Dublin

Two days ago, I was walking along the Seine. Yesterday and today, I am walking along the Liffey, the river that figures prominently in the work of James Joyce and, because of that holds a mythic status for me. Like the Seine, the Liffey too has many bridges, including a new one called the James Joyce Bridge designed by the somewhat dazzling Spanish architect Calitrava. I made a point to walk down the quayside to see it today.

Within my first hour of arriving in Ireland, the white-haired Irish gentleman taking bus tickets at the Dublin Airport said softly under his breath, when I expressed concern that he had dispossessed me of the return portion of my round-trip ticket, "We must have hope and faith." Are the fairies trying to give me a message, I wondered? He then handed me my return ticket.

I'm staying at a B&B in South Dublin, a large three-story house with elegant dark-rose walls and a brightly painted yellow door with a shiny brass knocker. Marie MacMahon, the owner, raised her children in this house and I took to her immediately. No doubt that's why I had such a good night's sleep. At breakfast this morning, I met two of the other guests: Nick, who's here to play the tuba for a Dublin orchestra, and Theresa, who shared with me her perspective on the long relationship between Ireland and England. She quoted Cromwell having said this about the Irish: "Go to hell or to Connaught," the rocky west coast soil of Connaught offering little hope at that time. (Cromwell is decidedly not popular in Ireland.)
For breakfast, Marie offered me a "fry," which I believe is a traditional Irish breakfast of eggs, sausage or bacon, and potatos. I opted for muesli, toast with homemade blackcurrant jam, and very good tea. (Marie was careful to credit her sister for the jam.)

Ireland speaks of its "soft rain." Well, it was softly raining this morning, so I was glad I had packed an umbrella, in spite of the added weight. To get to Dublin center from the house, it's either a fifteen or twenty minute walk or you can take a bus that stops just up the block. I've already done both. Yesterday, I was a bit lost making my way back home on foot when an Irish fellow on a mountain bike came to my rescue. Daniel Curran. We had a cup of tea and then took a walk along a nearby canal, before he walked me home. I told him Daniel was my father and brother's name and that Curran is the last name of one of my best friends. He gave me his phone number.

It's the end of the day now. I'm sitting in an Internet Cafe with a dozen other people tapping away on the keys just like I am. (The keyboard is back to normal, at least my version of normal.) Just like in Paris, I've been walking all day: A historical walking tour that started and ended at Trinity College, and then a different kind of tour at Kilmainham Gaol where twelve leaders of the Easter Rising were executed. Bullet marks from the struggle are still evident in the columns in front of Dublin's main post office, which served as the headquarters for the men fighting for freedom from English rule. From beginning to end, today has been deeply moving and satisfying for me.

Early tomorrow morning, I'm launching myself into the countryside and driving from the east to the west coast. May the fairies be with me.