London/Dublin Day 6/7: 2004 Arrives

Dublin awoke slowly on New Year’s Day, and our apartment was no exception, but unlike most we had somewhere to be: the Lord Mayor of Dublin’s first annual New Year’s Day Parade. So I ran down to the SPAR for a newspaper and a cereal bar, then we made our way to Westmoreland Street.

I’m not sure whether the apparent disorganization of the event (in my American eyes) reflected simply first-time jitters, or a different idea of what a “parade” is, but for whatever reason, the design of the parade was a bit unusual. The six groups participating converged on the intersection of Westmoreland Street and Fleet Street from all four directions; the two largest groups, the MRDs and the Garda band, approached from the south via College Green. Each group played a few songs marching in, but the main focus of the “parade” was a performance in-place at Westmoreland and Fleet, with each group allocated two songs. A mass performance of about four songs, all out of the JMU repertoire, then took place with rotating directors — although start and tempo were dictated by the Dukes’ drum majors. The MRDs made up nearly half of the total number of performers.

The rest of New Year’s Day was pretty non-descript — I spent a few hours wandering around Dublin, just kind of taking the place in. Although I still had most of the important sights left to see, I was beginning to agree with an assessment I’d heard earlier: you don’t go to Dublin for the scenery, you go for the people. That evening, we confirmed that, finding a different neighborhood pub near our apartment and settling in. The other customers were clearly regulars, and the bartender had some fun with them, DJing a round of Name That (70s/80s rock/alternative) Tune with the house music system, and closing the evening with Billy Joel’s masterwork, Scenes From an Italian Restaurant.

Read More »

If The Present Is A Gift, I Want The Receipt

Let’s briefly snap back to the present, for some lunch-break thoughts from the snowbound metropolis of Richmond.

First up, let’s envision the main entrance to my office this morning. Two four-lane roads intersect at a stoplight, and there are two left turn lanes for northbound-to-westbound turns into the complex. The roads had barely been plowed, so people were (rightly) forming one turn lane in the most passable part of the road, backing up into the main drag, but avoiding the possibility of spinning out in the snow/slush-filled intersection while another driver is making a turn alongside you.

Of course, this wasn’t good enough for some people, who had to speed around the established lane at 50mph and form a parallel turn lane, creating two safety hazards in one (excessive speed, then the parallel-turn spinout possibility). What I found interesting were the two types of cars being driven by people doing this:

• 10+-year-old, beat-up American cars — presumably these folks just don’t care whether they get in a wreck or not, because it won’t impact the value of their car one bit.
• Soccer-mom SUVs — the folks who think 4x4 vehicles make them invincible. The classic case of this was the Jeep Grand Cherokee I saw spun out along US 360 East in Amelia County last year. Blizzard conditions had stopped about a half-mile west of there, leading to an understandable sense of relief, but which brought on some world-class dumb driving in this case. When I came along I could see the tire tracks where the driver had stomped the gas as soon as their vision cleared, slid first to the left, spun the rear end of the vehicle to the left side, regained traction at a 90-degree angle to the roadway, and promptly planted the vehicle across the roadside ditch.

Read More »

London/Dublin Day 4.2/5: Year-End Drama

We got off the Gatwick Express at about 4 PM Tuesday, 30 December, checked in for our Ryanair 5:30 flight to Dublin, and were instructed to “watch the screens” for gate information. The screens just said “Stay In Lounge,” so we shrugged, made our way through security and emerged into Gatwick South Terminal’s central core.

I’d heard a joke before that the British Airports Authority, no longer satisfied with its (self-recognized) achievement of being “the world’s leading airport company,” was now setting its sights on becoming “the world’s leading shopping-mall operator.” My first time on the departures side of Gatwick led me to agree with that assessment. Instead of the concourse design popular in the US and Canada, with food and shopping interspersed among open gate areas with plenty of available seating, Gatwick uses a core/finger design. Waiting passengers are held in the central core, where 30-40 shops and restaurants are situated to prey on the bored and cash-heavy among them; when the gate crew is ready (30-90 minutes before scheduled departure), TV screens signal passengers to proceed to the assigned gate, located along a barren finger extending from the core (an occasional vending machine is the only amenity you’ll find on the way). No announcements are made outside the gate at any time, so you’d better not fall asleep while waiting for your flight; should you be worried about this, the shops will be happy to sell you all manner of caffeinated beverages.

Ryanair didn’t put the gate opening on-screen until 30 minutes before departure; this set off a massive stampede toward Gate 109, at the end of the longest finger (of course), where we promptly found about half the passengers already waiting. These were obviously the Ryanair veterans. Those of us new to the process found a second surprise when we stepped outside, discovering that instead of Ryanair, the plane we’d fly on was marked “ÍSLANDSFLUG / Icebird Airlines.” This small airline out of Iceland leases several Boeing 737-400s to Ryanair (and other airlines), lending to the already sketchy feel of an airline I’d described as “making Southwest feel like first class.”

Read More »

London/Dublin Day 3/4.1: International Relations

Monday brought snow to London. So we holed up in a Starbucks on Euston Road, where I paid £5.50 for an hour of T-Mobile HotSpot WiFi, posted Matt’s Insight Bowl report, and consumed hot chocolate as we worked up the motivation to press on despite the weather.

Her Majesty’s Tower of London was our main destination for the day. At the Tower, the Yeoman Guards, known as “Beefeaters” for the extra rations of meat their predecessors received, dress in 17th-century(?) uniform and do a 30-minute introductory tour before allowing visitors to wander off and explore the various parts of the Tower. Although we missed the Crown Jewels (the line was way too long), the history of the place made it worth the £13.50 (US$24) admission — there aren’t too many other sites about which I’d say that.

After the Tower, we made a quick run across the Tube map to Baker Street for the Sherlock Holmes Museum, as suggested by one of Gwen’s friends. We found that while it might be interesting for the die-hard, it’s a total tourist trap, and at £6 (US$10) a rather expensive one. Now reaching 6 PM, we went to look for food; after a couple of false starts in the Covent Garden area, we wound up in a pseudo-Italian place on Leicester Square that reminded me of my initial assessment of London as “New York with funny money.” Staring out past the windows at the theaters, shops and crowded streets, waiting on a server who clearly viewed her customers as subhuman, I might as well have been in Times Square — except Italian food in New York would have tasted far better.

Read More »

London/Dublin Day 2: Impressions Near and Far

Free of jetlag at last, we started our Sunday adventure at Trafalgar Square, planning to walk down Whitehall to Parliament Square before crossing to the South Bank and doing a scripted walk from in Gwen’s guidebook. Trafalgar Square used to be known for its flocks of pigeons, but that was before Mayor “Red Ken” Livingston declared war, banning their feeding and deploying several other measures to get rid of them. In their place, he’s put up a rather sad-looking Christmas tree (given by the Mayor of Oslo, Norway) and several hundred portable metal barricades. It doesn’t seem like a fair trade.

We made our way down Whitehall, stopping to wander through the gate into the Horse Guards Parade area facing the Admiralty building, then proceeding further down and sticking our cameras through the wrought-iron gate to get a clear picture up Downing Street. We reached Parliament Square and took a quick spin around to establish opening times for Westminster Abbey on Gwen’s return trip, then crossed the Thames via Parliament Bridge and started looking for someplace vaguely authentic to eat — problem is, this area is (of course) one of the most heavily-touristed parts of London. So we walked for about 15 minutes before seeing signs for Victoria Station, and guessing that maybe we’d have luck nearer someplace that served actual London commuters rather than wandering Americans.

We turned away from the river, walked about a quarter-mile and saw a sign for “Fish And Chips / Fried Chicken” on a storefront beneath the elevated tracks leading into the station, and decided to give it a try. Well, it got interesting when our drinks arrived and my 500-ml Coke bottle was labeled in the Georgian alphabet, and the food was undistinguished at best. But then we found the great part, the name: FISHCOTHEQUE.

Read More »