Over in the LiveJournal universe [sic], Joel pushes me to get started on Ireland. A couple of years ago (8? 7? 9?) I hopped on a plane to Dublin. I was young and brazen, and foolish, the latter naturally comes
with young age too.
At that time Ireland wasn’t really the place to go. Nor was Dublin the city it was as it is sketched nowadays in full colour magazines. I recall colleagues asking me for my holiday destination: “Ireland? Good beer, but why not aren’t you going to Spain for the
women and sun?”. A pilgrimage? “Culture? Irish? Make some pictures, will you?” (muffled chuckles).
So off I went to find and visit the sites of Martello Tower, Howth Castle, 7 Eccles Street and Trinity College, in and around Dublin. Also a small town north, Drogheda, was on my ‘to visit’ list: Millmount museum is still a pleasant memory in the back of my head. Not
that often you get the chance of a personal guide and have a discussion: news of riots had caught up with me and naturally, the North Irish case was highly on the discussion list. And Oranges too, of course. My hostess and I marvelled about the coincidences that had shaped history.
Moving southward, I bumped into several disappointments. The cities Wexford and Waterford were boring. While visiting Ross Castle it occurred to me that while enjoying the peaceful environment, the most intimate moment was torn to shreds when someone behind me yelled for a ‘cola’ in plain Eastern Dutch. Not wanting to be bothered by any Dutch speaking person carrying picknick tables and coolers, I was a goner.