WHEN I HAD FIRE WITHIN MY BLOOD: CHAPTER SIX

JUNE 17, 2000.  11:10 PM.  DUBLIN.  MESPIL HOTEL.

I'm back at that wretched hotel, but that's okay.  All I've got to do is hold out one more day.

We didn't do much aside from coming back to Dublin.  I saw the Book of Kells, which wasn't nearly as impressive as I was led to believe.  What impressed me was the sheer size of the library at Trinity College.  It's like a cathedral, and all the bookcases reach to the vault-like ceiling.  At the foot of each is a bust of one of the "greats," both writers and philosophers.  I've never seen a bigger library; not even the Harold Washington Library in Chicago can hold a candle to it.

After that, I went to see the Blessed Oscar to get a picture of the statue on the rock.  It's so lifelike, but I noticed something I hadn't seen from a distance:  up close, Oscar Wilde is sneering.

That was when I got lost.  I was looking for St. Patrick's Cathedral to get a picture of Jonathan Swift's grave, but the Irish can't give directions to save their lives.  Yes, that sounds like a condemnation from above, but I asked directions from their FUCKING TOURIST CENTER, and they let me down.  I was lost for hours, going up and down crooked, narrow streets that sometimes ended in dead ends, or became pedestrianized to the point where they hardly led anywhere.

I finally found the cathedral, all for nothing.  The graveyard was locked up for construction.

That left me running to McDonald's, which I finally found!  The food, which I would normally have been let down by, was like manna sent to relieve me.  Despite the fact that the supersized cup was more like a skimpy large (they go by the metric system), I felt finally at home in Ireland.

By the way, the Guinness factory is miles long.  It takes up both sides of the street, and it takes three hours just to go on a tour there.

I went to Doyle's Irish Cabaret, which was actually kind of good.  The comedians weren't that great (they just told plain old jokes--imagine an hour of Murphy and Casey jokes, or priests and rabbis walking into bars), and the singing was mediocre (the highlights were "Whiskey in the Jar" and a Gaelic version of "Drunken Sailor"), but the dancing was phenomenal.  They're just kids, but they can kick the shit out of the Lord of the Dance.  I don't know, maybe it's my strange, dark appreciation of graceful people . . . .

JUNE 18.  12:30 PM.  SOMEWHERE OVER IRELAND.

Finally!  I've been on many flights before, but this one is actually enjoyable!  There was a huge wait to get on the plane (as usual), and a bit of a delay to get in the air, but they overbooked!  We were supposed to fly back to NYC in coach, but the powers that be (maybe St. Patrick himself) had us bumped up to FIRST CLASS!  The seat's a bit narrow, but not nearly as much as in coach.  There's enough leg room to actually lay in a fetal position on the floor, if necessary.  The seat goes back, and there's a leg rest, and we each have our own televisions.  Granted, the food still sucks, but they gave us everything we could have ever asked for.  They even gave us a travel pack containing the following:  toothbrush, toothpaste, "Do Not Disturb" sign, moisturizer, mouthwash, earplugs, lip balm, Kleenex, eye shade, socks, and the case it all comes in looks like it can be used to store CD's.  I suffered not one jot during this flight, unless you count the time I spent watching REINDEER GAMES and the end of RAGING BULL.

Take my advice:  when flying overseas (or anywhere, really), fly first class.  Sure, you'll be short a bit of money, but it's worth it.

I hope this time I see the Statue of Liberty.  I'm almost home, to the land of good cheeseburgers and a McDonald's on every corner . . . .

JUNE 18.  9:00 PM.  ELMHURST.

What was the first thing I did when I got back to Elmhurst?  I ate as much as I could at McDonald's, and I loved every second of it (even if it only lasted ten seconds).  I lost 20 pounds during this trip, and it's time to put it back on.

Ireland's the most beautiful land I've ever seen, and there are stunningly cool things to look at over there, but America has Ireland beaten (like a gong) in the food department.  Finally, I'm back in a land built for BIG PEOPLE!

[THANK YOU, GRANDMA LAURETTE, FOR FINANCING THIS TRIP FOR ME.  AND NOW, I'M TAKING THE REST OF THE YEAR OFF.  MAYBE WHEN I GET BACK, I'LL FINALLY BE ABLE TO POST THE DUI DIARY.  WE'LL SEE HOW THINGS WORK OUT IN COURT ON JAN. 4!  MERRY BAH HUMBUG TO YOU ALL!]

WHEN I HAD FIRE WITHIN MY BLOOD: CHAPTER FIVE

JUNE 14, 2000.  8:45 PM.  KILLARNEY.  KILLARNEY RYAN HOTEL.

Just about the only interesting thing we did today was go to the Cliffs of Moher.  At the top of the hill opposite of the cliffs stood O'Brien's Tower, and I swear I felt like I was in a Hammer film as I walked up the hill toward it.  The cliffs are enormous, and they're covered with sea gulls, although you can't tell without the telescope on the tower.  They look like a part of the rocks from a distance.

While the tower has been turned into a type of museum, it's actually pretty old fashioned and hard to climb.  The spiral stairs are too tight and steep for big people, but it's worth it to get to the top.  There's no other feeling in the world quite like walking the battlements of a castle, tower, city, etc., the way the wind whips your hair back as you gaze across the land.  Maybe, just maybe, my Irish ancestors felt and did the same things.

I finally walked where an international myth walked.  Granted, this mythic figure wasn't that great of a human being, but still . . . I saw King John's castle.  King John, as in Prince John, the mortal enemy of Robin Hood.

By the way, we talked more of the wee folk today, and of travelers.  I liked the ghost stories the most.  Everyone's heard of the banshee, but what about the succubus-like demoness who seduces men and leads them astray?

JUNE 15.  5:00 PM.  KILLARNEY.  KILLARNEY RYAN HOTEL.

A strangely eventful day.  We started out on the jaunting car, like in THE QUIET MAN.  I've never gone on a ride in a horse-drawn cart, so it was pretty cool.  The driver wasn't the old, charming Irishman that I expected.  His name was Brendan, and he looked no older than 20 and had two earrings in his left ear.  He spoke with a deep accent, and his speech sounded scripted and well-rehearsed.

As soon as we got out of the car, we got on a boat by Ross Castle.  Lough Leane was huge, surrounded by mountains laden with mist.  The ride on the lough was the most relaxing thing I've ever done.  I stretched out on the back of the boat and rocked with the waves, watching the mist creep over the mountains.

Afterward, we went on the Ring of Kerry, which was pretty much the same thing as watching the rest of the Irish landscape with one exception.

Today, we rode up into the clouds.  Literally.  Since the clouds hang so close to the mountains, and we drove through the mountains, we were deep into the clouds.  It's so thick up there that it looked like the world ended just a few feet below us.

In addition, the whole time I've been in Ireland, I had this strange feeling of deja vu, as if I'd seen this land before, because it looked a lot like the land I saw in BRAVEHEART.  It's no surprise, considering how the movie was filmed here, and not in Scotland.  Geraldine met Mel Gibson in a store while he was filming the movie.

Also, the D-Day sequence in SAVING PRIVATE RYAN was filmed here, using the Irish army as extras.  Apparently, Ireland is a favorite place for a lot of filmmakers, from John Ford to Steven Spielberg.

JUNE 16.  11:00 PM.  KILLARNEY.  KILLARNEY RYAN HOTEL.

I've finally found something the Irish can cook:  steak.  The best meal I've had in all of Ireland was at the Old Mill down the block from here.  The steak was wonderful, but more importantly, their fries were ambrosia--the best in Ireland!

JUNE 16.  11:00 PM.  WATERFORD.  MARINA HOTEL.

We had a very exhausting beginning at Blarney Castle.  Let me tell you, that castle is high as hell.  We climbed up 200, 300, 400 steps, I don't know.  Those were the three figures I heard, but I was too tired to count.  The steps were very narrow (I had to walk sideways) but steep.  After climbing up the castle, we had to lean out on our backs, upside down and backwards, to kiss the Blarney Stone while some rickety old guy holds on to us.  Scary as hell.  Many people chickened out.  I toughened up and kissed the damned thing.  They put bars up so that if you slipped and fell, you'd break your skull, but you probably wouldn't die.  It's better than falling to certain death . . . .

(And yes, I've heard that the locals go up to the Stone every night and piss all over it because they hate tourists, and judging from how it looks, it might be true.  But so what?  Urine is sterile, more sterile than rock.)

The walk down was even harder.  We had to go down those same steps with nothing but a rope to support us.  When I got to the bottom, I saw that you could buy a certificate that says you kissed the Blarney Stone.  Much to my surprise, I found that anyone, regardless of whether or not they actually did it, could buy the certificate, signed by the undoubtedly revered Sir Richard La Touche.

Blarney Castle tired me out so much I slept through County Cork.  Well, dozed sounds closer to the truth.  I saw Cork through sleep-dulled eyes.

I also saw the Waterford Glassware place, but it was just like Belleek all over again.

The peak of the day was the Waterford walk with local guide, Jack.  It started out with a semi-staged history of Ireland (in which I played the Norman mercenary, Strongbow; I was married off to a middle-aged professor from Melbourne during the course of this play). After that, we looked around the town, seeing places like Reginald's Tower (the only Viking building still standing and in use in Ireland today) and many stunning cathedrals, like Blackfriar's and the French Church.  Concerning the French Church, the king of Ireland gave the church to monks for free so long as once a day, the monks hold a mass for the king's soul forever.  Eventually, Henry VIII closed it and allowed it to be turned into an old folks home . . . so long as once a day, the everyone prayed for his soul forever.  I saw the place where King John lived for a while.  He visited Waterford three times.  When he was prince, he visited Waterford and built a wooden house.  He invited everyone over to his place for a big party, but when they all got drunk, John started insulting the Irish leaders until until they retaliated by burning his house to the ground.  He fled back to England only to return as king to rebuild his house (this time in stone) and to kill everyone who so much as saw his house burn down.  He actually returned again later to live there for three years, but he was eventually run out again.

Waterford, like Derry, is a walled city, but unlike Derry, it was actually taken by the Normans.  The walk ended just inside this wall at the oldest pub in Ireland (for over 300 years, T&H Doolans has served Waterford proudly).  It looked like all the other pubs I've seen in Ireland--small.  Of course, the first drink was free, so I had some Jameson, which was pretty strong.  While Guinness will put you to sleep if you're not careful, Jameson will make you stumble about like a fool.

I found a McDonald's on the walk, but when I set out to find it again (the hotel wouldn't make me a cheeseburger tonight), I couldn't find it.  I walked all over Waterford, but I couldn't find the damned place.  I got lost three times, and I would have stayed lost if not for a spray-painted swastika on a wall near the hotel that I had originally noticed on the walk.

I'll miss Irish television.  THE VILLA was strangely entertaining, and NAKED IN WESTMINSTER was kind of funny.  That show was kind of an AMERICAN UNDERCOVER-ish thing (without the sense of doom) that looks behind the scenes of a strip club, Sophisticats, owned by the Catman (although I call him the Ratman because he looks like a rodent, and he has a ponytail you could flick off the back of his bald head).

Tomorrow is the last full day in Ireland, so I'd better get some rest.

TO BE CONCLUDED!