As I write the green rolling countryside flies by me, same as it did the first time I took this train ride across Ireland back in August. I am en route to Dublin, where I will spend one more night before boarding a plane bound for the US. Somehow it seems right to be in motion as I say my goodbyes to this country.
It’s not a matter of saying goodbye to Ireland so much as it is of saying goodbye to the little things that have made this place home.
Albert College Park
Of the many blessings we can be given in life, the privilege of living near a beautiful park is perhaps one of the best. Albert College Park is adjacent to DCU, and a quick walk away from my Santry apartment. It is here that I can come to see the sloppy panting grin of a dog playing fetch in a vast green field. Dogs are supposed to be on leashes in the park but nobody pays attention to that, and they run free and play with each other without ever seeming to give anybody any trouble. I have never met a mean Irish dog. Nor have I met very many whose owners confine them with leashes.
Albert College Park is where I can go for my morning runs, where I see children playing football with their grandparents on Sunday afternoons, where pink girls’ tricycles get mud on their tires. I have seen scavenger hunts and photography club outings, young women strolling together as they push their wide-eyed children along in buggies, old men shuffling for a walk as they talk in a low mumbling sing-song of an accent in which the only word I can pick out is “Guinness”.
It is a truly beautiful place.
I’ll miss Albert College Park. Goodbye for now.
The Statues of Dublin
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| Rock on, Jim Larkin |
You bear the bullet-holes of Ireland’s past, you inspire us to figure out who the heck you are, and you provide tourists with endless photo-ops.
Molly, congratulations on being one of the most photographed statues in the world. I think your figure may have something to do with it. Too bad that dancing leprechaun never leaves you alone. I bet that gets annoying. I’ll miss you girl!
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| She wheeled a wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow, crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o! |
All the rest of ye- I’ll see you again someday. I know you’ll be sticking around for a while.
Shakeaway
Hot, cold, big, small, thick, thin, fruity, chocolatey, sweety, biscuity, everything-elsey… those are the kinds of milkshakes one can get at Shakeaway. I wonder how much time I have spent over the past 5 ½ months staring at the hundreds of options, trying for that sublime milkshake experience every time and never being disappointed. The staff are milkshake gurus, the ingredients are real, and I had better stop writing this before the craving for yet another high-calorie masterpiece overcomes me…. Too late, I might have to get another taste of Shakeaway once this train gets to Dublin. Do I want a Sylvia? A Jack? A hot Norah or a large Ben? Or do I want to try my hand at making up a mix myself? That’s half the fun J Shakeaway, please come to America. I need you. The River Liffey
Oh the Liffey. A stroll along your banks is at times picturesque, at other times laughable. It’s not your fault people throw shopping carts and car tires into you. And you still look lovely at night, when the lights of Dublin reflect on your rippling surface. Every city needs its river, and you suit Dublin perfectly. I wonder what you look like up in the mountains, though, without the concrete banks, famous bridges, and city garbage. You’re a character, o River Liffey. I bet you would have one hell of a Dublin accent if you could speak. Good bye for now! I’ll look for you from above when that plane takes off tomorrow, making its way toward the Atlantic. Oh, and thanks for being the background photo on my computer, you look great there. Grafton Street
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| Stay classy, Grafton Street. |
Sorry I couldn't rotate the video- but it's more important to listen, anyway.
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