The Rocky Road to Dublin

Our friends Jerry and Debbie arrived from San Diego on Friday, June 11th, after nearly a full day's travel.  We had a rather ambitious ten days planned for them, beginning with a visit to Glasgow's City Centre and donning our USA World Cup gear for the USA v England match.  We met some friends at The Rock, and made quite a few more, including Andy and Scott, with whom we shared a table.

When Jerry said something about "the British", that all-inclusive term for the United Kingdom, Andy grumbled, "Call us English bastards, Irish bastards, Welsh bastards, Scottish bastards, but nae British!"  I wore a red USA tee shirt over another tee-shirt I have purchased for the evening...A.B.E. (Anyone but England.)  Truly, the Scots favorite team is Scotland first, then whoever is playing England.

The game ended in a draw, "You should be very happy with that result," our new friend Andy opined, "but you Yanks don't quite understand the draw."  We don't, preferring instead the clear winner and loser in our sporting events.  Hell, we even changed the rules in the NHL to reduce the number of ties.

That evening, John, a group commander for Scotland Fire and Safety, offered to drive us to the Isle of Mull and the Isle of Iona at week's end.  Another of those startling examples of Scottish hospitality that leave you breathless.  More on that later.

A quick trip to Edinburgh on Sunday, the obligatory visit to the Castle, St, Giles, and Greyfriar's Bobby.  Monday was the great adventure...driving.  We "hired" a car from Enterprise and then drove to Stirling to visit Stirling Castle.  We took a slight detour to Bannockburn, site of one of the most significant victories in Scottish history, Robert the Bruce's much smaller army defeating the English under Edward II, through the unerring use of terrain and local knowledge.  A home-field win, if you will.  We also toured Argyle's Lodging, the home of the Duke of Argyle, a 16th century Georgian home, and the Church of the Holy Rude, the only other Church in the UK to offer services and have hosted a coronation...the other, Westminster Abbey.

So, what was it like driving on the "wrong" side of the road?  Rather odd.  Total concentration.  Left turns are the easier, the roundabouts maddening, and a tendency to drift to the left, as your entire perspective in driving changes.  But at day's end I counted a few love taps on the curb (kerb) and a couple of rather sharp turns as the only mistakes.  We returned the car intact.

On Tuesday we were off on three-day trip to Ireland.  Our taxi driver was an engaging fellow, so much so that we enaged him to appear at trip's end for a return to the airport. 

Ah, Ireland.  If only we had met more Irish people.  The country is filled with Russian and Eastern European emigres who work in the hospitality industry (wouldn't be my first choice if I was running the career counseling here) and Dublin itself seems to cater to the large number of American tourists who return to the Auld Sod in search of their roots and a pint of Guinness. 

Make no mistake, the Easter Rising of 1916 is still a current event in the collective consciousness of the Irish.  Walking past the Post Office, the G.P.O., on O'Connell Street and viewing the bullet holes in the columns and facade makes you a believer.  During our three days we saw the following:

• Trinity College and the Book of Kells (an illuminated manuscript from the 8th century, penned by Scottish monks at the abbey on the Isle of Iona)
• Dublin Castle
• The Garden of Rememberance (remembering those who died to help create the Irish Republic)
• The Writer's Museum (Jonathon Swift, James Joyce, Brendan Behan, Samuel Beckett, James Kavanagh, William Butler Yeats, etc.)
• The National Gallery
• The Guinness Storehouse (an a "free" pint of Guinness atop the Gravity Bar at tour's end)
• Kilmainham Jail (where the leaders of the 1916 Rising were taken, and 14 of them executed...one of those eerie  places where history is palpable)
• Grafton Street
• St. Patrick's Cathedral

What we didn't see were vast numbers of native Irish.  What we did hear were numerous renditions of "Danny Boy."  If I hear the song again, I will go mental...one of my new favorite terms.

We returned Thursday evening at midnight and then we were awake and out the door to meet John at 4:45 a.m. for the sixteen hour plus day to the Isles of Mull and Iona.  In Iona we visited the abbey where the Book of Kells had been written, putting a nice finish to that endeavor.  We rode four ferries and covered nearly 300 miles by car.  We toured Duart Castle on Mull, a rather interesting mix of Disney and modern photography.  The castle is the home of the Chief of the Clan Maclean.  The crest for clan Maclean includes an emu and a seal (as in the type you'd see at a Sea World show.)  This caused us to imagine how those symbols were selected.

"We'd like an eagle on the clan crest."
"Sorry, taken."
"All right.  A hawk then!"
"Sorry."
"An osprey?"
"No, but we do have an emu available.  If you select that, then we will add a seal at no charge."
"Brilliant!"

We spent the last few days of Jerry's and Debbie's visit wandering around Glasgow, usually in a pub, expanding our knowledge of single malts, ales, and porters.  There was an interesting bit of larceny on Saturday afternoon, that will remain unpublished, though it will be a tale oft-told upon our return.

We bid Jerry and Debbie farewell this morning and are regrouping for another week.

The wee things

Tomorrow marks the end of the fourth week of our Glaswegian adventure.  To say we have settled in is an understatement.  It's all the little things that make for a semblance of truly living abroad.

We have eased into a routine.  I am now a member of the athletic club at University of Glasgow, so I make the walk in the morning to torture myself on one of the elliptical machines.  We also make a daily visit to the grocery store.  There is a news agent where we buy the paper.  I have a library card (more on that later).  We're good customers of Oddbins, our wine and whisky connection.  We've had our second meal at The Wee Curry Shop.  We have expanded our circle of friends from the Lucy and Callum nexus point.  We take the time to speak with the merchants and clerks.

Scottish hospitality found us at Callum's birthday barbeque party last Saturday, arriving at 5:00 p.m. and leaving just past midnight.  We followed up that celebration by accompanying him and another 10 friends to The Stand, a comedy club for "Sunday Services with Michael Redmond."  Redmond, a Glasgow fixture, emcees a Sunday smorgasbard of four comics.  The last two comics were brilliant, a Glasgow-born first generation Pakistani and The Boy with Tape on His Mouth. 

Since our return from Spain we have visited the Kelvingrove Museum for the third time, wandered through Glasgow's Cathedral, went through the Hunterian on the campus of the University of Glasgow. 

Highlights of the week:

• We were met by a kilted docent at the Cathedral who offered a tour.  John Geddes, a retired professor of music, who taught for a year at University of Oregon along with lectures at Berkeley, Stanford, and other US universities, led us through the Cathedral.  Surprised that we didn't want to blitz through, we spent abaout 90-minutes with him.  We saw battle glags from the Indian campaign, the Napoleonic wars, the purported burial place of St. Mungo, an explanation of the four symbols of Glasgow, and much more.
• At Jelly Hill my Univeristy of Glasgow identification card caused quite a stir.  Callum: "Jim is planning on staying longer than he let on!"
• John Rae when he happened to see my library card, "How did you get that?  I pay bloody taxes to get one of those!"
• We were among the first customers of a new butcher shop that opened on Byres Road, and found the best Italian sausage I've had since my days in Chicago.

Tomorrow we'll be back at the airport to pick-up my friend Jerry and his girlfriend, Debbie.  We will be cheering for the USA against England in Saturday's World Cup football match.  Rumor is that we won't be able to buy a drink.

Return from France, Two Myths Destroyed

As Andrew dropped us in the wee hours of the morning at our flat, we had a sense of actually coming home.  The flat looked gigantic in comparison to our room at Hotel Agora St. Germain, where you couldn't swing a chat.

Let me debunk a couple of French myths before chronicling the week.

The first, the food.  Granted, we didn't eat at Argent or any three star Michelin restaurants, but the ravings about French food seemed to us to be a bit overdone.  Our best meal was at The French Open, followed closely by a wonderful meal at La Maree Verte.  Granted, grabbing a baguette and a hunk of cheese was a fine alternative to lunch.  And we nearly died drinking hot chocolate at Ladurre and Les Deux Magots (think drinking a liquid candy bar and you get the right idea), ditto the macaroons at the forner locale.

The second myth is the rude Parisian, or the rude French in general.  Didn't see it.  Not once.  The only man who didn't speak any English to us couldn't speak English.  Now, we did go to France armed with a few rudiments.  Bon jour, bon soir, sil vous plait, pardon, merci, and a few useful phrases.  We managed to order most of our meals in French.  The efforts were appreciated, and rewarded with hospitality and warmth.  The Parisians are a bit more formal.  Monsieur, Madame strongly recommended.  But everyone, from our waiters to the hotel staff, to people we met casually were all quite nice.

Here is an overview of the week:

• Luxembourg Garden
• The Church of St. Sulpice (ah, The Da Vinci Code)
• The Pantheon (Victor Hugo, Alexander Dumas, Emile Zola, Andre Malraux all buried there)
• The Louvre (yes, Mona Lisa is smaller than you'd expect, yet no less magnificent)
• Pompidou Center (rather violent feminist temporary exhibition tempered by the icons of  modern art, Picasso, Gris, Calder, Chagall, et. al.)
• A Seine river cruise (skip it, skip it, skip it)
• Musee d'Orsay (bridges the Renaissance and Old Masters of the Louvre and the modern art of Pompidou with an stunning collection of Impressionists, Gauguin, van Gogh, Renoir, Manet, Monet, Cezanne)
• The Arc de Triomphe (disappointing, and not only because the grave of France's unknown soldier does not have a permanent honor guard)
• The Champs d'Elysees (soon to be festooned with the cyclists of Le Tour)
• Musee Rodin
• Versailles (the palace, the gardens, the Triannon area)
• Montmartre (including Le Bateau Lavoir, the Laundry Boat, where Picasso and a hoard of other artists lived)
• Notre Dame

...and, The French Open.

Thanks to our friends from Vinci Park, we had wonderful seventh row seats at Court Suzanne Lenglen and admission to Club Des Loges, a clubhouse that featured a full bar, several restaurants, and its own gift shop.  Because of the weather we spent too little time in the former and far too much time in the latter.  It was, as our friends here in Glasgow are found of saying, "pissing down rain."  Oban and Sancerre for yours truly and Lynn did a lot to assuage the disappointment of seeing barely five sets of tennis.  We saw Andy Roddick beat a determined Blas Kavcic in four sets, and then Marion Bartoli and Olivia Sanchez begin their match, soon to be suspended due to darkness.

One of our most memorable moments at the Open was lunch at Club Des Loges.  Our waiter was simply spectatcular.  After my halting explanation of allergies, in French "Je suis allergique aux oeufs et aux noix" he went out of his way to find subsititutes for the fixed menu.  Of the items on the fixed menu, I could eat exactly none of them.  "Do you trust me?" he asked.  I did, and he delivered.  He was assisted by two 15-year old boys who understood much more English than they admitted to, often laughing at the conversation we were having with our new best friend. 

Our only sniff of any anti-American sentiment came from patrons at one of the restaurants.  A German couple and a Canadian couple went on about America a bit.  While I held my tongue, I did not refrain from what I hoped was a withering glance.  Their comments were stereotypical and demonstrated their shallow grasp of our immensely complex country.  The chiding soon stopped and they moved on to other subjects. (While at the Open, in the rain, I wore a baseball cap from one of my reunions, the cap has 75 USNA and an American flag on it.  Wore it proudly.  Received not a single comment or rude stare.)

While I am not suggesting that Parisians or the French absolutely love America, it is rather apparent that they do love Americans, and they adore the American dollar.  The language we heard most other than French as we walked the streets, ate breakfast at our hotel, sat in restaurants or cafes, was English.  And American English.  The tourist is even more valued now, driving a moribund economy.  We come and we spend.

The list of single malts sampled has expanded to seven. 

The quest continues.

Note: Our visit to The Louvre was greatly enhanced by The Teaching Company's course Museum Matserpieces: The Louvre, taught by Professor Richard Brettell, University of Texas at Dalls.