Searching for Mr. Joyce

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Today marked our triumphant return to Dublin, and as we had only a scant few minutes to tour the place last time before being ushered off on group tours it was nice to have basically a free day.

The only scheduled thing, which not all of us did, was to take a guided walking tour of Trinity College. This was a bit of a waste of time, as it lasted only about 30 minutes, and involved us going to about 2 different places. Not one to complain here though as the professor who gave the tour was quite funny, very quick witted, and possessed a rather theatrical air.

Cool thing about the tour was it allowed us a look at the Book of Kells, which is amazingly small. It is about the size of a Gideon Bible, only thicker, which makes the detail on each of the pages that much more amazing. Not only that, but this stop again proved our timing to be amazing as we had to wait in line in the rain for about 2 minutes and came out to find a line literally around the building.

Once finished with the tour and the book viewing we were let loose on the city to do as we pleased. I got to do a few rather amazing things. To begin with I found a few “Ulysses” plaques around town. To explain for those unaware, James Joyce’s “Ulysses” is considered the greatest novel ever written in the English language and as it is very intimately set in Dublin the city decided to place plaques on the street to denote actual locations from the book. So after eating lunch at The Duke, a regular Joyce hangout, I got to enter Davy Byrnes, which was at the time of writing, known as The Burton restaurant. Though I am not a bit reader of Joyce, as a writer it was rather amazing to enter a place like that.

With lunch out of the way I began my main quest, to locate and photograph the Phil Lynott statue. Again, for those unaware, Phil Lynott was the lead singer, bass player, and songwriter for one of my favorite bands Thin Lizzie. In his short life he was responsible for some of the most amazing rock songs ever written. He is one of the men who I refer to as “Guardo Camino” (road guard), as someone who wrote songs that I allow to have an impact on my life or my attitudes. It took a little work, as the first two people I asked didn’t know the statue existed, but the third man actually led me to it, which is amazing as it was a few blocks away. Funny thing, it was right next to the ATM I attempted to use a few days earlier. I was literally standing within about 20 feet of it, but failed to turn around enough to see it.

From there we went to the Temple Bar area, which is apparently some type of big deal. All I know is I got to sit in a bar (the actual Temple Bar) that is so close to the Temple Bar Music Center, where all the bands I love from that area played as unknowns, that the odds that I was sitting where either Shan MacGowan, Phil Lynott, or Van Morrison sat and drank were pretty good. That was rather nice.

I then found myself on an even more difficult quest. Find the James Joyce statue. One would think this would be easy. One would be wrong. Everyone I asked said the same thing. “You’d think I’d know that.” (I don't think it helped that Steve, from Boston, and I only asked attractive young women who all turned very giggley and flirty upon hearing our accents. Not the best plan for finding stuff, but not a bad one in general.) However none did, until I asked an outdoor vendor who asked another, who directed us to another, who knew where it was. I told her I would probably not go see it as I was running out of time and would almost have to run back. When she found out I would be leaving the next morning and spending 12 hours in transit she simply said, “Go see James.” I did, and I am glad I did.

Next stop was the hotel for a brief rest and a drink before heading off to dinner. I ended up in the same room as before, one with two twin beds. Not a big deal though, as the beds were comfortable. I say “beds” plural because in a situation like this I believe in not wasting anything and as a result end up changing beds in the middle of the night, so as to ensure my full use of the room. I got my stuff put together and packed for the next day ( I knew it was going to be a late night of socializing and didn’t want to cut it short or have to rush in the morning) and then went down to the lobby bar for drinks with Kevin, a banker from Philly with the same tastes in Irish music as me. It was very nice and relaxing.

Dinner was fun, we went to a bar called “The Merry Plowmen” to see the Irish folk singing and dancing show. It began with a great meal, was followed by a quartet called, oddly enough, “The Merry Plowmen,” who were followed, during their intermission, by a group of Irish dancers. Think of it as a light weight Riverdance with a meal.

Then we retired to the hotel bar for an evening of goodbyes. The next morning those of us who did the entire UK tour would depart at 6:30 am while those who just did Ireland would be flying staying to catch flights from Ireland home. It was a strange mixture of drunken good times and a palpable feeling of not wanting to go to bed, because once any of us did it signaled the end of it all. I fought it longer than perhaps I should have, but it was ok because I stayed part of the group just a little bit longer. Then I was off to bed and asleep before I knew it.

I had one of the best times in my life this evening but it did highlight one of the problems I have with the tour. I hate goodbyes. They’re inevitable and I’ve gone through them many, many times in my life, but they don’t get easier. The way things are set up, we have 3 separate and difficult goodbyes on the tour. The first being in Whales before going to Ireland, we lost some really good people there, including Anna Marie from Amsterdam. She was one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met and was a large part of the heart of tour. But it wasn’t just leaving her, I was leaving John and Michelle and Jane and Sarah and so many others. Then we get up and say goodbye to the folks who just joined is for Ireland. People like Adam and Kevin and the Jersey Girls and the Worcestershire Girls and again, many others, people who made Ireland so special. If that’s not enough, 12 or 13 hours later we have to say goodbye to everyone else.

Though writing this reinforces to me that the worst part of the tour is tied directly to the best part. Would this tour have been worthwhile if I didn’t leave it with some level of heartbreak about the people I was leaving behind? I don’t think it would be. So, I think I will look at this night that way. Yeah, I’m sad to be saying goodbye, but I am also very luck to feel sad about it.

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