The Rocky Road To Dublin

A new trip, a new motto! Rumspringa! Kilkenny, Wexford, and Dublin all in a few days. This trip also came with a theme song- The Rocky Road To Dublin by the Dubliners. Obvious? Yes. Do I apologize for that? No. I listened to it a few too many times in a row by the time we had reached our first destination, Dunmore Caves. I love caves so I was pretty excited about this stop and it was very interesting, but with one disappointing fact. While the cave was massive, much of it was blocked off and we were unable to access many of the “rooms” connected within the system and I really would’ve liked the chance to explore further. Dunmore Caves was the site of a Viking raid against a Celtic tribe that was using the caves as shelter against the pillaging. Not much is known about what actually happened, but there are of course theories. Evidence of a large number of burnt human remains were found in the caves, suggesting that the Vikings attempted to smoke the tribe out of the cave, but the fire burned too quickly and got out of hand. Along with the carbon dating of the charred rock inside, many coins and other metals were found, buried inside in accordance with the Viking belief that what they buried in this life they would have returned to them in the next. Coming from a long line of Vikings myself its totally worth a shot to bury all the spare change I have right? I never liked pennies anyways. As with all caves there were some incredible formations of stalagmites and stalactites inside, growing at about 1 cm per 100 years. Which is why its such a tragedy that before the cave was protected, a rich man decided that one of the stalactites would look just wonderful in his garden, so he blew it up with dynamite and took it home. There were some remaining ones however, one called the buffalo (any guesses on what it looked like?), one that looked like the Rancor from Star Wars in my opinion, and one that looked like two angels hugging, their wings facing us. At first I thought that was a very positive and comforting thought, until my classmate pointed at it and whispered, “don’t blink” right as the tour guide shut off all the power, leaving us in complete and crushing darkness. For those of you who don’t understand that Dr. Who reference, I envy you. The Weeping Angels are terrifying. 

I am ashamed to admit that I was dreading the next stop, the Waterford Crystal Factory. I thought to myself “cool, a bunch of stuffy old rich people pretty bowls, that’ll be super fun...” but I tried to keep my mind open a little, and I’m so glad that I did because it turned out to be a highlight. The things that they made there were incredible, and the talent and precision that goes into making even a small piece is astounding. People train for 8 years, just to be qualified to the job alone instead of provisionally. These people basically go to undergrad and graduate school to learn their trade just well enough so someone doesn’t have to hold their hand. With the incredible amount of detail that went into each piece I was expecting highly specialized and sensitive tools, but the men and women I saw were basically just holding up these bowls worth thousands of dollars up to a bulky grinding wheel, simply “feeling how to make the cuts” following a crude sharpie line. A little further down the way I saw this incredibly impressive trophy thing coming into its own and I was able to speak to the craftsman behind the grinder who told me that he was making the Pebble Beach Trophy. Just matter-of-fact. No big deal. There was also a moment that I became star-struck. I was speaking to another craftsman who was working on a fireman’s helmet trophy, which he told me was worth something around $10,000 and asked if I wanted to hold it. Naturally I accepted and while feeling the incredible weight of it I asked him what it was for, and he answered me “oh its a retirement present for Mariano Rivera”. As in the Mariano Rivera the greatest closer of all time who recently retired from the New York Yankees? Yup. That one. The award for the best relief pitcher of the year is called the Fireman’s award, and the plans for that helmet looked spectacular. Easily one of the coolest things I’ve ever held. 

In Dublin we went to another play, this one was called Sive and true to Irish form it was, once again, sad. Because of course. The basics of the play are a young girl, Sive, a bastard child in the care of her dead mother’s brother, is arranged to be married to a decrepit old man so that her step-aunt will be paid handsomely and can escape the responsibility of taking care of Sive, and Sive’s grandmother. Things are complicated even further when it is revealed that Sive loves another man, a man her own age, but her uncle disapproves. While the ending was quite powerful, the part of the play that had the greatest impact on me was a scene between the uncle and the grandmother. I don’t remember what the exact line was but she asked him if she had any love for his mother, his sister, or his niece. If he remembered what family meant and what you do for family. I lost the rest of the scene because my mind had turned to my own family, and it was the first moment since I had left the states that I was truly homesick. I thought of how much I missed my parents, and how hard they work at home. I thought of how much I was missing of my brothers lives, one now living in Minneapolis, and the other preparing to graduate college. I also thought about how much I was missing of Bella’s life, and although I heard her putting together stronger sentences over FaceTime, I was missing her grow. I know how fortunate I am to be granted an opportunity to study in another part of the world for the semester, but at that moment all I wanted was to have dinner with my parents, play Settlers of Catan with my brothers, and watch a Disney movie with my sister.

I was also lucky enough to visit Kilmainham Gaol (Irish for jail) during my time in Dublin. Kilmainham may be most famous for its involvement following the Easter Rising of 1916. Eight men led a military rebellion against the British in 1916, and were subsequently crushed due to the overpowering force of the British military. These eight men were then held at Kilmainham and sentenced to death by firing squad. One of the leaders was so badly injured that he had to be carried to his execution on a stretcher, and tied to a chair when he arrived in the yard. These executions sparked a stronger Irish rebellion but that’s a story for another time. The eventual president of the Irish republic, Eamon de Valera was held at Kilmainham as well, although he escaped the firing squad. Kilmainham has a dark history, as records of children prisoners, as young as 5 years old being held there. One of the more interesting developments about the jail is that is was very nearly overrun and lost forever, and it would have been if not for a group of volunteers in the late 1950’s. Many of the volunteers were prisoners at Kilmainham themselves at one point, and refused the offer of help from contractors in the restoration process believing that this is something they wanted to do on their own. Trees had grown tall and strong in the middle of the main wing, reaching all the way through the grass ceiling, and the stone floor was completely covered by grass. Old men were replacing the roof, rebuilding walls, and reclaiming the building from years of neglect and it is now a place of great importance to the country.