Days 8-10 (Wexford) and 11-12 (Dublin): Of Palaces and Punk Shows

Spending the last few days in Ireland has taught me a lot about the wonderful generosity of friends, old and new. We've been staying in the tents, beds, and futons of our kind Irish hosts.

One of those old friends had a birthday party that came complete with a jerry-rigged Slip 'n Slide (c).

Summer shenanigans in sunny Ireland.

After the festivities, we headed up the coast for Dublin to stay with some people we met at the party. The coastal train, which seemed to precariously teeter along the cliff edge, made for a pleasant ride into the city center. 

Riding the coast train with one of our gracious hosts.

Arriving in Dublin we found ourselves swirling amidst a myopic landscape of kaleidoscopic neighborhoods. Being health-conscious Californians, we went to see the fruit and veg market for a healthy dose of self-superiority. I am saddened to report that Ireland does indeed have fruits and vegetables.

Moore Street market. The vendors advertise their wares in sing-song voices, just like the good old days.

I cannot stress our good fortune in making new friends who have the unblinking hospitality to house two complete strangers for a week. We are staying in a row-house built for factory workers in the early 1800s. I am saddened to report that Ireland has substantially less industrial squalor than I had hoped for.

Portobello: not just a mushroom, but also our neighborhood in Dublin.

Exploring Dublin: 

At the Dun Laoghaire (say "LEER-y") pier. Irish pronunciation mystifies even the Irish.

Some of our new friends enjoying 99s (soft serve ice cream in a cone for you yanks) at the pier.

Catching some tea at Queen of Tarts.

In case you didn't read the last caption.

Hallway at the Dublin Castle. Holy crap, gold leaf everywhere.

Massive, allegorical frescoes on the ceiling of the Great Hall. Royals sure love subtlety.
These panels depict the subjugation of Ireland under England.

 Today was National Fish and Chips Day. That means half off on all fish and chips. There's nothing tastier in my book than a ridiculously good deal, and €4.55 for an entire fish, battered and fried on top of a potato's worth of chips sounded too nauseatingly good to be true. Toss in a tub each of curry sauce, ketchup, and mayonnaise for good measure and we're in business.

Eating fish means HEAVY METALS.

Enjoying our fried fish with a side of medieval architecture.

Barely made a dent in the goddamned thing and I already feel sick.

 We rounded out the evening by seeing our host's hardcore band play a gig at a local venue. 

Pulled Apart, live at Whelan's.

Dublin has redefined the meaning of hospitality for me. It's no small gesture of kindness to welcome someone who you've just met into your home. I feel very lucky.

Today is my birthday!