficult as the collection adds 100,000 books and journals every
year.
>"Books from floor to ceiling, arranged in bays, with one of those very
>clever
> cataloguing systems where every book has its place and its place
>depends on
> how big it is and not anything new fangled like author subject".
Joan in GB-W
But the truth about the cat and pup
Is this: they ate each other up!
Now what do you really think of that!
Eugene Field
sandi
>And after a nightcap, we creak upstairs and so to bed, Carol dreaming of the
>next days meeting, me dreaming of more aimless wandering.
what? no mention (or pics) of mr. monkey?
mark b. will be devastated!!
great story, tho, rik!
sandi
Rik Shepherd
> what? no mention (or pics) of mr. monkey?
> mark b. will be devastated!!
> great story, tho, rik!
Thanks, Sandi...
But MrM was, of course, with me all the time, as was the camera... :o)
Ali
>From: "Rik Shepherd"
Great Report,
Thanks
Ali