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Published: June 12th 2019
Moore Street Market
Standard carts and produceAfter breakfast at Ann’s Bakery, I checked out the bus stop for tomorrow and tried again unsuccessfully to get a working SIM card. One place gave me the SIM card for free and suggested Tescos (grocery) or Spar (convenience store) to get funds put on it (“topped up”). Both stores were nearby, but neither knew how to top it up. One clerk suggested Car Phone Warehouse – “around the corner”. Couldn’t find it, but I did find the fruit and vegetable market. This consisted of two pedestrianized blocks with two long lines of carts with the same fruits, being bananas (7 for a Euro), strawberries (2 Euro a box), blueberries and mixed berries.
Uninspired I decided to walk to Grafton Street where yesterday I had seen a Car Phone Warehouse. Today is a cooler day, mostly cloudy with bits of wind. Still lots of people. The Warehouse fellow couldn’t help me either and suggested Tescos. Another time.
I retraced some of our James Joyce walk from yesterday to visit the National Library.
Except, I deflected to look at
St Ann’s Anglican Church. A priest was at the door greeting visitors, handing out a pamphlet, and suggesting a donation at the end.
St Ann's Church 1721
Glimpsed from Grafton Street Fair enough. Built in the early 18 century, the church was dimly lit by 19 century stained-glass. Lots of wood warmed the place, and a modest altar inferred humility. If the pews were filled on a Sunday, the congregation would be substantial.
A short walk on, the
National Library, adjacent to the Parliament, was an imposing Georgian neo-classical design, lightened by modern turquoise wraps on the columns, each emblazoned with a goal, for example, “Inspire”. The building was resplendent inside - harmonious, with white finishes for the arches and domes. The library service was from “the old school”. Bags and coats had to be stored, admittedly in the most modern of electronic, self-service lockers. After the climb to the reading room, this visitor was admonished severely not to take pictures and directed behind a row of computers where the magnificent ceiling could be viewed high over the heads of the registered readers. No entry into the reading room proper was allowed for the unregistered.
In compensation, in the basement was an excellent display of the papers of
WB Yeats, donated by his wife and son. Sound chambers offered readings of his poems and videos of his life playing in continuous
loop. Glass cabinets held letters, drafts of poems, published books, and family artworks. Previously unbeknownst to me, his father was initially a lawyer who became a mediocre artist; however, his brother was a successful painter, and his sisters were successful craftswomen. William became a
Senator and was politically active, although quite conservative. On the other hand, he was captivated by the spiritualism that was widespread during his lifetime.
Lunch was very much needed by this time, and the library café seemed a good place. My order for a roast-beef sandwich was misplaced, but delicious when it came – very hot mustard! Feeling rather sleepy, I thought to make my way back to the hotel for a snooze, a shower and time to re-pack my suitcase. Rather predictably, sites distracted me and sleepiness was lost.
What I had taken to be a wall on the river bank was actually the far end of Trinity College, sunk well below the street. At least I knew how to get back to the bridge towards my hotel. Seeing people pouring out of a side exit, I entered the campus and was immediately taken by interest in an art exhibit. Unfortunately, the poster
Samuel Beckett Bridge
Calatrava bridges are found around the world. was the most captivating part. The video installation was supposed to conjoin multi-screen productions in the 1970s and modern visual sensibilities. To me, it was a lot of drone-filmed video (complete with the engine noise) beside some fuzzy old video – not what I remember from the 1970s at all. Hmmm.
Exiting from the main gate, I walked to the bridge and couldn’t help noticing a huge white building down a way I had never walked. Naturally, I turned right instead of going straight, taking this opportunity to walk along the Liffey River. The building was the
Custom House, where there was a display about its history, first as a monumental building and then as a locale for trouble during the Irish War of Independence in 1921. Fire destroyed much of the structure, now carefully restored. As are so many buildings in Dublin, the exterior was in a monumental neo-classical style with huge
Palladian columns . Irish beeves and harps decorated at the top of the columns, rather than classical Greek designs. The interior reflected this design with more columns, seemingly serving as décor rather than structure.
Down river, towards the port, I noticed a
Calatrava Bridge, so had to walk
Famine Memorial
Feel the agony! down to see it. Farther away than it seemed, I relied on an information board to learn that it is called the
Samuel Beckett Bridge. On the way back, I paused to appreciate the statues representing
famine victims, each person and a dog emaciated and seeking help. The sculpture was a gift from Canada in recognition of the role played by Irish immigrants in developing our nation. Finally, I really did go back to the hotel, finding a route through interesting side streets.
After a rest and repacking, I decided to return to
O’Shea’s where I had dinner last night. To my delight, the special was roast lamb with roast and mashed potatoes and “vegetables” (carrots, turnips, piece of broccoli). Unable to eat all five slices of tender and tasty lamb, I came away fully satisfied.
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Isabel Gibson
non-member comment
They'd been warned you were coming, I suppose . . .
Which is why they knew to warn you not to take photos. (I wonder if a sketch would have been allowed. Too bad we weren't taught to draw. Rather like singing, they just decided we couldn't.) Your views of Dublin make me wish we'd had more than one day there. A lot to see.