Sunshine at last

Willow, ready for weaving into baskets at the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum. March 2008

Reed and I went back to the Ulster Folk and Transport Museum on Thursday for one last lingering goodbye; we decided to go as soon as we woke up and saw the blue, sun-drenched sky. The day was warm and slow, in the UFTM countryside, communing with lambs, kids, chickens, and kittens, who all seemed as blissed out by the sunshine as we were. We did spend a little time inside, watching Charlie Chaplin in The Rink at the Ballycultra village picture house. It was Reed's third time seeing it and he still fell off the bench laughing.

Good Friday, Getting Ready to Go

Easter weekend brings with it many good things...the family service at St. Comgall's this morning followed by brunch of sandwiches, sausages, and sweets for the children; a sunny day and tonight a full moon; the conclusion to the BBC series Lark Rise to Candleford, in which we'll find out if Dorcas Lane and Sir Timothy will ever get together or not; a plan to make one more batch of homemade sausage rolls; our last week of relative relaxation before really packing in earnest next week for our departure at the end of the month.

I picked up a few more books for our summer bedtime reading at the used bookstore this morning. We've already got Swallows and Amazons and The Wheel on the School tucked away, now we've added Treasure Island, Gulliver's Travels, and Little House on the Prairie to the stack. Tom Sawyer was supposed to be for this summer but we got started on it already. Last night I read the chapter where Tom and Huck witness the doctor's murder in the graveyard at midnight; it was a little intense - Reed listened with wide eyes, clutching the blanket up to his nose - but as far as I know he didn't have any nightmares afterwards. I explained to Reed my own trick when I had been reading something that turned out to be scary - read something else before turning out the light. I think the antidote to scary Mark Twain was the Far Side.

The backpacks are out of the closet and mine is halfway full. I've got Reed's things mostly set aside, ready to put in the bag as soon as Walt is done using it for the gym, and Walt, as usual, is procrastinating packing until the last moment. He has been helping with the removals of unnecessary possessions to the charity shops, though. I read a travel book by Dervla Murphy last year called Full Tilt, which chronicled her bicycle trip from Dublin to Delhi in the early 60s. She made a list of what she carried with her and it was fascinating to me to see how little a person could travel with. Dervla Murphy is an amazing woman and I can't compare, but I am getting better at traveling light. For this portion of the trip, packing into a backpack and my leather satchel I have:

Three nice skirts
One short sleeve black t-shirt
One fuchsia tank top
One short sleeve embroidered eyelet cotton blouse
One long sleeve white linen blouse
Two pairs linen trousers (tan, geranium)
Espadrille type sandals

One pair of jeans
Two short sleeved t-shirts (black and brown)
Two long sleeved blouses (both brown)
One green fleece pullover
One white cotton cardigan
One casual mini skirt
Two cotton tank tops
Birkenstock sandals
Hiking boots

One pair of work jeans
One pair khaki shorts
Two work t-shirts
One long-sleeved work shirt
One brown wool cardigan for work
Black leather Birkenstocks, Teva sandals

6 pairs of cotton socks
12 pairs of cotton undies
6 cotton bras
1 pair of pajamas

Basic toiletries and first aid
Glasses and contacts, handkerchiefs, towel, and washcloth
Alarm clock and booklight
4 books
Raincoat
Purse w/ notebook and wallet
Computer, camera, digital recorder, CD player, CDs
French book
And last but not least, tucked away, all of the teeth which Reed has lost while we've been here, except for the one he lost playing outside. Don't tell him that I'm the tooth fairy, please.

Drenched in Dublin for St. Paddy's Day

I don't know what I was thinking, taking us to Dublin the weekend of St. Patrick's Day. True, it was our last free weekend... and the early morning drizzle in Bangor didn't necessarily mean it would be raining all day in Dublin, because frequently early morning rain gives way to sunshine, really!! And most importantly of all, the wind was not howling in the least. It has howled so much recently that a calm day, even a damp one, seemed our best bet for a day of sightseeing in Dublin.

Well, the wind stayed down, yes. We caught the train at Bangor West station bright and early at 7 a.m. and started off on the Enterprise service from Belfast Central to Dublin at 8 a.m., comfortable and warm, and enjoyed the foggy green scenery while we tucked into our scones and jam and gourmet yogurt that I'd bought at M&S on Friday. We arrived fresh and optimistic at Connolly station and set out towards Trinity College. It only drizzled on us a little bit for a while, and when it really started to rain we took shelter in the National Gallery which was free and which had some absolutely lovely paintings to look at by Monet, Van Gogh, Morisot, Bonheur, and many others. We looked at probably 3 galleries out of the dozens in the huge building; Reed's favorite and most memorable thing will probably be getting to drop coins in the special coin donation boxes in various places. They've very cleverly made them entertaining to watch, with copper disks that turn over as the coin hits them or a pyramid that the coin slides down.

When we emerged it was still just a light drizzle so when we finally found the line to see the Book of Kells at Trinity's old library building, we stood outside waiting on the cobblestone walkway and ate our sandwiches until it was finally our turn to get inside. Things have changed for the Book of Kells since I last saw it 20 years ago at Christmastime; before I don't remember anyone else being around, for one thing, and it was in a special case inside the library's stupendously long and tall Long Room. Now the book is in a separate room in what used to be the ground floor/basement underneath the Long Room, and the rest of the ground floor has been turned into gift shop and a very informative exhibit about the Book of Kells, who did the work on it, and how the work was done. After the exhibit, to see the Book of Kells itself is rather anticlimactic - it's not very big, and you jostle to see it, and then when you get your chance to be at the front, the people waiting behind you breathing down your neck are distracting. I would recommend going to see the Book of Kells first thing in the morning on a boring old weekday in the middle of a rainy January - and maybe you'll have it to yourself for a little while. The Long Room is as breathtaking as ever: 200,000 antique leatherbound volumes arranged in shelved alcoves flanked by marble busts. The barrel vaulted ceiling is as high as a cathedral's, and the copious amounts of wood shelving, flooring, ceiling, and window trim are all burnished to a deep glow. Any librarian that works here must be sure not to be afraid of heights - the ladders that reach the top shelves are a good 30 feet tall. The upper levels of alcoves are reached by a wrought iron spiral staircase.

When we emerged the rain was falling in earnest and we ignored it the best we could as we admired St Stephen's Green and then made our way through the crowded and charming pedestrian shopping streets around Grafton Street, ducking into Bewley's, a large Victorian era cafe', for some hot chocolate and tea. We also ordered a slice of Bailey's cheesecake but I'm not going to say much about it: Walt and I are something of cheesecake connoisseurs and this was not really cheesecake at all - more of an uninspiring gelatin and cream pie flavored mildly with Baileys. At the table next to us were two off-duty children's entertainers: Mr. Balloonatic, wearing bright green and purple and some very large shoes and a suitcase full of balloons and some balloon animals, and another man, very large, in a gold and brown checked suit. Mr. Balloonatic made Reed giggle with delight several times, and stressed to us that he's not a clown - clowns are scary, and he is not. He also doesn't juggle, we found out. Apparently in the entertainment profession there are degrees of specialization. Balloon men don't juggle or do magic; magicians don't juggle; jugglers don't do card tricks. It was too bad it was such a rainy day, as I'm sure Mr. Balloonatic was meant to be outside, performing for the admiring crowds of passersby, who were instead moving quickly, with their heads down under their umbrellas. The exception were the people who were involved in some sort of tourist treasure hunt; you could tell them because they had paper pirate's hats on and were carrying plastic swords, and were invariably soaked.

Mr. Balloonatic gave us directions to the street where the Oxfam shop is located so we could buy Reed a dry sweatshirt to wear under his coat, and then we walked the mile or so on O'Connell street, observing the Bank of Ireland and the main post office, across the Liffey and then headed for the station, reaching it at 3 pm (2 hours before our train was due to leave), completely soaked and cold. Walt dried Reed's shirts with the hand dryer in the restrooms, and we took refuge in the bar inside the station and drank Guinness and Bewley's decaf tea (my second of the day) and watched rugby on the big screen t.v. (Ireland vs. England, I still don't know who won) until it was time to get on the train. It was a damp trip home but at least we weren't getting any wetter, and Reed had recovered his good spirits as his jeans slowly dried out. Why didn't we buy umbrellas, you may well ask. Stubborn thriftiness, I suppose, and knowledge of how difficult it is to walk in crowds with an umbrella...but in hindsight, it would have been a very good investment and might have allowed us to enjoy more of the day. Hopefully when we go through on our way to Cork in two weeks the sun will be shining and we can replace the damp, chilly memories with warm ones.

Plain Bob and Plain Hunting

Bet you don't know what the title of this post means. I wouldn't either except that last Friday evening the three of us walked down to St. Comgall's after dinner, found the little side door at the bottom of the bell tower, and climbed up a narrow spiral stone staircase to the bell ringing room, where we were treated to a bell ringing lesson and got to listen to 5 of the regular ringers go through their paces. They let us put our names in the guest book which dates back to 1916, and kept offering us candy out of the Cadbury tin, which we couldn't refuse.

The bells themselves are on big wheels and the rope is attached to the wheel. You can't see them at all, all you can see from below is the bell ropes coming down through the holes in the ceiling that have a rounded and smooth painted wooden collar around them, presumably to made it easy for the rope to slip up and down. When they're ready to play they have to pull the rope a certain distance to get the bell balanced in its upside down position ready to go back and forth clanging against its clapper.

You wouldn't believe how hard it is to ring a bell correctly, to know how to ring them without hurting yourself or breaking the bell or knocking it off its stay so that the half-ton bell comes crashing through the ceiling onto the hapless ringer below. Set 5 or 6 of them going at once and it's difficult to keep the rhythm even, especially when the caller is calling out changes and each change requires you to hold your rope a little longer or little less as it goes up and back down, depending on what bell is supposed to ring in what order. Looking at the notation for various songs or ringing patterns is daunting as well. One of the ringers used to ring when she was young, took many years off when she was in college and into her thirties, and now she's been back for 8 years. But the guy in charge was still giving her practice in something called "dodging." Heck, the terminology alone probably takes years to figure out. Plain Bob and Plain Hunting have something to do with the ringing pattern, by the way. But it was a wonderful hour of watching and learning, and I'll never listen to church bells again without thinking of the people up in the tower working so hard.

New Blog Template

Hey, nice change, isn' it?

Anybody want to take a guess what the blurry photo is of in the banner at the top of the page? I can't tell but it looks botanical to me, which is what attracted me to this design.

In any case, enjoy the new look.

Winter Field Trips: Belfast

A week ago I took myself off to Belfast for the day, intending to recapture some of the super-awake feeling I remember having in Dublin and London when I traipsed around those cities as a student, discovering Victorian and Georgian architecture, art museums, gothic cathedrals, pubs, and the smell of Indian food wafting down the narrow sidewalks. The weather wasn't very cooperative: it was fiercely windy with spitting rain, making the journey between my stops less about discovery and more about wondering whether my umbrella would survive the day or would join the dozens of broken ones that I see here in hedges, stuffed into garbage bins, and just dropped on the sidewalk. But I did find that Belfast offers much of what attracted me to London 20 years ago: a walkable historic center, vibrant culture, good public transport, architectural gems, and quiet places within the bustling city to catch your breath. Belfast has the added bonus of residents who seem glad to see you; smiling, helpful service people who welcome your business; and affordable (compared to London) prices for tours, food, drinks, and accommodation.

The whole family went into Belfast the next day, Saturday, for our tour of the Harland and Wolff shipyard where the Titanic was built. This was a fascinating tour, even if it was in a post-industrial wasteland that is just now on the cusp of re-development into a thriving commercial/residential/industrial mixed-use quarter. The best part was standing in the cathedral like room in the company office building where the drafting tables used to be, where the designers and their underlings drew up the Titanic's plans. When this space is renovated, as it will be eventually, it will be a magnificent space. Not too far away you can stand where the Titanic sat before it was launched into Belfast Lough. I don't usually go in for guided bus tours but they are helpfully educational and this one was amusing and insightful as well, with a guide who had done a lot of original research to prepare for it. Afterwards we found a cozy coffeeshop right in Donegall Square and warmed up with a hot chocolate. Clement's puts them in a bowl - deliciously generous enough for the 3 of us to share.

More will be added to this entry over the course of this week on the following highlights of our Belfast visits:

St. George's Market

St. George's Market takes place every Friday and Saturday all year round in a purpose-built Victorian market hall, not too far from Belfast Central station and just a few blocks from the city center. Originally it was a butter and egg market. Now, on Fridays it's more of a general merchandise market and on Saturday it's given over entirely to food, with sampling opportunities galore. Local organic produce, eggs, poultry, jams, honey, and meat are available, along with local yogurt, Irish cheeses, fresh Irish seafood, imported cheeses and olives, fresh breads, and lots of choices for breakfast and lunch: sweet or savory crepes, sausages, scones and croissants, paella, kebabs, hamburgers, pasta, and curries. One of Reed's favorite samples is the dried seaweed, which is crunchy and salty and delicious, not to mention healthy.

Linen Hall Library

Birthplace of the Titanic/shipyard tour

This is the Drawing Office in the Harland and Wolff old office block, where the plans for the Olympic, Titanic, and Britannic were drawn out on paper and then on linen. Thomas Andrews spent a lot of time in this room, as he was one of the company's managing directors and one of the men responsible for the design of the ships. He died when the Titanic sank. In 1912, 15,000 people worked in the Harland and Wolff shipyard. The Titanic was launched into the River Lagan at the western end of Belfast Lough on 31st May, 1911. While what happened to the Titanic was a tragedy, the ship itself was a marvel of technology, and in the 21st century, Belfast intends to make science and technology the center of its redeveloped Titanic Quarter.

Grand Opera House

Donegall Square and City Hall

Belfast Welcome Center

Crown Liquor Saloon
This gaslit Victorian gin palace was apparently finished on the inside by Italian workmen who had nothing else to do for some reason - and the results are fantastic: intricately carved woodwork, tiled floors, colorful stained glass windows, and interestingly enough, enclosed private wooden booths with high walls called snugs, which a person or group can reserve for lunch. When I showed up - blown in by the wind I should say - without a reservation right at noon on a winter Friday, I was still able to get my own little snug in the corner. I drank a half pint of dry cider and ordered the steak and Guinness pie and did my best to get it all down and the mash potatoes and vegetables too, it was so delicious. But alas, even my prodigious powers of eating failed in this case - it was just too much food.

Winter Field Trips: Giant's Causeway and the Antrim Coast

One of the advantages of having Dave and Frieda visiting us with a car was the opportunity to drive up the Antrim coastline to see Giant's Causeway. Some famous writer suggested that the causeway, which is a massive coastline collection of columnar basalt, was "worth seeing but not worth going to see." Having gone to see it, we politely take exception to this assessment.

We drove around Belfast Lough through Carrickfergus, with a long stop at its remarkably well-preserved castle built a thousand years ago by the Normans, and then turned north at Whitehead, entering what seemed like remote coastal countryside immediately. On the right side: the churning, frothing grey sea, lined by craggy rocks. Then, a grassy roadside, and on the left side: green, hedge-lined pastures dotted with huge shaggy sheep and rock outcroppings, the green rising up and away into the fog, punctuated by tiny villages of white-washed cottages and terraced houses, with a few civilized shops and pubs and churches in which to keep the wildness at bay.

We arrived at the Causeway itself as the sun was getting lower in the sky, and after hiking down the road instead of taking the little bus - we needed to get our blood circulating after sitting in the car - we spent a good half-hour taking in the immensity of the basalt formations. I let Reed go with Walt, knowing that I would spoil his fun with my overprotectiveness if I kept him close to me (the rocks are slippery! and the water so icy cold!), and knowing that I have made him a careful child in general. We took in our fill of the Finn MacCool legend as well as the geology lesson before hiking back up to eat our sandwiches and gorp in the waning afternoon light. Dunluce Castle's ruins appeared like a ghost out of the mist as we drove toward Bushmills. Bushmill's Distillery had closed by the time we drove through the town, unfortunately, so we headed out into the thickening fog south through the countryside towards home. More than once we were grateful for Dave's excellent driving ability and Frieda's navigation, which kept us going in the right direction and in the left lane all the way home.

D&F restored all our spirits by buying us dinner at the Bryansburn restaurant, about a minute from the house, a delicious end to a long but rewarding day. Reed enjoyed a hamburger, Walt had a caesar salad, I had a goat cheese salad, and D&F enjoyed Irish salmon, with coffee and Baileys for dessert, a good substitute for the missed sample of Bushmills.