Day 7 – May 16 – Friday: The Book of Kells and the Hairy Lemon

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The Book of Kells is the main attraction of the collection of Celtic writings and manuscripts housed at Trinity College, Dublin. It was transcribed around the year 800 A.D. by Celtic monks, who made copies of the Gospels and other books. Besides the displays explaining how the scribes’ work was done, there is also an impressive library of old works (the Long Room)…floor to ceiling (two stories high at least). No photos were allowed so the best I can do is point you to web site of the Trinity College Library.

1) Part of the Dublin Castle, where the Chester Beatty Library is located.
2) The sunlit entryway to the Library.

Nearby, there is another impressive collection, in the Chester Beatty Library at Dublin Castle. In a way, this was even more impressive. Many of the works on display in the section on Christianity were less artistic and elaborate, but they were older and more practical. They were parts of the papyrus manuscripts of the New Testament, some dating as early as AD 200. One manuscript (p46, p47) was the oldest known written piece of the New Testament until the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls. I enjoyed trying to read the Greek, and another interesting exhibit was two pages from a 4^th century Greek-Latin dictionary and Greek grammar book, apparently produced for Latin speakers who wanted to learn Greek. I gave thanks to God for the faithful scribes who copied the Scriptures faithfully and kept them alive and in existence, and by piecing all the bits and pieces together, scholars have been able to reconstruct the text of the original Greek. I thought about how some of those bits could have been written by someone whose grandparents personally knew someone who knew one of the Apostles personally.

For lunch, Abbie and I decided to try one of the interesting pubs in the downtown Dublin area. Even if the food turned out to be not the best, the name itself was a real attraction. Who could resist eating at an establishment with a classy name like “The Hairy Lemon”?

The food was good, by the way, and the interior decoration was appealing. The pub, it seemed to us, had been formed by uniting adjoining buildings and there were stairways and rooms in a sort of massive labyrinth. We were to find this was not uncommon in the various pubs we ate in.

As we went around the town and through a park close to where we ate, I was on the lookout for unusual sights. Today's picks include:

1) The floor in the entrance to Trinity College. The hexagonal-shaped cross-cut wood blocks are about 4" (10 cm) across, unlike any flooring I had ever seen.

2) On this trip I've also been doing a lot of duck hunting. I've shot quite a few, in fact, and some of them many times. This was probably the same one in both pictures.

3) We've also seen swans several times, and today I had the chance to take aim at one. This is the same one in both photos, I know.

And in the category of Irish Light and Shadow, I submit these:

As we stood waiting for the bus to return to the hotel, I overheard a couple in the line next to me discussing something. After a while, I turned to them and asked them (in Portuguese) what part of Brazil they are from. They looked so shocked to find someone speak to them in Portuguese in Dublin. (For those of you who keep records of such things, they are from Manaus and Fortaleza.) After their initial shock, they remarked on my European Portuguese accent (after 31 years, something must rub off); the curious thing is that people in Madeira and on the mainland comment on the traces of Brazilian Portuguese accent in my speech (after 31 years, there must be some things that never rub off).

Day 6 – May 15 – Thursday Destination: Dublin

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This is the day our tour became international: we crossed the border into the Republic of Ireland. In reality, the crossing went almost unnoticed, as there is no border control or even an official sign marking the exact location of the border. An indication we had crossed the border was the fact that all the place names on road signs were in Irish Gaelic and in English…Dublin, for example, was Baile Atha Cliath.The highway in the ROI was noticeably better than the one we were using in Northern Ireland, due in large part to money from the European Union. Madeira has undergone a similar quantum leap in transportation and communications because of the European Union money. At some point (i.e., the invisible border) the distances on the road signs and the speed limits changed from miles (used in NI) to km (used in ROI). The other noticeable change was the change: the English pound sterling we were using in the North was no longer the local currency (although many places would accept pounds…at an advantageous rate to the shop owner, of course). Here, we (Abbie and I) could use our good, old familiar euro, the very same money we spend at home. The common currency did bring advantages to travellers between the 12 or so countries who adopted it. No more worrying about exchange rates and getting stuck with strange money on the trip home.

Parenthetical Note: A wee word about language

1)Everything (especially up in the Belfast area) is “wee”—“if you’ll wait a wee minute…”, “would you like a wee bag to put that in?”, “a wee top-up” (of coffee or tea), or the children’s “wee, short arms.” And there would be wee socks, of course, for their wee feet.

2)In the Republic everything is bi-lingual: Irish and English. In the north, Gaelic is used in some places and not in others, according to the political leanings of the specific area, I would guess. I noticed at the St. Patrick’s Centre, the signs were in three languages. It’s common to see toilets designated as “Male” or “Female”.

But at Downpatrick there were two other languages beneath the English.

The second line would have been Gaelic (Irish), but I had to ask about the third line. “Weeminfolk” is Ulster-Scots, I was informed, which left me pondering whether that meant that the ladies could take their “wee menfolk” (i.e., little boys) in with them, or whether they forgot to run the spellcheck before they printed the sign.

On the way to Dublin, we stopped at Monasterboice. A stone cottage sits near the entrance to the site, and it was zealously guarded by a dog that stood in the window sill and excitedly barked at anyone who dared look at the house. Every time I tried to take a picture of the house with him in the window, he would jump down and run to the other window. I persevered and got his picture…sort of.

A sign on the rock wall in front of the house explained what we were about to visit. There is a round tower here, too, with the doorway one story up. We knocked, but nobody was home.

Basically, the site is a cemetery, but as the sign explains, the principal attraction here are the high crosses, with the Bible stories of the Old and New Testaments carved on the front and back faces.

None of these crosses represent a crucifix; their purpose is not to present a dead Christ. In fact, I believe you could find a risen Christ coming in glory on some of them. Other crosses are plain or have a geometric pattern inscribed on them.

Various views of the crosses. The way they dwarf the people next to them gives you an idea of their size.

Set in the countryside, the site is surrounded by verdant farmlands.

Dublin

We got to Dublin in time to spend some time wandering through the downtown area. We were again struck by the bright colors used by the Irish in painting their houses. This establishment is a case in point. There’ll be a separate blog on that later.

As day was about to end, we walked along the Liffey River, and I was struck by three things in particular:

l) the Ha’Penny Bridge ;

2) the reflection of the city in its river ;

and 3) the fact Abbie has been running a business “Abigail’s Budget Accommodation” and never mentioned a word of it to me.

Day 5 – May 14 – Wednesday St. Patrick’s Day

(I have not had an internet connection for over a week, so I will be trying to catch up on the day-by-day accounts of our tour. Remember that these are "thumbnail"-type images, and you can get a larger view by clicking on them.)

Bet you didn’t know St. Patrick’s Day was May 14 this year, instead of March 17. As far as our tour was concerned, this was St. Patrick’s Day, which started with a tour of the St. Patrick’s Centre at Downpatrick. There’s a well-done presentation of Patrick’s story, his being kidnapped as a teen-age boy and taken from England to Ireland in the 400’s, which led him to seek the Lord. He eventually escaped and returned to England, entered the ministry, heard the call to return to the land of his former kidnappers and announce the gospel to them. Although St. Patrick is associated with the Roman Catholic Church, at the time he lived, the bishop of Rome had not yet taken the title of Pope, and his message was very centered on the Word of God. I was struck with the realization that those true believers who have gone before us—whatever the language they spoke, the culture they lived in, or the forms of music they used—loved and sought the fellowship of God as keenly as any of us today.

We visited the nearby Cathedral of Downpatrick, which sits on a hill and is visible for miles around. Here, as seen from the Abbey of Inch. (The name has nothing to do with the unit of measurement. It’s an Anglisized form of the Gaelic word for “island”, because it was set on a tidal island.)

The original abbey goes back quite a few years, as this plaque explains. Abbie made a visual pun by putting her small purse with her name on it beside the plaque.

The setting was perfect for some of our first “official” portraits. Cary and Tracy Balzer, our leaders ;

Bob Kitchen and his granddaughter, Lora Clendenen;

Paul and Jacque Cauwels;

and Abbie and I, who all used the rocks to advantage for posing. (Abbie felt compelled to take advantage of the opportunity to tower over me, by standing on the higher part of the wall.)

Jim and Janet Hobble are the other couple in the group, and here we are all together. And for the record: we didn’t tear up the place---it was already in ruins when we arrived, honest!

There were so many species of birds singing at the same time in the surrounding trees, that it was impossible to distinguish how many different songs there were. There on the shores of a still lake, with the warm sun and the stillness broken only by the singing of the birds and the laughter of children enjoying the freedom of movement over, around, and through the rocks, this moment was a highlight of the day.

We moved a few miles further on to Saul, where Patrick was given land for a church. This was in the 5^th century, remember, so although this is the site, this building is not the structure of that time. One feature of the church is the high tower, and similar ones are found all over Ireland. Possibly they were places of refuge from marauding bands, and the doors were about 10 feet (3 m) or more above the ground, allowing the refugees to enter, pull up the ladder and close the door. There may have been other purposes, too, but this makes a good story.

Inside, a silver cross almost seems to glow in the dark beneath the stained glass representation of Patrick. In truth, it is only the light coming from the doorway reflecting off the polished metal. I am reminded of what Paul said in Philippians 2:15-16: “…that ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world; holding forth the word of life…” But our light is reflected, too, coming from the One who is the true Light and died on the cross. Our light may not be great, but in a dark and perverse generation, even a little light, ever so dimly reflected, makes a great difference.

Outside the church was a reminder of the passing of time: a cemetery with markers dating back as far as 200 years or more. But death brings decay and ruin. Many markers were worn smooth by the elements; some leaned forward while others were falling backward. Religion of man, like a stick, tries to stay the course of decline, but it is only a matter of time, when this, too, must give way. Only Christ brings life eternal and an incorruptible inheritance that fades not away (1 Peter 1:4).

Day 4 – May 13 – Tuesday : Me, a Physicist?

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We began our official tour of Ireland today. The first stop was the Castle of Carrickfergus, which I guess the only picture I got of it was this one as we were walking towards it. The wind was quite brisk and cool, despite the sunshine, and maybe that was why Abbie was holding on so tightly to the rail. Looks like the prevailing winds may have even caused the railing to lean inland. From the looks of things below the castle, one can assume the tide was out at the time we were there.

From there we went on up the coast a little ways to Larne, Whitehead, where there’s a lighthouse. I got pictures of the countryside along the way, but for all you lighthouse lovers, sorry…no photo. Going to the lighthouse meant a climb up a hill and we decided to stay along the beach and see the colorful sights. Not only the moss along the sea wall was colorful (above), but some of the houses were, too. As we’re finding out, the folks here in Ireland are not afraid of painting their houses bright colors.

The railroad runs through Whitehead, so we criss-crossed it several times, either under it, across it at a level crossing, or by means of the footbridge, as these ladies must have done thousands of times in their lives. Other sights included bright flowers that almost seem to light up and an empty sunlit yard.

This particular style of brick-and-stone work must have been in vogue at one period, as the nearby church used the same construction method.

Later that evening, after dinner, I had paid and was standing waiting for others in the party to pay their bills. A man beside me struck up a conversation, first about the food, and then one thing led to another and we began to exchange information about where we’re from and where we live. By this time, his wife and three (?) boys had come up, but I hadn’t noticed them behind me.

It was a pleasure talking with this family. Although our conversation was brief, the boys seemed very well-mannered, and they – parents and children – gave the sense of being a family. The mother, it turns out, has distant relatives in Madeira, as her ancestors left the island to go to Brazil, and today she is married to an Irishman and living in Belfast. The man asked whether by any chance I am a physicist. Apparently, their family had been observing our party during dinner and a discussion had ensued regarding who we were and what we might have been doing. The oldest boy (12 or 13, I judge) had concluded I must be a physicist. There are a lot worse things that people have thought of me, to be sure, but I wonder if it was because of my hair. I mean, just look at Einstein; anybody could tell he was a physicist just by his hair. Maybe Abbie’s right when she tells me to do a better job of combing my hair.