Stranger in a Strange Land

I make this final trip entry from the comfort of our own living room, which we reached after a marathon 36 hour journey from an airport hotel in Dublin, a flight to Chicago, another flight to Phoenix, a motor coach ride down to Tucson, and a final drive in our own car the last two miles to our driveway. Jayne managed to sleep a bit on the plane, but I was unable to take advantage of the reclining seat and doze off myself. It was exhausting, but we made every connection without a hitch.

We thoroughly enjoyed our time in Killkenny. The first night we went to a bar just about 100 feetfrom this hotel and heard a delightful trio of musicians playing traditional Irish music that was beautiful and emotionally moving. It required that we stay up later than usual, but the tunes were so lively that it did not seem a hardship. The next day we toured the large castle that dominates the little town, and we explored a few other sights such as an ancient church with a giant watchtower. That evening we wanted to go out and hear more music, but we got sidetracked by visiting the Hole in the Wall, a delightful miniature pub with room for only six patrons and a bartender. The place was built in 1327 and it both looked and smelled it, but we had a delightful time talking with the Israeli bartender, an African born woman of Welsh descent, a German woman who had lived in Ireland for 17 years, and two ordinary Irishmen who wandered in during our stay. The conversation was pleasant and we really liked getting to meet more locals on this trip. The next day we took the train back to Dublin which was a brief hour and a half of sitting and watching the countryside roll by. Once we gained the city, we took a coach to the airport, and then a cab to our hotel, staying there until time to go to the airport the following morning. It is all a blur at this late date.

We have returned to a country and a society that I find hard to recognize. A vague uneasiness has taken hold as I have driven around the town the last few days, a feeling that over half the people I see I have nothing in common with. We have been avoiding the news, but of course you cannot escape at least a few blurbs leaking out from a cycle of 24 hour coverage of the Orange Lunatic and his antics. A brief ray of sunshine has appeared in the rejection of one of the wannabe dictator's most ardent admirers, Kari "Okie" Lake in her bid for the US senate seat for Arizona. A fanatical election-denier, Lake finds it difficult to question this cycle's results because her Orange god-king actually won in this state while she lost. A fitting end to a career of deciet. All the same, I feel like a stranger in a strange land now, and that will be a sensation hard to shake for the next turbulent four years.

In the Interior

We have left Dublin and taken a comfortable train ride to the center of southern Ireland, the small city of Killkenny. Our last day in Dublin was spent at the National Museum of Archaeology and the Botanical Gardens. Both were impressive. At the gardens we saw, in addition to the magnificently manicured lawns and hedges, two massive greenhouses which seemed to contain an impossible selection of plants from all over the world. In the largest of these greenhouses the palm trees grew at least three storeys tall and threatened to press against the glass even higher overhead. There was also a large cactus room with many specimens from South America, including a couple that looked very much like saguaros. The grounds outside also had a replica Viking hut that looked particularly comfortable in spite of the loosely woven branches that made up the walls. Adjacent to the gardens was the extensive Glasnevin Cemetery, which is kind of a who's who of Irish dead. We saw one tombstone, or more accurately a cenotaph, erected to the memory of family members who had died in Butte, Montana!

Our next stop at the Museum of Archaeology had a lot to do with death as well. Exibits of artifacts recovered in Ireland from the stone age to the 1500s were arranged in chronological order. Of particular interest were a set of bog "mummies" of ancient people who were preserved through the nature of the soil in which they were found. It has been speculated that some were victims of ritual sacrifice. What struck me was the fact that these remains, who were once real, breathing people, are preserved and displayed for we of the present age, without the slightest hesitation. Compare that to the controversy in our own country regarding the display of ancient Indian remains.

This morning we took the train from Dublin to Killkenny, a pleasant ride of one and a half hours that allowed us to see some of this incredible green landscape. Sheep and cow paddocks, small homes, and overcast skies all went wizzing by as we relaxed and took it all in. We are now in another comfortable hotel room and tomorrow we will tour yet ANOTHER CASTLE!

You Say You Want a Revolution

The lyrics of the Beatles song from the White Album are drifting through my head this morning as I find a quiet place to write during the pre-dawn hours in the lobby of this comfortable hotel. It will all make sense near the end of this posting.

For the last two days we have been exploring Dublin and have seen quite a few interesting things. I wish evey destroying Vandal who currently masquerades as a librarian could be required to visit the Book of Kells at Trinity College. The sight of that magnificent manuscript and the beauty of the library's Long Hall might cause even the most dedicated book shredder to pause a moment. For those who do not know, the Book of Kells is an illuminated manuscript copy of the four gospels. The intricate lettering and detailed drawings contained therein give ample support to the claim that it is the most beautiful book ever created. It is kept in a special dark room with an entrance gallery that gives a thorough overview of how monks in the ninth century worked tirelessly to both make and defend this ancient Bible. On the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland they worked on every individual page, and when Viking raiders came they grabbed their treasure and slipped

across the Irish Sea to found a new monestary at Kells, Ireland. So many raids, thefts, and other catastrophes occured but the book miraculously survived. After viewing the book, visitors are directed to the Long Hall, a massive two story set of dark wood shelving lined with bust sculptures of the great thinkers and philosophers of Western Civilization. Most of the books have been removed for conservation work (no, Biblioposers, they are not going to scan them and chuck them in the bin as you have been so recently engaged in doing with our American printed legacy) but two shelving bays have been left filled to give the visitor an idea of what it would look like fully shelved. Interesting items were also on display, including the oldest harp existing today, personal letters and photographs of Oscar Wilde, and a printed copy of the 1916 Easter Rebellion proclamation declaring Ireland an independent country. Upon exiting the Long Hall, visitors are directed to another building with mind-boggling multi-media displays describing thr Book of Kells history and the ongoing conservation work ofn the precious volumes removed from the long hall. One display featured replicas of the marble busts of Shakepeare, Socrates, and others come to life and debating philosophical issues. Their lips moved and their eyes blinked!

Our next visit was just as thought provoking and a bit unsettling. In 1916 Irish people were divided on the topic of separation from England, much like our own forefathers of the American Revoluion. The most radical separatists armed themselves and decided to ignite a war, even though they were in the minority. On Easter Sunday, 1916, these radicals attacked British forces throughout Dublin and set up their headquarters in the main post office. They held out there for days until the English army took them prisoner. Six of these men were later executed, and their deaths led to an evental shift in public opinion, culminating in eventual independece for Ireland. Today the GPO in Dublin hosts a museum that presents another fantastic milti-media display telling the story of the rebellion and its human cost, such as the many civilians who died when caught in the crossfire. The whole experience disturbed me. The thought of a radical minority commiting an armed insurrection that eventally swayed others to join them reninded me not of Lexington and Concord, but instead the goons who attacked our capital on January 6. Apparently the act resulted in a shift in public opinion, resulting in the reelection of the petty little orange lunatic in our last election. God help us.

In Dublin's Fair City

The balance of our time in Stirling was enjoyable. We toured the impressive castle late in the afternoon, spending the morning checking out the very unimpressive (from Jayne's perspective) thrift stores in their small downtown. There was a small open air market in the pedestrian zone and we foolishly bought two delicious looking sausage rolls without considering the difficulties in heating them later. The castle actually closed during our visit and it was dark when we made our way downtown only to find every restaurant packed to the walls with no tables available. I did encounter two living history interpreters (now in civilian clothes) who we had engaged at the castle. They had been demonstrating a card game and I told them about my experiences as a faro dealer for the museum folks back home.

The next morning we drove back to the Edinburgh airort where we thankfully divested ourselves of the albatross that was our rental car. A huge sigh of relief and the a multi hour wait for our plane to Dublin. Itwas the first propeller-driven aircraft I have been on in decades. Our hotel in Dublin has turned out to be kind of like the one in Fawlty Towers, without the comedy, and is in a beautiful Edwardian brownstone in a nice residential area about two miles from the city center. Yesterday, our first full day here, we took a brief walking tour and went to Trinity College where we saw the Book of Kells. The experince of the latter deserves more detailed description which I will provide next time.

Gray Skies

While I am not really a fan of Arizona's endless sunny days of relentless heat, I must say after seven days at sea and seven more in the UK and seeing about four hours of sunshine total I think I prefer the former. For those readers contemplating emmigration to this lovely isle in the wake of last Tuesdays election, may I suggest Australia instead? Aussie politics and social prejudices might not be much better than America's current embrace of the Orange Fuhrer but at least you will see the sun more often than Scotland.

We are currently in Stirling, an ancient city with (wait for it...) another fantasic castle which we will visit later today. The town itself, in the city center, is a nice mixture of shops and services presented in a movie-set like array. After checking in to our hotel we went across the street for a great meal in an Indian restaurant and a pint of beer in the corner pub. At the latter we were invited to take the only open seats across from a quartet of charming Caledonians who engaged us in conversation. It was delightful! When they learned we were Americans, of course the conversation turned to our country's recent folly and all four sympathized with our feeling that we needed to apologize for our national origin. They can't stand Orange Julius either, and consider the presence of his golf club on their soil to be a national insult. Thus, they displayed more intelligence than the millions of our fellow countrymen who thought reelecting a man who has boasted of his racism and sexual assault escapades was perfectly fine. When we rose to leave the men shook me warmly by the hand and the female member of the quartet embraced Jayne in a spotaneous display of sympathy and affection. Thinking back on it this morning almost brings tears to my eyes.

During our hair-raising drive to Stirling yesterday we paused for a visit to the Falkirk Wheel, a marvel of modern engineering built entirely to service a centuries-old mode of transportation. Canal boats traversing Scotlands's uneven terrain depend on a series of locks to raise and lower the boats. At Falkirk the elevation change required at least eleven locks

and and an entire day to accomplish. The Wheel shortened that time to one hour. It consists of two huge boat-length troughs of canal water mounted on opposite ends of a rotating wheel. A boat enters one of the troughs, the gate is closed, and then the whole thing raises the boat to the upper level while simultaneously lowering the other. It is strangely quiet as it does so and only takes about three minutes. It does not matter if there is a boat at the opposite end becuase the water dispacement equalizes the weight to the exact ounce! (Think Archimedes here.) It is a stunning example of Scottish ingenuity and a wonderment to witness.

You Take the High Road...

We left Edinburgh yesterday and picked up a rental car at the airport to drive to our next destination in th Scottish border regions. It was certainly not our best day. Driving on the wrong side of the road is difficult enough, but when you add a navagaional device that is too low of volume to hear along with confusing traffic circles along the way, you have a recipe for disaster. Ourdestination was less than 100 miles away but it took about three hours due to many wrong turns and driving as slow as possible through the deepening fog. We got to Drumlanrig Castle where we checked into a small apartment in the former stableyard before nightfall and had enough time to go to the nearby village of Thornhill to get some groceries. It gets dark around here at 5:00 pm so we were content to make a very early night of it.

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat

Yesterday to take our minds off of what was among the worst days in American history, we took the city bus to a genuine Edinburgh neighborhood unexplored by the hoardes of tourists to do our laundry. The clothes were not the only thing that went to the cleaners; my wallet was lightened to the tune of 36 UK pounds (about fifty bucks US) just to wash and dry two loads of laundry. At this rate we might as well walk around in sweat stained shirts the rest of the trip. What made matters worse is the somewhat-addled proprietor wanted to display his support for the orange lunatic running for president in our country, a digusting attribute that detracted from the charm of the four little Scottie dogs that shared the space with him. But all was not lost. We discovered the street we were on had numerous second-hand thrift stores which delighted Jayne. She purchased a light summer dress and I managed to score a leather-bound 1902 edition of Charles Dickens's Domby and Son.

After deositing our refreshed rainment in our hotel room we went out again to visit the Scottish National Museum. This huge faciity is like all of the Smithsonian museums in Washington DC rolled into one and we were simply unable to do it justice. I felt every one of my 70 years after only an hour or two into the exhibits and we needed to retreat to a neaby pub to fortify ourselves for the walk home. This watering hole was named "Blackfriars Bobby," and a statue of a little Skye terrier sits out in front to remind visitors of the legend of the canine that refused to leave his master's grave for more than a decade. The story is of doubtful authenticty but, as Rick Steeves has theorized, local merchants in the nineteenth century recruited any stray dog to play the role for tourists to increase visitation, a strategy that continues to work to this very day. We then strolled down Victoria Street, supposedly the inspiration for the Harry Potter books. There I threw away good money to buy an authentic Glengarry hat totally unsuitable for the Arizona climate and that I will likely hardly wear. I couldn't resist--it was in my size!

The sun came out yesterday, the first bright day we have seen in the UK since we arrived. Ironic, since at the same time the light was being extinguishe in our own country. The reelection of the orange lunatic fills me with a sadness I cannot adequately express, and I cannot help but to feel that we will likely need to apologize for being Americans for the remainder of this trip. This election, probably the last the US will ever see, was truly a "wash, rinse, and repeat."