This post contains the events of Sunday last, 28 June, and probably proceeds through last week.
The previous post has been updated several times since its original publication, and now includes descriptions of the events through last Saturday evening, the 27th of June.
Onward!
After several weeks of foiled attempts, I finally made it to Howth. I took one bus from Santry to Eden Quay, and from there began the rather lengthy ride to Howth Peninsula. Most of the trip was through suburbs all draped with Dublin Blue. We passed Croke Park and, judging from the people spilling out of it, there was probably a Hurling match on.
Rather suddenly, we burst from the suburbs to an exposed coastal road, and I could see Howth. I was at first a bit surprised because my previous information had lead me to believe that Howth was a peninsula. The land I saw now, though, was surrounded by somewhat of a marshland instead of water. Turns out that the bay was simply at low tide.
I debarked the bus in front of the rather ominously named Bloody Stream Pub, humorously juxtaposed with a whimsical mural of penguins and the words "Howth is Magic!"
I walked a little bit down the road and detected the unmistakable aroma of fish. I had come upon a farmers market. I wandered among the stalls with interest, gazing rather affectionately at some of the delicious looking bread. The farmers market was set into an open area in front of the harbor, and I walked through it an out one of the piers in the general direction of a lighthouse. Turning around, I was presented with a very handsome view - the bare masts of boats, like so many saplings, waving in the wind on the water, which had assumed a rather brilliant blue. Over the masts was visible the village of Howth, which is set picturesquely into hills that roll up too cliffs, looking out over the water toward's the uninhabited island of Ireland's eye. The whole thing was suffused with that "certain slant of light" that throws colors into poignant contrast and makes everything appear slightly golden. It was a lovely scene.
I walked out the pier until the point where to proceed any farther would have found me in a rather wet way. The pier ended in a curved sea wall, upon to which several people where gamely clinging, attempting to take photographs will being buffeted by 80kmh winds. From the sea wall was visible the previously mentioned lighthouse, just across the harbor on another pier, and Ireland's Eye. I stayed long enough to appreciate the wonderful view and take several amusing pictures of the effects of high winds on my (now rather long) hair, and retreated to less windy climes. It's remarkable the degree to which the piers shelter the harbor - even 20 yards in from the point the wind assumes the form of a calm breeze rather than a force prepared to hurl you rather rudely in the direction of Britain.
On the way back I found the Irish Coast Guard station, which told me the windspeed at the point, and took a picture for Brian. Wandering back in the direction of the village proper, I happened to glance into a door and see assorted cartons and tables arranged in such a way as to only mean one thing - a used book sale. I am rabidly fond of used book sales and, after briefly remonstrating with (and subduing) the rational portion of brain which said "Patrick, you've no more room in your baggage for more books", I gleefully entered the building. My joy was increased yet more to discover that I had entered not just a random shack by the sea, but the home of the "Howth Scout Group". A large Scouting emblem was painted on the wall, and stairs leading up to the second floor gallery were covered in pictures of orange vessels being buffeted by waves, scouts climbing mountains, etc. Evidently, the Howth Scout Group focuses on see rescue. The main room of the Scout, which had been converted for the weekend into a location for the book sale, was decorated with assorted neckerchiefs hanging from the lintels. I was pleased to discover among the collection a neckerchief from the National BSA Jamboree at Fort A.P. Hill, some years back - the Howth Scout Group, or at least certain of their members, had been to Virginia.
I poked through the collection of dusty books and discovered, joyfully, a large collection of P.G. Wodehouse books. Unable to buy one without acquiring them all, however, I sadly passed them over. I was elated to discover, however, a slim volume of poetry by Algernon Charles Swinburne, bound in a faded dark blue. Sometime ago, a friend from St. John's introduced me to Swinburne in the form of a poem called "The Halt Before Rome" in a collection called "Songs Before Sunrise". It contains the following line -
"We hold in our hands the shining /
and the fire in our hearts of a star."
It's the sort of legendary, idealistic purpose that appeals to me so powerfully, and I've long wanted to read some more of Swinburne's work. When I saw this volume for 5 Euro - a paltry sum considering the volume's significant antiquity - I leapt at the opportunity to acquire it.
I retraced my steps down the road a little bit to find St. Mary's Church. I couldn't get in, but there was a lovely garden next to it and a massive rose bush growing over the entire front of the structure.
I walked up the road a little bit more, heading to the inward part of the isle. I passed through a large stone gate and up a tree-lined road to find Howth Castle - a very nice, very old granite building that was owned by some royal and then, no doubt , the government. It's privately owned, now, so I couldn't go in. I did walk around the perimeter, though, creepily taking pictures of the thing. I was greeted by the creature that I presume was supposed to employed as the guard dog of the premises, but he was rather eager to lick me and not so taken with scaring me off.
I walked around the adjacent golf course for awhile, until it became rather clear that the golfers were not pleased with me treading the fairway. I walked back out to the main road and retraced my steps towards the harbour. I was glad to have brought along the map that I purchased at a book store on the first day, for it had an inset of Howth, without which I should have been rather disoriented).
I veered to the right at the harbour, instead heading up a hill of narrowly winding streets and closely placed houses. Every now and then a gap between houses would yield a few of the increasingly distant harbour. I reached the summit of the hill to find it capped with a martello tower quite similar to the one I had found the day previous at Sandycove. This tower was surrounded by a meadow and commanded an impressive view of the harbour, the island in the distance, the village, and the cliffs beyond in the other direction. I enjoyed a picnic on the grass looking out at the view and having a bit of a read from my recently purchased Swinburne.
I had originally intended to make a circuit of the island along the trails that skirt the cliffs, but I found myself growing rather tired and eager to view the Final of the European Soccer tournament. So I returned to the stop and boarded a bus that returned me to Eden Quay, from which I walked to 'my' Pub to watch the game.
Sadly, it is my pub no more - I was rudely accosted and insulted by the bartender for using a toilet that was stopped when urinals weren't available...even though there was no sign or anything else to indicate that the toilet was out of operation. I don't care what your concern is, it betrays a terrible lack of intelligence and decency to berate a man who has got his pants down. Especially if he is your customer.
If I hadn't already bought a pint and if I weren't so eager to see the game (in which, sadly, Spain defeated Germany) I would have departed angrily. As it was, I contented myself with firing off off a rather bitter salvo at the man's poor taste which, doubtless, he did not understand, and with taking up one of the seats at his bar for 90 minutes while only purchasing a single pint. Having exacted such retribution as I was able, I departed rather sadly for home. To make matters worse, the bus was full of celebrating Spaniards. It wasn't so much their happiness I minded - certainly the won the game and had a reason to be cheery - it was the loud and obnoxious display of that happiness in a small enclosure that I found to be abrasive.
Handily, the superior beginning of the day compensated for its poor end.
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