Hello again, Blogger, and happy May. I have been away thus long burning the midnight brain oil on essays. In fact, for our 'quotation themed' end-of-term costume party (our department revels in collective literary geekdom :D) I was fittingly 'out, out brief candle' (complete with flickering tea light). I should have had two, to represent both ends of my candle, which I had burnt way too much of.
And so, after having spent seven consecutive months of nights in the same house in the same town in the same county in the same country, including those spent sleeplessly typing out said essays, I decided enough was enough and it was time for a real break, hopefully to the coast, or maybe even on the ferry and out of the country.
It was thus that I found myself on a cruise ship crossing the Irish Sea.
Really. If Blogger would behave and let me, I could attach the photographic evidence.
I'd wanted to go to Ireland ever since I could remember, really. When I was little my dad used to sing me an Irish lullaby, and there were rumours of an Irish grandmother. I grew up fascinated by the country and when I researched our family tree one day, it all clicked into place when I discovered his side of it was mostly and recently Irish. My plans to spend a summer there alone years ago never materialized, nor did my recent St. Patrick's Day aspirations, but meanwhile I stubbornly bought an AA guide to Ireland, and a giant map of the Emerald Isle, and plotted. And, when our campus closed for the weekend, I decided two nights were better than none, and jumped the channel, guide, map and all.
I had seen a bit of Ireland, once, from the airplane -- not counting the time when I just saw Irish clouds. This first visit, I was determined to approach the country properly, and instead of hopping abruptly down into the middle of it, to approach more respectfully at its shores -- rather like the Indian custom of bowing in greeting to the feet of elders. This slower journey also gave me the exciting opportunity to visit Wales in transit, which I had also seen once, across a bridge (obviously, I was not in the driver's seat at the time). Plus, my love of trains does not quite extend to airplanes; their great view and speed is just not worth their thin air, dry food (or lack of it), stuck seatbelts, and usually miserable passengers, security and crew. Although it was fun that time they mistook me for one of their own.
My shoestring trip budget was helped by my last-minute online research, which turned up the discounted "SailRail" ticket (any train + ferry, on the day, between destinations) and a suitably cheap hostel, the Dublin International. So I packed too much and chugged into Wales, through fields of stereotypical sheep (and lambs of the utmost cuteness) and along the most beautiful coastline I've ever seen. With bright yellow flowers. And dark purply green mountains. And deepest blue sea. And a castle. A real one, that the train went so close by it was nearly through. And all of which my mom can testify to, having witnessed it via free-first-class-wified Skype for the return journey. And by the time I got to the Irish Ferries terminal (I pictured it as a large, green hovercraft with space for a few cars), crossed an endless covered gangplank ('they're making us walk halfway to Dublin to save on rising fuel costs'), and had the choice of stairs or a lift, I was deep enough under the enchantment to be only slightly surprised at this and when I towed my heavy carry-on into the lift and saw the choices were floors 9, 10 or 11. I was still, however, unprepared for stepping out onto the Ulysses cruise ship. At first, I thought there must be some mistake.
Another cherished travel dream of mine had been to go on a cruise. Years ago I was supposed to go on a river one in Egypt (again, obviously I was not the one in charge of the travel plans). My friends kept going on them to Alaska, or the Bahamas, or the Cayman Islands, sponsored by grandmas, beauty contests, gift-shop jobs, etc. And despite the movie Titanic, I was still curious enough to want to try it out for myself, to the point it made it onto my bucket list (well, it's actually a poster). But the cruise ship cutout had sort of faded into the background, because every trip I looked up cost a ridiculous amount of money for all-inclusive things I didn't want, like the live cabaret, or the roulette table, or the barbershop (I'm not making this up), or the hulahooping, water polo, croquet or ice dancing (ok, I did want to see that last one. and the minigolf). And so I was tickled pink to realize that in SailRail language, an Irish ferry means a cruise. So here is what I have discovered about cruise ships:
Three and a half hours is the perfect length of time to spend on a cruise ship, some of it asleep on the leather seats once you have run out of ship to explore.
If you are sleep deprived you will leave things you shouldn't by the computers and then be embarrassed when the bored staff is thrilled to be able to page you.
If you use the wifi it is perfectly timed just long enough to eat all your credit while taking too long to load pages and having Facebook block you warning you're a Norwegian hacker.
The stairs are all color coded and still never go where you want. The lifts do, if you can find them.
The ship doesn't feel like it's moving until you forget it is and go to powder your nose and then the whole room moves and you think it's an earthquake.
The upper deck is the best place of all and almost no one is up there, although you do have to be extra careful not to get blown overboard, since there is almost no one else up there.
The doors off deck all look alike. The trick is not to pull on the ones marked 'private' or 'helicopter -- no entry'.
Seabirds can actually swim; they must just like to pretend they can't to make you feel sorry for them so they can get away with landing on the lifeboats.
There aren't enough lifeboats.
The stewards really are Greek and Norwegian, don't notice or care you don't belong on the first class deck, and would probably give you the free snacks if you asked for them.
People like to watch TV, even on ships.
The disembodied sports broadcast is coming out of the ceiling speakers, not from the grinning/grim BBC TV newsreader.
People also like to watch movies and play arcade games, even at sea. And pay lots of money for duty free tourist stuff on board.
The coast comes up so fast you can't catch it while it's still small.
Not all of the coast belongs to the bit you are trying to land on.
People still like to listen to Ipods, even on ships.
If you aren't careful you will get on the slow ferry instead of the fast one, and nearly miss your train connection, and the stewards won't care cause your ticket is good for all day travel.
Some people are just not in love with Irish ferries. Even confusing, slow and stuffy ones.
In between their being distracted by naps, Ipods, arcades, movies, TV, shopping, snacks, lost-and-found, or sports broadcasts, Irish passengers can turn on you the most beautiful eyes.
I'm probably slightly biased in the last by the fact that a surprising number of the older men strongly resembled my dad. And told similarly horrible jokes, like "Our workplace should have a bring-your-dog-to-work day." "What if we don't have a dog?" "Borrow one."
And, in between my Good Friday landing and Easter Sunday sailing, these are some of the impressions of Ireland I was left with:
It is warm and welcoming, beautiful and whimsical, humorous and melodious, simple and gentle.
The beaches are pebbly or sandy, have old rusty ships and lonely seagulls on them, crusty seashells and wavy moss, water so cold it burns your bare feet, and ripply channelled sand that reflects the pink of the sunset sky and the lights from across the dusky harbor.
It is very easy to confuse a beach with a harbor, which can just be a wall with a lot of fishing rods and a long walk back uphill with a contentedly confused fellow beach-seeking West country man with a cane.
The dogs are friendly and sit out in the street.
The pubs are like museums, with carvings, dolls, magnets, trophies, license plates, antiques, stained glass, and such, and they have the most incredible live music and dancing that will spiral up your soul. And the audience dances around in circles, too.
Their castles and colleges have museums with two-story libraries and illuminated manuscripts, gold Cleopatra necklaces and Yeats-the-writer and Yeats-the-painter exhibits.
It is possible to survive a hostel with: a bossy lady roommate who wants the lights on in the middle of the night and no curtains drawn, and a silent shy one who coughs all night; Italian management that sympathetically and innocently gives you a discount having cheerfully messed up your reservation, along with impossible directions and tour misinformation, having just awoken; teens screaming at 6 am in the corridors and beckoning drunk at midnight out in the beer garden; seabirds who searchingly call all night, and searingly hot auto shut-off showers; a self-serve kitchen with bits of unidentifiable stuff all over, and a charming gentleman who tells you all the best places in the country you have no time to visit, and a Dublin pub you do; one-way doors that lock guests out so that they have to go down to reception in their pajamas to get replacement key cards; fascinating windy corridors, staircases, and ancient wooden arches; basement laundry baskets, game rooms, TV rooms, meeting rooms and an impenetrable digital telephone; a group of German schoolgirls making mass sandwich packets; Japanese guests who sit in pairs with laptops at the breakfast and dinner table; and a dining room with unidentifiable juice, lots of flags too high up to see which countries they belong too, and free milk.
The capital city is thoroughly unintimidating, small, and quiet, funny, friendly, and laid back, packs a mean cultural punch, and has free and beautiful: art, music, water, nature and warmth of spirit, i.e., the basics.
The teens on the trains also scream and get drunk, appreciate you not turning them in to the suspicious security, and are brave enough to swim in the sea and talk to you about Texas in creditably corny cowboy accents.
It is possible to bring and cook your own food, buying only in addition: a can of soup, chocolate, hot chocolate, and vanilla and chocolate ice cream (i.e., the basics).
The streets have horse carriages, taxis, ambulances, fire trucks, and signs saying officially 'No Parking, Anytime' and, slyly written underneath, 'not even the queen'.
The hills, woods, glens, and lakes are so breathtaking it gets tiring trying to take it all in.
And so, after having spent seven consecutive months of nights in the same house in the same town in the same county in the same country, including those spent sleeplessly typing out said essays, I decided enough was enough and it was time for a real break, hopefully to the coast, or maybe even on the ferry and out of the country.
It was thus that I found myself on a cruise ship crossing the Irish Sea.
Really. If Blogger would behave and let me, I could attach the photographic evidence.
I'd wanted to go to Ireland ever since I could remember, really. When I was little my dad used to sing me an Irish lullaby, and there were rumours of an Irish grandmother. I grew up fascinated by the country and when I researched our family tree one day, it all clicked into place when I discovered his side of it was mostly and recently Irish. My plans to spend a summer there alone years ago never materialized, nor did my recent St. Patrick's Day aspirations, but meanwhile I stubbornly bought an AA guide to Ireland, and a giant map of the Emerald Isle, and plotted. And, when our campus closed for the weekend, I decided two nights were better than none, and jumped the channel, guide, map and all.
I had seen a bit of Ireland, once, from the airplane -- not counting the time when I just saw Irish clouds. This first visit, I was determined to approach the country properly, and instead of hopping abruptly down into the middle of it, to approach more respectfully at its shores -- rather like the Indian custom of bowing in greeting to the feet of elders. This slower journey also gave me the exciting opportunity to visit Wales in transit, which I had also seen once, across a bridge (obviously, I was not in the driver's seat at the time). Plus, my love of trains does not quite extend to airplanes; their great view and speed is just not worth their thin air, dry food (or lack of it), stuck seatbelts, and usually miserable passengers, security and crew. Although it was fun that time they mistook me for one of their own.
My shoestring trip budget was helped by my last-minute online research, which turned up the discounted "SailRail" ticket (any train + ferry, on the day, between destinations) and a suitably cheap hostel, the Dublin International. So I packed too much and chugged into Wales, through fields of stereotypical sheep (and lambs of the utmost cuteness) and along the most beautiful coastline I've ever seen. With bright yellow flowers. And dark purply green mountains. And deepest blue sea. And a castle. A real one, that the train went so close by it was nearly through. And all of which my mom can testify to, having witnessed it via free-first-class-wified Skype for the return journey. And by the time I got to the Irish Ferries terminal (I pictured it as a large, green hovercraft with space for a few cars), crossed an endless covered gangplank ('they're making us walk halfway to Dublin to save on rising fuel costs'), and had the choice of stairs or a lift, I was deep enough under the enchantment to be only slightly surprised at this and when I towed my heavy carry-on into the lift and saw the choices were floors 9, 10 or 11. I was still, however, unprepared for stepping out onto the Ulysses cruise ship. At first, I thought there must be some mistake.
Another cherished travel dream of mine had been to go on a cruise. Years ago I was supposed to go on a river one in Egypt (again, obviously I was not the one in charge of the travel plans). My friends kept going on them to Alaska, or the Bahamas, or the Cayman Islands, sponsored by grandmas, beauty contests, gift-shop jobs, etc. And despite the movie Titanic, I was still curious enough to want to try it out for myself, to the point it made it onto my bucket list (well, it's actually a poster). But the cruise ship cutout had sort of faded into the background, because every trip I looked up cost a ridiculous amount of money for all-inclusive things I didn't want, like the live cabaret, or the roulette table, or the barbershop (I'm not making this up), or the hulahooping, water polo, croquet or ice dancing (ok, I did want to see that last one. and the minigolf). And so I was tickled pink to realize that in SailRail language, an Irish ferry means a cruise. So here is what I have discovered about cruise ships:
Three and a half hours is the perfect length of time to spend on a cruise ship, some of it asleep on the leather seats once you have run out of ship to explore.
If you are sleep deprived you will leave things you shouldn't by the computers and then be embarrassed when the bored staff is thrilled to be able to page you.
If you use the wifi it is perfectly timed just long enough to eat all your credit while taking too long to load pages and having Facebook block you warning you're a Norwegian hacker.
The stairs are all color coded and still never go where you want. The lifts do, if you can find them.
The ship doesn't feel like it's moving until you forget it is and go to powder your nose and then the whole room moves and you think it's an earthquake.
The upper deck is the best place of all and almost no one is up there, although you do have to be extra careful not to get blown overboard, since there is almost no one else up there.
The doors off deck all look alike. The trick is not to pull on the ones marked 'private' or 'helicopter -- no entry'.
Seabirds can actually swim; they must just like to pretend they can't to make you feel sorry for them so they can get away with landing on the lifeboats.
There aren't enough lifeboats.
The stewards really are Greek and Norwegian, don't notice or care you don't belong on the first class deck, and would probably give you the free snacks if you asked for them.
People like to watch TV, even on ships.
The disembodied sports broadcast is coming out of the ceiling speakers, not from the grinning/grim BBC TV newsreader.
People also like to watch movies and play arcade games, even at sea. And pay lots of money for duty free tourist stuff on board.
The coast comes up so fast you can't catch it while it's still small.
Not all of the coast belongs to the bit you are trying to land on.
People still like to listen to Ipods, even on ships.
If you aren't careful you will get on the slow ferry instead of the fast one, and nearly miss your train connection, and the stewards won't care cause your ticket is good for all day travel.
Some people are just not in love with Irish ferries. Even confusing, slow and stuffy ones.
In between their being distracted by naps, Ipods, arcades, movies, TV, shopping, snacks, lost-and-found, or sports broadcasts, Irish passengers can turn on you the most beautiful eyes.
I'm probably slightly biased in the last by the fact that a surprising number of the older men strongly resembled my dad. And told similarly horrible jokes, like "Our workplace should have a bring-your-dog-to-work day." "What if we don't have a dog?" "Borrow one."
And, in between my Good Friday landing and Easter Sunday sailing, these are some of the impressions of Ireland I was left with:
It is warm and welcoming, beautiful and whimsical, humorous and melodious, simple and gentle.
The beaches are pebbly or sandy, have old rusty ships and lonely seagulls on them, crusty seashells and wavy moss, water so cold it burns your bare feet, and ripply channelled sand that reflects the pink of the sunset sky and the lights from across the dusky harbor.
It is very easy to confuse a beach with a harbor, which can just be a wall with a lot of fishing rods and a long walk back uphill with a contentedly confused fellow beach-seeking West country man with a cane.
The dogs are friendly and sit out in the street.
The pubs are like museums, with carvings, dolls, magnets, trophies, license plates, antiques, stained glass, and such, and they have the most incredible live music and dancing that will spiral up your soul. And the audience dances around in circles, too.
Their castles and colleges have museums with two-story libraries and illuminated manuscripts, gold Cleopatra necklaces and Yeats-the-writer and Yeats-the-painter exhibits.
It is possible to survive a hostel with: a bossy lady roommate who wants the lights on in the middle of the night and no curtains drawn, and a silent shy one who coughs all night; Italian management that sympathetically and innocently gives you a discount having cheerfully messed up your reservation, along with impossible directions and tour misinformation, having just awoken; teens screaming at 6 am in the corridors and beckoning drunk at midnight out in the beer garden; seabirds who searchingly call all night, and searingly hot auto shut-off showers; a self-serve kitchen with bits of unidentifiable stuff all over, and a charming gentleman who tells you all the best places in the country you have no time to visit, and a Dublin pub you do; one-way doors that lock guests out so that they have to go down to reception in their pajamas to get replacement key cards; fascinating windy corridors, staircases, and ancient wooden arches; basement laundry baskets, game rooms, TV rooms, meeting rooms and an impenetrable digital telephone; a group of German schoolgirls making mass sandwich packets; Japanese guests who sit in pairs with laptops at the breakfast and dinner table; and a dining room with unidentifiable juice, lots of flags too high up to see which countries they belong too, and free milk.
The capital city is thoroughly unintimidating, small, and quiet, funny, friendly, and laid back, packs a mean cultural punch, and has free and beautiful: art, music, water, nature and warmth of spirit, i.e., the basics.
The teens on the trains also scream and get drunk, appreciate you not turning them in to the suspicious security, and are brave enough to swim in the sea and talk to you about Texas in creditably corny cowboy accents.
It is possible to bring and cook your own food, buying only in addition: a can of soup, chocolate, hot chocolate, and vanilla and chocolate ice cream (i.e., the basics).
The streets have horse carriages, taxis, ambulances, fire trucks, and signs saying officially 'No Parking, Anytime' and, slyly written underneath, 'not even the queen'.
The hills, woods, glens, and lakes are so breathtaking it gets tiring trying to take it all in.
It helps to have a tour guide who breaks this up by assuring you today is incredibly by coincidence the annual exclusive get-hitched-or-switched day at the local church, which is booked up by celebrity weddings the rest of the year but is open today if anyone would like to take a detour; and swears that the inventor of the crossword is buried in the nearby cemetery -- three across, and four down.
The monastic settlements and cemeteries are very moving, as is the bagpiper at the gate.
The gift shops are like VAT flytraps from which you emerge with the shoestring budget digested, drained by such unique items such as: smiling cow and Dublin doors postcards for the family, a magnet for the collection ('Irish blessing: while you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction'), bookmarks for the roommates, fudge for the classmates, audio stories for the nieces, mom's birthday shawl, and a soft sweater that actually fits and is made by genuinely indifferent Irish sheep and weavers who never turn up to tell you the story of their hand-weaving, as you wait by their running powerloom. And the accompanying tax forms, that can't be turned in at the ferry terminal without a VAT office. And the hundreds of souvenirs it hurts to leave behind, like Guinness socks and leprechaun traps and chocolate shamrocks and cross-eyed sheep totes and green umbrellas and celtic pendants and Waterford crystals and 'heraldic' emblems and...
The Irish are just like any other people I've met although exceptionally gentle, polite, friendly, and funny hosts. Bear in mind that I have only been to about ten countries. And counting...
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