She Is Handsome, She Is Pretty.

A wee sojourn back to the UK today, with a day trip up to Northern Ireland. The hostel we were staying at, Paddy's Palace, is owned by a tour company, so it was in a Bright Green Paddywagon Bus that we began our adventure north. 

Our driver was an awesome Irish guy from Kerry, with self-proclaimed Gift of the Gab from having once kissed the Blarney Stone (we suspect, however, he may have even been gabby before that, as he did have a lot to say) who entertained us with stories of Irish history, folk tales, and "beautiful renditions" of traditional Irish music (see title). 

Our first stop was Drogheda, where a lot of things have happened over the years, and not many of them good. 

The town sure does have some nice bunting though. 

Back in the day, Drogheda was a key strategic point in the most direct route between Dublin and Ulster, and was one of the most fortified towns in all of Ireland. In 1649, long story short, Oliver Cromwell besieged Drogheda and a lot of civilians (as well as soldiers) were massacred, including some who were burnt alive in St Peter's Roman Catholic Church, after they had taken refuge there. We went to visit the church, which has been rebuilt/fixed a number of times, including after an arson attack in 1999.

The Church is really quite beautiful.

St Peter's is also home to some interesting religious artifacts. Firstly, an actual preserved human head, said to belong to Saint Oliver Plunkett - Irish Primate (better than a bishop) and the last Roman Catholic to be martyred in England, when he was hung, drawn, and quartered in 1681. 

St. Oliver's head. It was hard to get a good photo, as it was really dark inside the Cathedral and the flash bounced off the glass, but we can assure you that there really is an old human head in that display case.

St Peter's is also in possession of a fragment of the TRUE CROSS OF JESUS CHRIST. 

It's the tiny little splinter in the middle of the red cross. Protestant reformer John Calvin famously said that all of the fragments of the "true cross" could fill a large ship. And this was in 17something.

After all this seriousness, we come to a more lighthearted "religious artifact", which is perhaps our favouritest of all. 

Nice altar they've got there. But what's that in the corner?

Why look, it's Ye Olde keg of Holy Water . 

We had another stop, this time at Monasterboice, a small monastic settlement founded by St Buite, who died in around 520CE. It is the only Irish monastery whose name incorporates the Irish word mainistir and is known for its high crosses (it apparently has some of the most perfect ones in Ireland, according to the informational sign at the entrance) which were used to tell Bible stories to the congregation. The tall structure is a Round Tower - it was where the monks fled to if they got ransacked (as they had jewels and stuff). The door is a few metres off the ground, and thus too high for someone to climb up to unassisted. When trouble came a-calling, they would climb up into the tower, and then retract the ladder, so that they and their treasures were safe. They are quite common in Ireland. 

The entrance and a kitty. 

This was the first of a weird number of trips to graveyards on this trip. 

The round tower. No jewels for you. 

A cross, some graves, and a tree in the Irish countryside.

We arrived in Belfast at last, and hopped into a fleet of waiting vehicles for a Black Taxi Tour of the city. Paddywagon tours used to take their Big, Green, Shamrock-and-Leprechaun-Emblazoned Buses to show people around the dodgy bits of Belfast, where Protestant vs. Catholic tension still very much exists, but they had too many buses attacked or set on fire (without people on board, thankfully) for them to think that was safe, so now they send people off with the Black Taxis, who are driven by locals and thus waaaay less likely to be targeted. The tour was so interesting, all about the local history and troubles, including stuff that was still happening. 

Our "black taxi". 

In both the Protestant and Catholic quarters, it's common to see "war murals" on the ends of blocks of flats, which celebrate "heroes" of the respective sides in the ongoing conflict and violence. With warnings to run back to the waiting taxis if any trouble went down, we were sent out to explore the Shankill housing estate, an area on the Protestant side of town and home to a lot of war murals.

The Shankhill Mona Lisa. The masked shooter seems to be pointing his gun directly at you, no matter where you stand on the estate.

Still aiming at us.

Yup, still aiming at us. 

This guy was known as "Top Gun", as he won the Ulster Defence Association's "volunteer of the year award" (given to their top hitman) a lot of times in the 90s. He is thought to have killed at least 12 Catholics.

Another UDA guy's deeds commemorated. 

UDA. 

Martin Luther, depicted starting the Protestant Reformation by nailing his  95 theses to the Castle Church.
Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me.

Some of them were quite gory. 

Today there still exists a "peace wall" which separates the Catholic and Protestant parts of town, to try and minimise inter-community violence. 

The Peace Wall is covered with graffiti art and messages for peace. It has been made higher multiple times over the years, as it wasn't sufficient to prevent people throwing bombs and stuff over. 

Houses on the Catholic side that are close to the wall have these metal cage type things on them to protect them from bombs, bricks, and other stuff which is thrown over the wall. 

The wall has gates which allow traffic through. They are all closed at sundown to help prevent violence. One is left open until midnight and is under constant surveillance by a large police team. 

A mural of Bobby Sands on the wall of IRA headquarters in the Catholic area. 

A mural about the Black Taxi Tours - local history from local people.

A mural about Catholic women's resistance to a government-imposed curfew. 

After that, we were driven down to the docks, where a lot of ships used to be built, including the Titanic. We opted to go back into town and explore the super cute Christmas Market in front of the Town Hall instead of going to the Titanic Museum (because it, like, didn't even have the Titanic or anything). 

Xmas market and Town Hall lit up all pretty like. We also went to an exhibit about the history of Belfast in the Town Hall. At the xmas market, our toes were the coldest they had ever been in our lives. (SPOILER: they gon' get even colder. Holla at ya, Germany).

It was so unbelievably cold, so we went and hid in the local library while we waited for our bus.

It was cute. We like libraries. 

Ally, reading on her phone surrounded by real books. Shame on her. 

While we were warming ourselves and learning things in the Town Hall, we could hear some rather rambunctious proceedings going on. We didn't realise it at the time, but the Belfast City Council were in the process of passing a law which means that the Union Jack will only be flown ceremoniously from the Town Hall fifteen days of the year. As we were leaving in our brightgreenleprechaunshamrockbus, we saw some people standing outside the Town Hall waving and wearing Union Jacks, surrounded by a large police presence. Our bus driver, upon seeing them, went "oh shit, we're in a Paddywagon bus" and accelerated and yelled at the lights to change so we could get out of Belfast. We later learnt that the protests we saw the beginnings of when were there on December 3rd have resulted in a lot of violence, injuries to more than 100 policemen, petrol bombs being thrown, shots being fired, police vehicles attacked with sledgehammers, and trouble is still ongoing as we update this blog two months later. After not really understanding how bad it still is before we went, we saw firsthand how much this conflict still affects Belfast today.

Finnegan's Wake: Our First Experience Of Another Language On This Trip

We started off the day with a trip to Cafe Aroma, which was fast becoming our "local". The coffee is drinkable, it's warm, and they have internet.

Cafe Aroma. They serve coffee in glasses unless you specifically ask them to not. Today we forgot. 

Today Alex finally bought an umbrella. What kind of idiot comes to the UK for Winter and doesn't bring anything to prevent one from getting wet when it rains? It has pretty flowers on it. Look out for it in future posts. It features quite often because a lot of water will fall from the sky "in the future" (with our Knowledge Of The Future we could put weather forecasters out of a job).

Ally poses next to a statue with her new umbrella.

We do love a good free museum, so today we hit up the Archaeology Museum. We would later learn that this massive museum (it was huuuuge) and another one next to it, and some more buildings were some Lord dude's "town house" (town castle?) back in the day. It was big and housed a lot of interesting artifacts and that. We split up and Bry went off to learn about the Ring of Tara and the anthropological history of Ireland, while Ally checked out the Egyptian exhibit and the one about exciting stuff that had been found in peat bogs (whole bodies perfectly preserved! Butter that was hundreds of years old that people had put in the bogs to keep it cold!) and some stuff about Ireland in Viking Times.

A terribly blurry photo of Ally dancing in the rain outside the museum/towncastle.

The museum was in a pretty building that you are definitely not allowed to take photos of. Ally walked past some people smoking and taking a picture of themselves next to the no smoking sign, so at least she only broke one rule.

Because of the inclement weather on this particular day, we were not long about town before we sought refuge in the warm dryness of a local purveyor of SweetSweetCaffeinatedLifeblood, called The Fixx. The name of this particular establishment may have caused some of you Dunedin types in the know to sit up and pay attention. "What is this?", we hear you ask. "A Fix in Dublin, Ireland? What lark!". Sadly this Fixx was not of the same breed as the Fix (with one x)  of Dunedin fame (probably the best coffee you will find in Dunedin) (And they give med students 50c off, hurray!) (Bryony says "hurrumph" and would like to formally register her disgust at this blatant elitism) (Alex counters by pointing out the logic of them doing this, as it is right opposite the medical school and encourages us to leave the Hunter Centre and seek refreshment at their fine establishment instead of at the less good Hunter Cafe) (Bryony replies that while it is good to know that Med students do occasionally venture beyond the esteemed halls of Hunter, it is worth pointing out that the Zoology Department is also in the immediate vicinity of the The Fix, and the Biochemistry Department is very close to its more northern iteration, yet you don't see us benefitting unfairly due to the status our degree confers. Humph) (We also get two-for-one pancakes at Capers, points out Alex helpfully).
Anyway, we liked this new Fixx. They made pretty good coffee, had free internet, and had a whole wall that was made out of bookshelf, including a hidden door to the bathrooms. It was like being in a Sherlock Holmes novel.

A photo of The Fix, Dunedin, that we stole off the internet.

Couldn't find a photo to steal of Fixx, Dublin, but the orange and black is a weird coincidence, no?

Also found a photo on the internet of the sneaky hidden bathrooms. The internet is a treasure.

We managed to navigate our way back to Sweny's Pharmacy to attend a reading of James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. We showed up and squished into the tiny shop with all the books, old pharmacy stuff, and other Joyce Fans (we're ascribing ourselves that rather lofty title now) and were given hot tea and a copy of the book. What we hadn't realised was that at this reading, everyone had to read. We went around the room and read a page aloud each, which was kind of terrifying at first, because Finnegan's Wake is not really written in English. Here's a wee idea of what we were dealing with:


What clashes here of wills gen wonts, oystrygods gaggin fishy-
gods! Brékkek Kékkek Kékkek Kékkek! Kóax Kóax Kóax! Ualu
Ualu Ualu! Quaouauh! Where the Baddelaries partisans are still
out to mathmaster Malachus Micgranes and the Verdons cata-
pelting the camibalistics out of the Whoyteboyce of Hoodie
Head. Assiegates and boomeringstroms. Sod's brood, be me fear!
Sanglorians, save! Arms apeal with larms, appalling. Killykill-
killy: a toll, a toll. What chance cuddleys, what cashels aired
and ventilated! What bidimetoloves sinduced by what tegotetab-
solvers! What true feeling for their's hayair with what strawng
voice of false jiccup! O here here how hoth sprowled met the
duskt the father of fornicationists but, (O my shining stars and
body!) how hath fanespanned most high heaven the skysign of
soft advertisement! But was iz? Iseut? Ere were sewers? The oaks
of ald now they lie in peat yet elms leap where askes lay. Phall if
you but will, rise you must: and none so soon either shall the
pharce for the nunce come to a setdown secular phoenish. 



At first it was embarrassing, as we had no idea what we were saying or if we were saying it correctly, but after a while we came to realise that noone else did either and it was a lot of fun. Sometimes what looks like a huge mess of letters on paper makes actual words when you say it out loud. We even started to get some of the dirty jokes. The group that had assembled at the shop were an awesome bunch of people - some local Dubliners, but also other people from all over the UK and the world. The combinations of accents and first languages trying to make sense of the craziness that is that book was hilarious, and we often all dissolved into giggles. Afterwards they invited us to come out for a drink (our first pints of Guinness in Dublin!) at the pub around the corner, which is where Joyce's wife used to work when they were a-courting.

Another photo shamelessly stolen off the internet. This is what the inside of the shop looks like from all angles, and the dude in the labcoat is the very awesome PJ.

What a cultural day we had.

Lou and The Mummified Cat Church

On this day, we did some more exploring of Dublin with out New Friend Lou. We looked around the town and found some pretty awesome op shops, where we spent up large. We wanted to buy All The Things, but they sadly wouldn't have fitted in our already quite full (and heavy) packs. 

Lou and Bry, chillin' in our sweet dorm room, which we had all to ourselves. 

The Liffey, lookin' pretty.

Barbed wire to keep the monks in?

On the street, we met a Friendly Atheist fellow, who had cheerfully set up his Atheist Ireland stand just down the street from the (woefully misinformed about medical science) Uber Religious Anti-Abortion Protestors (seriously, they had a picture of like a two month old baby and were trying to tell people that's what you're aborting. Idiots.) who were doing a lot of shouting. The atheist man was very polite in comparison. We had a nice chat about politics and feminism and healthcare and things.

In contrast to the aforementioned monks, the atheists are left to roam free throughout the streets of Dublin. Or perhaps the barbed wire was to keep the atheists out...

Before we had arrived and befriended him, Lou had been on a free walking tour of Dublin and had been informed about the existence of a church with, in Lou's charming Strasbourgian parlance, a "myumyfied cat". After initially believing we had misunderstood, we were intrigued, to say the least, being fans of both specimen preservation techniques and critters of the feline variety. So off we trekked, not quite sure where we were going or what we would find when we got there.

Christ Church, which apparently is actually home to a Myoomeefied Cat. Who knew?

Lou knew. 

It turned out they charged a small fortune to go and see the Miumified Cat, so we decided not to look at it, content in the knowledge it actually existed. It's inside the pipes of the organ, where it got stuck chasing a mouse, which is also mioomafied inside. Legend has it, everyone just thought the organ was broken for years and years because it kept making a weird noise when you played a particular note. Turns out there was the cat in there. Yeah. It is also apparently the inspiration for Tom and Jerry. We are unsure as to whether we believe this, we always assumed it was plagiarised hideously from The Itchy and Scratchy Show. You learn something new every day.

A pretty stained glass window at The Meeyoomeefyed Cat Church.

We didn't go in to the church properly, we just loitered in the foyer. Ally took photos of the pretty windows and Bryony ate a banana.

Bry puts Ally on a pedestal.

Cute wee group photo after failing to see The Myooooomifiyed Cat.

We cannot remember what Lou had just said, but we assume it was very shocking (at least to Bryony's delicate sensibilities). 

Under the church, in the crypts, there was a market. We found it very odd. People were selling tacky tourist crap down there, right next to someone's grave.  

Capitalism knows no bounds. 

We had a wee explore around the Temple Bar District, and came across a Book Market. We love books. Lou got bored and wandered off to make friends with some local youths while we browsed.

We befriended one of the booksellers who was a really awesome big, bearded, ginger Irish guy who treated us to a free dramatic reading of 50 Shades of Grey. Possibly the only incarnation in which that "book" will ever be good. 

We then headed back to our Palace for dinner and Lou introduced us to what is possibly the best tv show of all time: RuPaul's Drag Race. Imagine Project Runway crossed with America's next Top Model, but with Drag Queens. Seriously, look it up. And start with season 4.

Om nom nom, says Bry's face. 

Serving dihydrogenmonoxide realness. 

We had some drinks and headed out to a Drag Show at the local Gay Bar. The swiss army knife given to Bry by her mother was put to its first and most important use - opening wine bottles. 

One of the stars.

Lou makes friends.

Dancing at Pantibar.

Dancing not nearly as well as the Drag Queens. 

On our way home, we met a very strange, well-dressed, drunk Swedish boy, who was astoundingly negative about everything and everyone in Ireland, and long-windedly informed us why were wrong to like being in Dublin. Upon being asked if he even liked anything at all in the world, he paused for a moment, thought, and said - in all seriousness - "IKEA".