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The last full day in Dublin started with a walk to a few castles around Sandycove (while England is filled with cathedrals, Ireland is teeming with castles). There was even a castle that was still being used as a school that I will forever refer to as Hogwarts. It was a wonderful day, and Zach and Jenny (being pretty much fantastic and awesome people) offered to take me around Dublin to sight see.
Once we arrived, the first thing we passed was the Famine Status next to the River Liffey. They were, in all senses of the word, haunting. The metal they were made out of was meant to look worn and decayed; the blank looks on the emaciated statues faces did not look at onlookers, but past them, and you could almost picture them desperately shuffling along. One of the statues was even carrying a thin child, slung along his back.
After that humbling look at the statues, we walked along the street of Dublin along the Liffey. Zach and Jenny took me to a church called St. Michah. When we first walked in, I thought it just must've been a general cathedral with history attached to it (being in the UK has allowed me to see plenty of those). Either way, I was excited. We walked into the building, and were told to wait for our tour guide. So, while we waited, I walked around a bit to take numerous pictures of things, as usual. When our tour guide, Peter, came in, he instructed us to not go further inside the church, but outside.
We walked around back to a graveyard. However, instead of exploring the grounds, we took a right toward a stone crypt. It's at this point that I started freaking out. We had paid only 3,50 Euro, and we actually could go inside the crypts?! It was at this point that I started to freak out (in a good way!). We walked down these stone steps and walked into a narrow cavern that smelled dank and like dirt. It is pretty much like what you would expect of a crypt in a movie. Cobwebs hung along the ceiling and the light was low and cast an eerie glow along the stones and the dirt. On the left, there were small archways which contained...mummies.
These mummies were bodies that had been put in the crypts hundreds of years ago that, due to the limestone and the conditions of the moist air, were preserved. The last arch at the far end of the tunnel displayed these mummies in their decaying coffins. There were three prominent bodies at the forefront. The first was male. It was thought that he could've been a thief of some sort, or other vagabond, which brings to question why he was buried there at all. The second was a nun. Her skin looked as if it were old, ragged clothing, sinking in on her rib cage. If you peeked your head in (we could do that!), you could see her brown and black toenails. The last body was unknown, but his legs had been broken under him to make him fit in the box better. All of these bodies, although a little bit worse for wear, were looking pretty good, considering they happened to be 400-500 years old. Their skeletons were caked with dust and you could see their skulls and the remaining skin. I was quite mesmerized and awestruck by this very sight that I failed to notice a fourth body, in the far back, resting in a coffin against the wall.
This was the body of an 800 year old Crusader. His thighs were crossed, which was the way that they buried such men to indicate that they fought in the Crusades. His legs, like the unknown body, had been snapped and were tucked under his body because he was unusually tall for a man at that time. And, his fingers on his hands were broken. However, the cause of this was not because of anything he had done in his lifetime. It was considered lucky to shake the hand of a Crusader, and a few people apparently got a bit too rough in their handshake with the deceased. The whole time while our guide was talking, I was trying to peek my head in as far as I could (the crypt was blocked by a small wire fence), to get a better look, even daring to step a bit closer and basically be inside the crypt. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to go in. Or were we?!
Just as I was craning my neck as far as it would go (well over the toenails of the mummified nun), Peter suggested that we go inside, and give the Crusader a little handshake, so long as, with whatever money we got from the luck, would be split with the church. I had to ask twice to see that he wasn't joking. We could go inside?! I was legitimately at a loss for words as he removed the fence and moved so I could walk in. I gingerly stepped on the dirt-filled ground, passing the three coffins and moving to the back, where the Crusader lied. For a moment, all I could do was look at him and his black and brown bones. I could not believe I was even allowed to do this! And then, from outside the tomb, Peter mentioned that I was allowed to actually touch the dead body. I thought he had been joking, but it was one hundred percent serious. I reached out my hand and rubbed one of his smooth, bony fingers. Still in awe, I ducked back out, for the rest of the group to get their turn.
After that (my fingers were still tingling a bit from the idea that I had just touched a lucky 800 year old mummified Crusader), we went into another crypt which was a bit longer and had a lot more graves. Some of the tombs were still being used by families, so they were not able to display the bodies. The only reason why they could display the mummies in the other room was because their coffins had smashed or been broken. Back before the crypts were outfitted with electricity, often people would have to shuffle into these pitch black crypts--usually at night--and put the newly deceased in its correct tomb. Naturally, being in a dark tunnel smelling of rot and dust and filled to the brim with corpses would freak anyone out, so sometimes they would just pile on the coffin on top of the rest, which caused the bodies below it to occasionally be crushed and their coffins to break. In this second crypt, you could even see a decayed foot protruding from a mass of broken wood and semi-whole coffins.
We walked up and down the room, coming back to the tomb at the first right, a tomb that held rebels. The crypt itself was mostly filled with noblemen and people of class, and yet, resting among them were the two bodies of rebels that had fought against the British in their conquest for independence and freedom. Their bodies were horribly mutilated (luckily we couldn't actually see them) and destroyed. Peter did a lovely demonstration of their bodies being hung, even though they were already dead at that point and it was just to further desecrate their bodies. He was actually an excellent guide who got well into telling the stories of these deceased members of the church and occasionally freaking out the people who came to visit.
And to think, that was just what happened at the start of my day in Dublin. After that, we walked along the Liffey again and got a bite to eat. We then went into the Winding Stair, a bookshop that was interesting and wonderful. It was teeming with books, and the very backroom had second hand books from all ages. As three writers on the town, naturally we couldn't resist going into the shop and looking around for quite a while.
After that, we did a bit of walking, and saw the Stiletto in the Ghetto (or the Dublin Needle) and the Post Office. This Post Office was of a grand size, and had giant pillars that were marked with bullet holes. This is because when the British controlled Ireland, the rebels rushed in and took over the federal building. Today, they still keep these bullet holes as a reminder of how they achieved their freedom.
I probably should real quick note a difference of Ireland v. England. The streets are huge! They had wide sidewalks and more than one lane for cars both ways. You could see the sky (in England, buildings are crowded so close together that you can only really see the very top of the sky) and felt extremely open and free. It honestly reminded me of New Mexico. Jenny has this theory that Ireland is kind of like a greener New Mexico. Not only do they have a strong religious and superstitious presence, but the streets are wider and you can see more of the sky. It gets pretty windy, as it does in New Mexico, and instead of coyotes, they have foxes that howl in the night. On the Bray, we felt like we were walking in the foothills, on our way up to the Sandias. There was a bush sprouting yellow flowers that looked similar to that in Albuquerque. There's also a strong presence of nature and flora and fauna around the area, especially in the smaller towns, where your backyard could be the edge where the ocean and land meet, where one day, you could wake up and see seals swimming just outside. On general terms of England v. Ireland, it was also interesting in general to be in a place again where Catholicism is dominant, unlike England, where Catholic churches are few and far between, and whatever religious presence there is (it's not a strong one), it's Anglican.
Anyway, we walked back to Trinity, where we went into their museum and saw the Book of Kells! I took some secret photos (they would make you delete them if they caught you) and we went up to the Long Room, which is a giant library with massive arched ceilings and two levels literally filled with books.
This library not only smelled fantastic--the smell alone would make any writer or reader swoon--but it contained manuscripts and books from hundreds of years ago. It contained every sort of book of every kind, and Zach and Jenny are lucky enough to have access to it (students used to be able to go up and check out books themselves, but they would get vertigo when they went on the ladders and would fall). It was a dignified and wonderful room, which contained original copies of Shakespearean plays and works of any famous writer you could think of ever.
After that, we went into a wool shop, where I bought fantastic scarves made from the wool of Irish sheep for myself, my Grandpa, and my brother-in-law. We then tried to get in the library, but it was closed due to some special event that might have had to do with war veterans. Instead, we went into the Natural History Museum.
First, I will say that Ireland is quite a lively place and isn't morbid at all. However, a lot of activities that Zach, Jenny, and I happened to do involved death, decay, and corpses. This museum held bog bodies, which are preserved bodies that had been found in the bogs of northern Ireland. All of these bodies had been tortured or mangled and brutally murdered in some way, yet the contents of some of their stomachs was a dish with milk and wheat, typically a meal given to someone about to be sacrificed.
Furthermore, these bodies had been eerily preserved because of the bog. On one of the bodies, you could still see the hairs on his chin. Others, you could still make out the expression on their face after they died.
One body, in particular, featured very Conan O'Brien hair.
Creepy, sure, but these bodies were still very cool.
After that, we walked to the house where Oscar Wilde grew up. It is currently a school and, unfortunately, they stopped giving tours. Instead, we walked inside a park where we found the most smug and pimpin' statue of Oscar Wilde that I will ever see.
I took some pictures up there (the rock was actually quite difficult to get on top of), and we enjoyed the very bombastic and presumptuous attitude that this statue exuded before setting off. We went to another park, making puns along the way. It was wonderful fun, especially seeing as it had been a while since I had been able to go on a pun rampage. I was quite sheepish at first, and very rusty (it almost seemed as if my pun skills had kicked the bucket), but we still managed to banter and beat back numerous puns, ranging everywhere, from sheep to death and everywhere in between.
We rested for a bit on a park bench, talking of general things like work, Neil Patrick Harris, and school, and just catching up and enjoying being in Ireland on a "sunny" day. Keep in mind a sunny day in Ireland (or England) is generally overcast, so long as it's not raining, but it was still a lovely day.
We went from there to a pub that Zach and Jenny like to frequent. I got an Irish burger (it was quite delicious) and a sampler, which contained three small types of lauger to try and see, on a taste level, what kind of beer I preferred.
I would like to quickly note why, in Ireland, you shouldn't drink Guinness. Zach and Jenny are big advocates on craft beer, and for a good reason. Guinness is actually killing that industry. Because they are such a big company, when a pub wants to have them on their taps, Guinness makes it so that, if they want them on their tap, they must also take their other sister breweries, which knocks out any opportunity for craft beers to have a slot. Furthermore, the Guinness factory in Dublin primarily ships and exports, so the beer drunk on the actual island is probably from another country.
But I digress. We sat there, ate, and talked. After a while, we were joined by a few students who were in the same program as Zach and Jenny. They all had a drink and caught up, and it was really very nice. I actually prefer the way the Irish drink as opposed to the English. Perhaps it's because I've been primarily exposed to the English college setting of drinking, but the focus in England is not so much on enjoying your time, but on getting as smashed as you possibly can. It's not too uncommon for them to not remember the night before, or at least it's not frowned at, and, in general, when students go out (present writer excluded), they either bar hop, drink and then hit the clubs, or they pre-drink and then go to the clubs, where they drink even more. The Irish, on the other hand, don't seem to go as crazy. Instead of partying every night and getting smashed, they sit in the pub for hours and simply talk. They socialize. They spend time with each other and enjoy the company they are with. I much prefer that kind of setting to anything else.
It might be just because I had wonderful and very kind hosts, but I really did love my time in Ireland. I actually wouldn't mind going back there again some day, to visit more areas and explore more of what I saw. It was a country that I feel I prefer to England, and enjoyed being there the moment I stepped off the plane. I'm sure it has its own quirks and downfalls, but from what I saw and experienced, Ireland is altogether a lovely place. Not to mention, where else can you find an Oscar Wilde Statue as smug as this:
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