Only in a nation of Catholics...

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...does the word "haunted" mean "lucky", while "bold" is another term for "naughty."

Some of you may remember my Irish coursemate from Bonfire Night and the trip to Durham. That is Yvonne, and she and her Grandmother were kind enough to let me stay with them for a few days in the beautiful Republic of Ireland.

I have been to Ireland before, to Galway on the west coast. I was only there for two days (with a non-functioning camera for the majority of it), and the things I remember most were brightly colored houses and Guinness signs approximately every 30 feet.

Check and check for those in Cork. Except that the Guiness signs were replaced with signs for "Murphys" or "Beamish", two brands of stout that appear to be competing for signature brand of drink in Cork. But in Ireland, there is plenty of room for two signature brands of drink in one city. Signs, logos and murals were everywhere. Of both.



I learned a lot this week about traditional Irish/Catholic guilt and self-deprication. My first full day here, we explored the city of Cork, and despite Yvonne's "I can't believe I brought you here, this place is terrible!" brand of commentary, I can genuinely say that I liked it a lot.



Rows of colorful shopfronts like this were common both on the major streets and in the residential areas. One place even had royal purple next to bright orange. The thing was: it worked. Bright green would be next to blue-gray limestone and it looked completely natural.

Both Yvonne and her mother (over the week, I met a large portion of the extended family, but apparently that is the Irish way - a wonderful and very entertaining group of people) were surprised when I pointed out how much more colorful these buildings are compared to places in England or Scotland. Or New England, even.



We first visted the Elizabeth Fort, which is apparently closed to the general public, but because Yvonne's mother works in the Garda (police) station on the site, we were allowed an informal tour. Interesting history (mostly consisting of tumultuous relations with the English - it's been a pattern I've noticed in Scotland and Wales as well. Hmm) and lovely views of the city.

Irish weather is just as dynamic as British weather is. For the most part, I was haunted by good weather this week, which was nice. Yet unlike a place like Bath, a trip to Ireland still works with gray sky and rain, because it's kind of what you expect.



As we were walking through the city, we passed this building, and Yvonne stopped to point out its relevance.

"This building is the most... something in all of... Cork or Ireland or something. I think." She said to me. Unfortunately I can't look it up because neither of us knows what it's called.



This is Saint Fin Barre's Cathedral. You can see the back of it, complete with iconic golden angel statue, in an above picture. It was originally built centuries ago, but destroyed by the English (a running theme for places in Cork) and restored in the 19th century. So the carvings and stained glass are detailed and intricate, and less faded than some of the older ones have been.

Inside, the stained glass windows depicted stories from the Old and New Testaments, and the carvings beside the front doors showed the characters from the parable of the ten virgins. I attempted to retell this parable to Yvonne, which became all the more awkward when an interested couple came over to listen, under the mistaken impression that I knew what I was talking about.

"Um so I think it's about a wedding...and some kind of ritual thing with oil or something. And some of them didn't have it...but some did. Or maybe they all had it and some used it, or something like that. But the foolish virgins didn't... do whatever it was. And then the bridegroom came. And the wise virgins, did something that you're supposed to do at a wedding or whatever. And...it's like a metaphor for Jesus. Because, like, you have to be...ready."

If I was doing a narrative analysis on myself, I would mark that as moderately to severely impaired. In fact, I did a narrative analysis on an aphasic client earlier in the semester (different story, obviously) and he did way better. I'm not sure if the interested couple sat through that because they were too polite to walk away or because my pathetic attempt to remember a story I learned 10-15 years ago was that amusing.

Yvonne told me later I should have just made it up. Apparently that is the Irish way.

Anyway.







These windows were in the section of the church displaying stories from the New Testament. Honestly, I was at a loss for identifying them. Some of the other ones were obvious (angel, empty tomb, women in shock...Easter maybe?) but with these I didn't have a clue. Sorry, everyone-who's-ever-taught-me-in-Sunday-school.

Later in the evening, we paid a visit to two of the (many, many) pubs in Cork, where I tried Murphy's and Beamish (liked the Murphy's better) and listened to traditional Irish music (or "trad" as Yvonne kept calling it). What was interesting to me was that the musicians sat around a table like any other group of people, who just so happened to have brought musical instruments to the pub. Apparently this is normal too. Very fun.

Tomorrow: Blarney Castle and the Blarney Stone

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