Yesterday’s adventures featured a lengthy stroll through The Lough neighborhood, on the south bank of the River Lee. Featured attractions are St. Fin Barre’s (Finbar) Cathedral, and the 400 year old Elizabeth Fort. We also had our first group social event, meeting up with a few SF aficionados to discuss Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone’s recent novel This is How You Lose the Time War. The event was a success, not only because of the good company and lively, free-ranging conversation, but it was also the first appearance of Toto’s Africa on this trip, making it an official Barry holiday.
Some photos of the Fort below. Additional photos of the walkabout to follow.
St. Fin Barre’s, from the Fort.
Arrow slit, or loop hole, looking onto the Labyrinth at St. Fin Barre’s
We’ve explored the city enough on foot that we decided to take a short train ride to Cobh (pronounced “cove”), a commuter town where the River Lee turns into a bona fide harbor.
The Cork Kent train station.Awaiting the train in Cork.
The train ride itself was pleasant, and had some scenic moments. It follows the river, and then the harbor, so there were water views most of the way. That said, much of the water was low tide muck, and it is very much a working harbor, so while there were some charming streets and houses along the shore, there were also a lot of piles of shipping containers, parking lots, lumber yards, etc.
Cobh felt more touristy than Cork, mostly because we passed two or three tour groups. Cobh was the place where most Irish emigrants shipped off to other countries, so there is a small museum about the various migrations. It was also the last port of call for the Titanic, and the closest port of call when the Lusitania was sunk, so there are sites commemorating both of those disasters. There is also a beautiful cathedral, although beautiful churches and cathedrals seem fairly common here: we can see several from our apartment window.
Alas, my phone, and therefore my camera, ran out of juice halfway through the day, so you’ll have to look at Barry’s next post to see the second half of the day.
After lunch, headed back towards the train station, which is right next to the Cobh Heritage Center, the museum dedicated to the migrations. I’m somewhat indifferent to history museums in general, but since this one has more of a personal connection, I was curious to see it. The center also contains the Genealogy Center, and in speaking to the docent there, I was able to discover details about my grandfather’s emigration (he boarded the Saxonia in April 1906, bound for a friend’s home in Boston, but then moved to Brooklyn).
Cobh harborAlong the quayI thought these houses were adorable!A Chinese restaurant, believe it or not.John F. Kennedy park in the foreground, St. Colman’s Cathedral on the hillDowntown CobhA park in memory of the Titanic, whose last port of call was Cobh.
It has not been a surprise to us that the weather in February in Ireland has been chilly and wet. That said, it has actually been quite variable. The old saying that I’ve heard about many places in the U.S., “If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes” holds true here.
Most days we’ve walked extensively, and even if caught in a bit of rain, the rain has been not much more than a drizzle, enough to splatter the eyeglasses but otherwise not much of a bother. But then there will be a brilliant blue sky, until the next cloud rolls through. The temperature is fairly predictable, ranging mostly from low 40s to high 40s. Without looking at the day’s forecast, a guess of 45 degrees with a 50% chance of rain has a good chance of being accurate. And 45 degrees is actually not a bad temp for some vigorous walking.
The last few days have been a bit more severe. Storm Ciara (rhymes with tiara, with a hard “c”) swept through over the weekend, with wind-lashed rains loud enough to wake us up in the middle of the night. There were reports of power outages throughout Ireland and the UK, as well as some snow at higher elevations. The storm left a cold patch in its wake, so in the past 24 hours we’ve seen a spattering of hail and sleet.
But poor weather just means different opportunities. Yesterday, as Barry noted in his post, we ducked into a café for a cup of tea as weather threatened, and when it later started to rain in earnest, ducked into the Crawford Gallery of Art, a free museum which was on my list to see anyway. A perfect rainy day activity!
Today was colder than usual…the high of the day barely scraped 40. So we took the opportunity to check out the Tabletop Café, around the corner, where we had some noshes and played a game called Unearth most of the afternoon. Had a nice time chatting with Chris, the owner, and Tom, a regular patron. I could see us returning on another cold or rainy day, especially so that I can have a rematch with Barry, who won both games.
Yesterday was blustery, and rainy in patches. We decided to explore the east side of town across the river, past the first (last) bridge where the big ships are still able to dock.
I believe the buildings on the right are part of the bonded warehouses.
There’s a fair bit of new construction in the area, hundreds of thousands of square feet of “a new kind of work space for a new kind of work,” or some such nonsense. I suppose it will be interesting to see how that turns out in 4 years or so.
Continuing a few blocks east, we found ourselves at the train station. We plan on taking the train to Cobh and Midleton over the next few weeks, so we spent some time there.
Got into a long talk with one of the senior attendants at the station, a man roughly my age. I guess he was looking for a break, without seeming to be taking one. He showed us some of the less obvious historical features of the station. He also had some interesting ideas about the US Civil War, about which i’ll ruminate later in this post.
After the station, we decided to walk up the hill to the neighborhood called St. Luke’s Cross. The steeple of the namesake church is the most prominent landmark of the neighborhood, though it can’t be seen from our apartment. We made our way there. The neighborhood gets posher the higher up the hill you get.
We kept popping in and out of rain squalls, so we ended up ducking into a coffee shop across the street called Rant. First time i’ve seen people i’d describe as old hippies in Ireland, and a little research helps to understand why.
We walked back into town along the Lower Glanmire Road, till it connected to Summer Hill, and then into the Victorian Quarter. It’s a bit of a high street along that stretch.
Afterwards, we ducked out of yet another squall and into the Crawford Art Gallery, the municipal museum in the heart of town. It’s located in the old Custom House, from when the docks extended further upriver. I was pleased to discover there are Pastafarians in Ireland.
But i had mentioned earlier a conversation in the train station. A couple of weeks back, on our way down to Cork from Athlone, we stopped in Cashel, to visit the Rock of Cashel, which isn’t really a rock. We ended up walking through a private “museum” of sorts. Basically, just a collection of random artifacts down the hill from the castle, organized into a semblance of a narrative of Irish history over the past couple of hundred years. The proprietor expressed some dissatisfaction with the stories from the States about Confederate statues being removed from the public square, because, you know, history. I was kinda caught out, not expecting to have these conversations here, so i basically disagreed with him, and changed the subject back to Irish history. But i made some mental notes about my response if i encountered that again.
And sure enough, the guy in the train station made almost exactly the same comment. Apparently, the rebel nature of the Confederacy appeals to some segment of the population here, who also consider themselves rebels and the children of rebels.
And it occurs to me that the great con of the Confederacy is claiming the mantle of rebellion for itself. If the Confederacy was about anything, it was about maintaining the status quo of the elites of the day in the face of the mounting anti-slavery rebellion. Slavery had been enshrined in the new country from its founding. The anti-slavery movement began immediately. It represented the change. The reactionaries were pro-slavery. John Brown represented the rebellion. Harriet Tubman represented the rebellion. Sojourner Truth represented the rebellion. In Star Wars terms, Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee were the Emperor and Darth Vader.
And how they’ve managed to portray themselves, over 150 years after their deaths, as rebels to a people 4000 miles away remains one of life’s mysteries. But if we do settle here, i know what one of my tasks will be.
We left the apartment early, discovered the local farmers market on our side of the river, and spent a few hours exploring Shandon and its surroundings.
Farmers Market, Merchant’s Quay
This one will definitely also make an appearance in the next street art post.
One thing i’ve noticed about Cork is that there’s not really much in the way of dedicated green space. You just have to find nature where you can.
Learned that Mother Jones was born here 183 years ago. We could use her now, no?
Today’s Election Day in Ireland. I wonder if Senator Googly Eyes will retain his seat?
And just a few more pics of our little walkabout.
Left, gravestone at St. Anne’s; Right, the 4 clocks on the tower at St. Anne’s are known locally (and, i would guess, affectionately) as the Four Liars, as they are never in agreement as to the time.
I found my peeps, though.
Heineken has a brewery on the edge of the district. Don’t know if they give tours, but it explains why the brand is so prevalent in this city.
It’s been fun running around the city with Barry all week, but truth be told, I’ve also been looking forward to spending a day on my own, popping into whatever stores caught my eye and spending as much time as I wanted without worrying that Barry was bored hanging out in the schmuck chair*.
Today I got my chance; he needed a day of rest, so I got to explore the city on my own. I’m not much of a shopper, but I was curious to see the stores here, from Marks & Spencer (which I’ve wanted to see ever since reading the Bridget Jones books) to Brown Thomas (which, according to the Ask Audrey column in the Irish Examiner is where the posh people shop). I also popped into Debenham’s, Dunnes, and several smaller shops that caught my eye.
It’s easy to get turned around in Cork City Centre, but difficult to get lost. Streets curve around, there are several enclosed shopping centers with entrances on multiple streets, and the major roads are crisscrossed by alleys: some are mere service alleys, some are wide enough to have one narrow lane of traffic, and others are pedestrian only, often lined with sidewalk café seating.
I simply wandered from store to alley to street, occasionally popping into a shopping center and coming out another side, walking in one direction and discovering I was heading the opposite way I thought I’d been going. The reason it’s difficult to get lost, though, is that the city centre is on a small island, so you can’t go too many blocks before you run into the River Lee. The north branch of the river is wider, with a steep hill opposite (our apartment view); the other is narrower and the opposite bank is flat. So you really can’t walk too far without the river to reorient you.
I also ran into a demonstration, from what group specifically I could not say, but they were young and enthusiastic and happy to be banging drums and talking to people about world we are leaving to our children and grandchildren. I also chatted with someone raising funds for a homeless shelter; yesterday I chatted with someone from the Irish Cancer Society, and with a big election coming up tomorrow, we’ve also had conversations with some campaign volunteers. All conversations I would likely avoid in the states, but here, I’m motivated to talk to whoever will talk to me, about whatever!
On the way home I passed this lovely building, where, yesterday afternoon, I got a wonderful massage and had a bit of a conversation about politics with the masseuse (she’s voting Sinn Féin).
*The term “schmuck chair” was coined by my friend Glenn for the chair where a husband sits looking bored while his wife shops. It’s not really gender-specific, though, as I have appreciated many fine schmuck chairs in record stores. Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, there’s an entire schmuck living room with a coffee table and magazines.
Before we arrived in Ireland last week, we had done a little advance scouting on things we might like to do. One of them was the Chinese New Year celebration at Nano Nagle Place, about a mile from our apartment. Neither of us knew anything about the site, its history, or why they’d be celebrating the lunar new year.
The actual celebration was, umm, earnest, if a little underdone. A team of 5 dragon dancers ran around the gardens a couple of times, while a couple drummers beat an interesting Sino-Celtic rhythm.
A number of young persons dance troupes also performed at a separate, indoor event. Seating for that was limited, so we skipped it and just wandered around the grounds a bit before heading home.
Nano Nagle crypt with St. Brigid’s cross
The site served as a learning center for Catholic children in the 18th century, at a time when the English Penal Laws forbade educating Catholics, as well as a convent for the Ursuline Sisters.
The initial wave of OMG Let’s go see everything has worn off a bit, so a lazy morning at the apartment doesn’t seem such a crime. I’ve traded my view of the trees in our yard and neighborhood dog walkers for watching the clouds and the seagulls floating past the window. Occasionally a parade of pigeons waddles past on the balcony.
Barry has been making good use of the laptop for editing his many photos. The appliance behind him is our combo washer/dryer. It’s very quiet, but also small and slow, so our usually routine of two loads on a Sunday night (followed by folding and an episode of Star Trek) will likely change to a small load any night we’re here at home.
Barry also cooked a huge breakfast of bangers and eggs and potatoes this morning, so we’re both moving pretty slow.
Being from the US, the cities that Cork most reminds me of geographically are New York and Pittsburgh. All have rivers running through their hearts, which bracket or surround a densely built island or peninsula. Pittsburgh and Cork’s rivers are eminently walkable, with footbridges that are at most a few hundred yards apart. Manhattan’s East River can be crossed on foot, but the bridges are higher, farther apart, and traverse a greater span.
Today, we walked over to Cork’s west end, where the River Lee splits into its north and south branches on its way around the island that is the city center.
We passed through University College of Cork, and i am surely not the first person to ask which is it, then, a university or a college?
Memorial to volunteers who were executed at the site of the university by the British during the war for independence in 1921.
The walking trail continues past the university to the branching of the river.
The Atkins Hall Apartments, formerly an insane asylum, now luxury apartments. Rumor has it that some of the apartments are haunted. We considered staying there, but decided it was too far (about 40 minutes) to be walking into town each day.In the foreground, the Old Cork Waterworks. Background, St. Kevin’s Asylum, also converted to apartments but, if my eyes don’t deceive me, no longer in use as the result of a fire.
On our first visit here, I was impressed by the extent of street art around town. We’ve only been here five days, so I haven’t yet had the chance to learn any of the history of the People’s Republic of Cork, but my guess is that it’s probably 2 or 3 core members, with a surrounding, ever-changing cast of supporters. That is, assuming they’re still active. Some of their artwork does seem relatively recent.
Not everything I’ve been able to photograph is theirs, but they are rather ubiquitous.
And they clearly have access to some large printing equipment.
My general impression is that the politics are more implied than baldly stated, but that’s not always the case.
Then, of course, there’s always Phil Lynott. His image was everywhere last time we were in Ireland. I imagine before we leave, i’ll have a whole gallery of Lynott mural photos.
Cork Spring 