Mom's dublin adventures continued

We've just returned from Italy, and are terrified at the prospect of writing about last sunday. That seems like a month ago. We'll do our best. 

Sunday--Breakfast at O'Neill's.  Perfect spot.  Great shower, high ceilings, clean, modest, cozy.  Clare has homework, but we found a bit of time to visit the National Gallery and spent most of our time in the Jack Yeat's room.  We tucked into the Natural History Museum, all dark wood, dead insects under glass, and preserved animals.  Filled with kiddies and their folks.  One family came out and the Dad asked his little boy, "Now, was that not fun?" The little fellow skipped out, smiling all the while, and called out, "No it wasn't!"  Conflicted? Pleasantly oppositional, or relieved to be away from the carcasses of dead animals.  

Mom looking heavenly in the chapel next to Dublin Castle. 

We conquered the bus routes and took the 16 out to Harold's Cross in Terenure to see Con, Morag, and Niall.  After a short wander in the dark, rain, and chill, we found Ashdale Rd. and had a wonderful time.  Con shaved his beard and looks younger than his 75ish years.  Niall's hurling team won their championship game that day and I wish we had gone to it.  Clare will go to a match next February when Niall's hurling starts up again.  Niall's team is called the Faughs (pronounced Fogs) short for Faugh a Ballagh, an anglicization of the Irish, Fag a Bealac.  I caused quite a stir when I knew what the phrase meant: clear the road, or clear the way, or make way.  Sad to say I'm not an Irish scholar, but Faugh a Ballagh was one of the 3 Irish phrases that we learned from Dad.  Our Irish relatives were very impressed.  Sarah returned from her nursing job and drove us back to Trinity.  Lovely time there, as usual.  They are so warm and welcoming and I get a little shot of the past when I see Con, whose looks are an amalgam of Dad and Neil, and who brings me back to earlier visits to Millstreet and Cork and all those we met in the old days.

Band at O'Donaghues from a few nights back. 

Monday--We jettisoned our trip to Kilkenny because of time constraints and the threat of bad weather.  Clare worked at homework a bit at the Bald Barista, ate at Urban Picnic in the St. George Street Arcade, and we attended Kevin Whelan's class at O'Connell House.  Kevin is a very knowledgeable and entertaining lecturer. I think I got more out of the class than some of the students around me who were checking email and facebook photos.  I saw quite a few pictures of kittens over the shoulder of the girl in front of me.  But I suppose it helped that I had a context and closer connection to the subject matter; I remembered well the times of Tommy Sands' hunger strike, that time period in Northern Ireland, and the references to Viet Nam.  We met Nicole at Gruel, then packed for Italy! 

We LOVE the christmas lights on Grafton St! 

Tuesday in Pisa and Firenze!  

Surprise!  Rain! Heavier than in Ireland!  Oh for the rain that allows you to still get around in a mildly damp fashion.  We landed in Pisa and wandered the area around the Leaning Tower with all our gear getting wetter and wetter. Had a great risotto at a little Trattoria nearby and were very relieved to get to the train to Florence and to dry out a bit.  Walk to Antica Dimora on Via San Gallo.  A bit hard to find, no big signage, just a discreet  little plaque on the stone wall.  Lovely place, canopy beds, beautiful drapery and frames.  Thank goodness for November pricing.  Amanda, the manager of the guesthouse, suggested a place for dinner, Osteria Pepo.  It was very pretty, pleasant, but all American guests.  I just don't like that! Clare met up with Nicole and her friends for a pub crawl.  It felt weird having her take off on her own here, but it is very safe, and very small.  

This is Clare. We’re sharing. The pub crawl wasn't really a pub crawl. I just met up with Nicole and her swedish friend Oscar, who she knew from high school (she attended an international school in London for 6 years).  Oscar is going to school in Florence for the year, and he brought along two of his friends: a German guy named Maxi (Maximillion) that spoke English like he was an American, and an American whose name I can't remember. We went to a wine bar that played some pretty wonderful music, though it was so loud I could barely hear Nicole and Oscar. We ended the night at the bustling little pub FILLED with Italians. Most of Florence was sleepy after 9:30, but this pub was packed with Italian 20somethings. I had a pint (and listened to classic Italian tunes like Wonderwall and ba-ba-barbara ann) and then decided it was time to head home.  I was completely at a loss for how I was going to get back to the Duomo area, but Max sacrificed the rest of the his evening and walked me. Florence is spectacular at night. We stopped at the Ponte Vechio on the way home and marveled at all the little lights over the water.  The Duomo seems even larger, even more powerful in the quiet, dark hours. Max dropped me off at my place, then admitted that he was a little "turned around." Oops. I hope he got home alright. I might head to Germany in January for a Munster and Hamburg trip, so maybe I can see Max and Hans and Inken all in one trip. 


Wednesday in Florence-- Mom again.  Our menu tends to be splitting lunch time pizza slices, some kind of bite-sized pastry, gelato, and oranges.  We splurge for dinner.  Wandered around the duomo, saw David and his shapely butt at the Academia, and were charmed by a fellow holding an umbrella for his girlfriend to shield her from the rain/hail while she worked on her painting of the Ponte Vecchio. We finished off the day at the Pizalle de Michaelangelo in honor of Kevin.  It was dark by then, but the lights of Florence were lovely.
Wine at a chic little wine bar, and dinner at Trattoria de Benvenuto, where Hank and I went when we were in Florence a few years back.  A bit disappointed this time.  Stopped at Finnegans of Firenze for a half pint, and listened to a Scotsman doing trivia.  Rounded out the night with a rousing half hour of an Italian, "American Idol" show for people under 12.  It shouldn't be missed.

Thursday:  We had a great train trip to Venice.  Fast and comfortable.  Our guesthouse was close to the train station in Venice, just over the Ponte Guglie in the Canareggio section. We attempted to eat at a self-serve place called Brek, and were met with an incredibly bitchy...server? If you can call her that. She did not meet our eye, she did not offer any hint for how we might order food. When we finally caught her eye and asked her if we could have a dish, she simply said "no. finished." We literally could not eat there! No one would look at us! So, we moved on.

Bits of the language became second nature: gratzi, boano, ciao, scuzie, conto, buon giorno, etc.  When we came back to Dublin, we found ourselves confused.  Gratzi was coming to the lips more easily than thank-you, and that would sound very lame.  We got over it though, without too much embarrassment.  Kind of miss the Italian men though.  Quite different than the Irish response on the street, which is pretty dull.  Clare tended to draw a lot of reaction.  I just finished Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin, and one of his characters drew the difference this way, (and I paraphrase):  If an Irish man looks too long, it's insulting.  It's insulting if an Italian man doesn't.

We must go to dinner now. Mom's last night in Dublin. I'll finish off the rest of the blog... we still have most of Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to tell you about! I'm very very sad mom is going. Can't believe it, actually. 


Love,
Mom and Clare