The Voyage of the HMS Fedora

I have determined that any vainglorious attempt to be poetic will only result in the postponement of much need blog updatery. I will therefore dispense with all affectations dramatique in favor of a strictly pictorial presentation. I hope you enjoy.

As a person, I am distinctly aware of the importance of beginnings, and it has therefore become my custom to pay particularly close attention whenever I feel that something new is in the air. Rebecca can testify that I remember the date of our first date (Feb. 2nd), and that I can still recall the subject of our first conversation together (moving houses). It should not be surprising, therefore, that I wanted to preserve my thoughts when setting out. Concerning the quality and events of my flight, you have already heard more than enough. Let me tell you now of Ireland.

As the plane descended through the clouds I was pleased that the sky was bright enough to permit a clear view from the air. I have often found it fascinating that a place can look so different from above, even after one has spent a considerable amount of time there. When places are observed from the heights, they take on a character that is altogether more memorable, and, in a way, more complete. It's as though the myriad of lives that are contained therein suddenly coalesce into a unified and meaningful whole. Everything, as it were, suddenly makes sense. Ireland did not disappoint. Strangely, the first thing that struck me was not how green the county was, but rather how rural it was; but I suppose that this is a fine distinction (the kind that we academics so love), since all thoughts of 'rurality' were quickly followed by ones of verdance. Ireland's green is not the green of Utah, Hawai'i, or Maine. It is the manicured green of the English garden. At first, the country seems virgin and untouched, but as the plane descends, you notice that the landscape's hue is in patches. Lower still, and you can see that these patches are, in reality, pastures - packed together as tightly as territorial neighbors will allow, and each neatly surrounded by a hedgerow. The scene is beautiful, and it speaks of centuries of tradition and camaraderie. (Is this how communities are formed? Proximity, time, and the harmony of a common purpose?) I remember thinking how distinctly 'un-American' the scheme was (why not buy out your neighbors, tear down the hedgerow, and triple your profits?) and rejoicing in it. (zoom in on the picture - taken from the plane window - and you'll see what I mean) As the plane came in to land I caught a glimpse of a crumbling rock wall, stoically standing guard over the fen.

Alright, that whole section was rather dense, but from here on out it's mostly pictures, I promise.

Welcome to Dublin!:

Dublin is a beautiful city, as one would expect from a place with so much history behind it. (I know, I know - there are about 627 ways that the above statement is false; but it's my story, so kindly ignore them). The city center itself is old. Really old. There's reason to think that the original settlement began sometime around the 1st century B.C. - but the city as we know it was founded in AD 841 by the Vikings. The Vikings were scary guys (as was most everybody back then - at least hygienically), so after the Irish kicked them back to Norway in the 12th century they built this intimidating fort thingie to keep them there:

Not to be outdone, the English built this even more intimidating castle thingie in the 14th century:
(I know what you're thinking. "That's a castle. And those are cars. Those things don't go together." I had the same thought)

Ireland is, of course, Catholic (d'uh); and it is therefore replete with churches. Regretfully, I wasn't able to get down to St. Patrick's cathedral, but I did spend the afternoon around Christ Church Cathedral. Christ Church is actually connected to the Church of Ireland (meaning the Church of England, but England is a dirty word here), so it's not Catholic; but for those of you who know anything about the Anglican church, you know that there's practically no difference between them. One of Christ Church's biggest claims to fame is it's choir. Founded in 1038, the Cathedral quickly became renowned for the quality of it's music, so much so that in 1742 it was the location for the first performance of Handel's Messiah. The choir still performs, and Tim (my traveling companion) and I were able to attend Evensong (similar to Mass, but with more singing and without the Eucharist). It was beyond spectacular. Polyphonism rules. Here are some pictures (sorry there are none of the inside of the Cathedral. That's forbidden.):




















(The picture on the right is probably the most characteristically 'Irish' photograph that I took. Yes, that is a man sunbathing on the lawn of a thousand year old church. Go figure.)









(This last one is a picture of the bridge which connects the Cathedral proper with the rectory on the other side of the street. I include it because of it's splendidness.)

And of course, after church we all went out to the pub. Pubs here are an essential part of life. You don't have to drink to enjoy 'Session,' (well, really you do; but saying you don't makes me feel better), but you do have to appreciate food, good company, and music. Most especially music. Firstly, let me just say: Irish music rocks. It's catchy, it's cultural, and you had better believe it makes your toes tap. Tim and I listened to a lot of snappy tunes before I thought to catch them on film, but here's a small sample of our melodic adventures:

Sadly, all days come to an end, and as evening approached Tim and I had to catch the ferry to Liverpool. Now, boatrides are, in their own right, wicked fun; this was a BIG boat though, the kind that they haul trucks and cargo containers in, so we could hardly tell we were on a boat at all. Thankfully, the sea was still there, and I got a few pictures:

(Can you tell I was tired? This picture was taken
after 32 hours of continuous travel. Blech.)

(Tim & I: bffs 4vr)

That night, we slept on benches.

Liverpool is city I wish I could tell you more about. Rich in lore (particularly for those of us whose ancestors began the trip to America there), it almost begs to be explored. Sadly, I had to catch a train. There was time for the essentials though:

(For those of you who don't know, 'The Cavern' was the venue in Liverpool where the Beatles first started playing. For Beatles fans, it's a crucial place in history.)

From Liverpool, Tim & I hopped a train to Cambridge. No muss, no fuss. But more on that next time. Here's a preview:

(King's College - AKA the place I'm at. That's right, let the hoity-toityness commence.)
(P.S. - Don't walk on the grass)