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21
Jun 13

Welcome to Ireland

Our plane left Heathrow late, after a long run. We ran. Because, you see, the flight attendant announced “Gate 8 E.” We went to this gate. Fifteen minutes before the flight was to leave there were no airline employees, no passengers and no planes.

We were on the only terminal in the free world without departure screens, too. So I walked down aways and found horrifying information. Our flight was actually departing from Gate 80.

English.

So we ran. And then we got on board. I thoroughly made a big show of the entire ordeal. And the plan was late.

But we arrived on time in a funny-how-that-happens way. We landed in Dublin, in what felt like the oldest terminal in the free world. It had screens with departure and arrival times.

We made it through customs, The Yankee going first as always. She answered the questions and I was next. I said to the border agent “Same things she said,” which amused everyone except the weary man working in his weary both.

We got our stamps, though, and then picked up our rental car, a process just as thoroughly devoid of joy and efficiency in every country, it seems. We set out, once again questioning the ability of the GPS to get her there.

It was about here, I think, that we finally changed the GPS voice. We’ve been using an Aussie. We looked for an Irish brogue, but had to settle on an English woman. So the GPS, given to this new personality, must be renamed. I’m sure we’ll figure that out soon enough.

We drive around Dublin on the interstate, which feels new, through countryside that is beautifully rural and undeveloped despite being so very near the city proper. It felt like we drove around the entire city. Mostly because we almost did.

We arrived at our hotel and got checked in. Hey look, this hotel has a television in the bathroom:

Who needs that? Who cares? I have a television in my bathroom.

We went to visit our friends, Adam and Jessica, who are joining us on the trip. Only Jessica didn’t know it. Just a few hours before they’d gotten engaged at a picnic in the gardens of Enniskerry, now they have to have us tag along. She was excited to see us though, so that, happily, went over well.

After a while we looked up, saw the sun and realized it was 9 p.m. And we still had to find dinner. Everything in Enniskerry is closed already. There is a pub in our hotel. Their kitchen had just shut down. But the waiter brought us a room service menu, and four sleepy, hungry people were saved.

Two guys were getting ready to play music a few booths away. We’ve been in Ireland three hours and there’s already a pub, a burger and Irish music.

After a few songs one of the patrons asks “Is it too early for Whiskey in the Jar?” It is never too early for Whiskey in the Jar.

They were fine performers, despite my too-dark photograph and hasty iPhone recording. It was a delicious burger. Our friends, who just flew over from the States today, are happy and exhausted. Tomorrow we set out to drive the bulk of the entire countryside.

For now I’m going to go watch weird Germany game shows. On the television in my bathroom.

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21
Jun 13

The clocks of London

We had a great time walking around in London. I noticed, for whatever reason, that they have a lot of clocks on display. Here are a few of my favorites.

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21
Jun 13

Buckingham Palace

We watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace today. The queen was in residence, so we’re basically standing in her driveway. That doesn’t get old, I’m sure.

Also in the driveway is the Victoria Memorial, which was dedicated in 1911 by George V and his first cousin, Wilhelm II of Germany, to their grandmother, Queen Victoria. There is a statue of her in the fountain:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Truth:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Justice:

This one is meant to be the Angel of Charity:

The symbolism of these seems to be lost to Wikipedia, but the top feature is thought to invoke Peace and Victory.

There is a marching band playing at the changing of the guard. They did martial tunes, traditional English songs, a bit of Over There and some Adele.

What you didn’t see in this video is the cavalry. And all cavalry should look like these guys. No one’s storming the gates on them. (Also they got their own police protection, which seemed odd. But this is Britain these days.)

Enjoying one last afternoon tea before we continue our travels.

To the train! To another train! To the airport! To the terminal! To the wrong part of the terminal! To a hike, with luggage, so long that they hang signs that tell you how many more minutes you have to walk!

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20
Jun 13

Church choirs and rock shows

The Yankee did some work. She presented some of her research and it was, easily, the best presentation I saw at the entire conference:

We also went to St. Paul’s Cathedral. This church is the seat of the Bishop of London and head church of the Diocese of London. It sits atop the highest point in the City of London. The original church here dates back to 604.

This church dates to the late 17th century, designed in the English Baroque style by Sir Christopher Wren. Services and tours were going on while we were there. You get the sense that the place never stops humming.

And it is a beautiful place. I’ve been fortunate to see some of the world’s oldest and most beautiful churches. To me, this one is one of the ones you have to see.

And they all have this certain sound, in those soaring ceilings, to the point that you think all of the ancient architects had a similar opinion about what angels singing might sound like, and how they could maybe try to emulate it.

A young choir from Singapore was performing, for about a half hour, when we were there. I don’t want to overstate it, but their voices were singing up and the ceiling was singing down. There was the slightest, most imperceptible delay that held notes and changed the songs. I don’t know what angels in your mind, but that’s what they’d sound like to me. (I tried to record it, but it was all a bit fuzzy because of other ambient noises.)

The vaulting ceilings here have what the tour says are millions of pieces of glass in elaborate mosaics. I wonder who had the job of counting the glass pieces.

Fish and chips! And mushy peas. You can just see them in the corner of the shot. That’s another British staple. They’re good if you like peas. I like peas.

The fish is supposed to come in a newspaper, and so to be authentic this place uses a fake newspaper. It is probably more sanitary, but more expensive. This paper is mimicking a 1940s London paper. There is copy about military governors divvying up Germany.

She plans great trips, and this has been another wonderful one. We’re riding on the Underground here:

We went to see Rock of Ages on the West End. They break the fourth wall. They ad lib. They use jazz hands. It is a rock show, but a love story.

The narrator makes a Waffle House joke. This being London I am the only person in the entire theater that got it. I laughed. No one else laughed. I laughed harder.

It is bawdy. It makes fun of hair bands, rock ‘n’ roll and the 1980s.

Great, funny show.

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19
Jun 13

White cliffs of Dover

Friends, please take this advice. If you have the opportunity to rent a car and drive out of London: Don’t.

Instead, find an Underground stop on the way out of town in the direction you want to go. Find a car rental place at that stop. Take that train and rent from there. And you are welcome.

It isn’t about driving on the left side of the road, which The Yankee did very well:

But that city wasn’t made for you. It was made for people on bicycles with a death wish. And cabbies. Who drink. And not your GPS. Just don’t.

Anyway, we rented a car, we got lost. We got lost while lost. The GPS had no idea. We drove about five miles in almost two hours. We finally made our way out of town in one of those mornings where nothing went right. (And this was the day we chose to rent a car!) Once you get out of London everything is fine. Hence my advice above. And so we drove about two hours to Dover.

No one in Dover knows where anything is. So that’s an adventure unto itself. Also, our GPS did not know.

We were going to take a tour on the water, but the guy that gives the tours was MIA. And also not answering his phone.

There is one other game in town, a speedboat game. So we donned splash suits and climbed into a Zodiac and bounced our way out to the cliffs. They look like this. (There is more writing below.)

Also, here is a panorama of the Dover castle above it all. As always, click to embiggen.

In this next picture, do you see that line that goes from the top of the cliff all the way to the shore? The cliffs are made of a chalk, and thus are soft. The locals, our guide told us, would often hoist up items from shipwrecks (or from smuggling) from the top of the cliffs. The ropes carved their way into the cliffs. In 1910 the Preussen, the largest ship of its kind in the world, found her fate on these shores. She was carrying pianos. The story goes that they all went into locals’ homes, via rope lines like these:

See the holes in the cliff face below? The British dug those out and mounted lights in there during World War II. Our guide told us that Dover never really recovered from the war economically, but not because of those lights. They were afraid of invasion from across the channel — France is only 26 miles away — and before radar they were lighting up ships at night.

Erosion happens. Thousands of tons fell to the shore last year.

This, we were told, is party of the area that always shows up in films:

This is one of the lighthouse markers that sits on top of the barrier wall at the harbor. These days fishermen pay good money to spend days or weeks on end out there, fishing and living in dank conditions. They made it sound miserable.

This is the old Customs Watch House, designed by architect Arthur Beresford Pite and built 1909-1911.

We ordered lunch from Sue, who works out of a truck. And her seafood is fresh.

Not sure what this is about, though:

But the seagulls approve.

The place we did not eat, but I wanted too. I’ve always wanted to try a burguer. But not a Donner.