The morning started off well. I woke up and headed to a place called George's Street Arcade. Its a little covered shopping area that's been around since the 1881, small but it had some cool little local artist shops and a nice eatery. Had eggs, white and black pudding (some kind of animal part or other), ham, sausage, toast, and a latte. Off to a good start.
I then hopped on the hop on/off buss to hit the Guinness brewery. It was cool in that it was one of the oldest and that Guinness is made slightly differently than most and has a unique taste. But after brewing for myself for 16 years, explaining how beer was made (the first two floors) was kind of redundant really. It was really cool to see the coopers making the old school beer barrels though. It really did take a craftsman to make them. Looking at all the old brewing equipment was pretty cool in itself too.
I then hopped on the hop on/off buss to hit the Guinness brewery. It was cool in that it was one of the oldest and that Guinness is made slightly differently than most and has a unique taste. But after brewing for myself for 16 years, explaining how beer was made (the first two floors) was kind of redundant really. It was really cool to see the coopers making the old school beer barrels though. It really did take a craftsman to make them. Looking at all the old brewing equipment was pretty cool in itself too.
There were seven floor and on the fifth floor you could attend a Guinness pouring academy. They have a ritual and the whole bit. Plus special glasses to help you in pouring the perfect pint.
I'm pretty sure this is going on my resume.
They also had a cool bar at the very top of the place with a 360 panoramic view of the city. I would have stayed for another pint (admission got a a free one, either in the pouring room or at the top bar), but I wanted to hit the Kilmainham Goal before the last tour.
The Goal was a prison in Ireland that mainly the British used to jailed and execute rebel leaders throughout Irish history until the last rebellion in 1916. You see, just like in America, the average Irish citizen was happy to be under British rule. but the British executed 14 men with plans to kill over 60. But they picked off the wrong men and turned public opinion against them.
They also had a cool bar at the very top of the place with a 360 panoramic view of the city. I would have stayed for another pint (admission got a a free one, either in the pouring room or at the top bar), but I wanted to hit the Kilmainham Goal before the last tour.
The Goal was a prison in Ireland that mainly the British used to jailed and execute rebel leaders throughout Irish history until the last rebellion in 1916. You see, just like in America, the average Irish citizen was happy to be under British rule. but the British executed 14 men with plans to kill over 60. But they picked off the wrong men and turned public opinion against them.
The first bad move was a man named Joseph Plunkett. His one last desire was to marry the love of his life before passing from this earth. The British reluctantly agreed his last request. They had just him, his fiance, a priest and two British soldiers as witnesses. The couple were only allowed to say "I do" before they were separated. Afterwards, they were further allowed to spend ten minutes that night in a room, only allowed to hold hands, while a British officer loudly counted out the seconds before they were parted and he was hung the next morning.
The second was James Connolly. He had been badly wounded and his leg was gangrenous. He was dying already and could not walk to the end of the courtyard where the other leader had been shot to death. He was told to stand next to the gate they brought him in. His leg was so bad that he could not so they brought out a chair for him to sit in. This also did not work as the pain and nerve damage was such that he could not sit in the chair. So they tied him to the chair and fired on him as he sat already dying from a gangrenous leg.
The heartless brutality quickly change the public opinion of the British and caused the War of Independence of 1922, which they eventually won. Somewhat. The English agreed to a treaty where the Ireland was considered a free state, but they swore fealty to the king and had a representative in their Parliament.
This split Ireland in two. Half wanted to get full independence slowly through political means, the other rejected the treaty and wanted immediate full independence. Which set up the civil war of Ireland, which still separates north and south Ireland.
The second was James Connolly. He had been badly wounded and his leg was gangrenous. He was dying already and could not walk to the end of the courtyard where the other leader had been shot to death. He was told to stand next to the gate they brought him in. His leg was so bad that he could not so they brought out a chair for him to sit in. This also did not work as the pain and nerve damage was such that he could not sit in the chair. So they tied him to the chair and fired on him as he sat already dying from a gangrenous leg.
The heartless brutality quickly change the public opinion of the British and caused the War of Independence of 1922, which they eventually won. Somewhat. The English agreed to a treaty where the Ireland was considered a free state, but they swore fealty to the king and had a representative in their Parliament.
This split Ireland in two. Half wanted to get full independence slowly through political means, the other rejected the treaty and wanted immediate full independence. Which set up the civil war of Ireland, which still separates north and south Ireland.
I hopped off the bar at Temple Bar again as it was quicker just to walk through there than wait for the bus to hit Stephen's Green. I eat a nice tasty pie at a local pie maker there with mash potatos ans gravy, with a weird grapefruit/pineapple drink called Lila.
After resting briefly and catching up on Facebooky, returning burnery things - decided to head out.
Here's where the shitty part starts. I went heading down the street west of the hotel to hit Augier street when a couple of young blonde starting yelling some things quickly in a heavy accent to me. I stared at them but kept walking as I had no idea what the hell they were saying. Then I felt something nick my finger hard.
Apparently a bunch of kids were throwing eggs at people that walked down the street. They missed my head and hit my pinkie finger. Whatever, I took it with a grain of salt. I'm from out of the country, so I know where the cops would fall on with this one.
So I spent some time having a nice nighttime walk through city. Up in the Temple Bar area, then down Grafford Street, and down then up Aungier Street. I made the mistake of walking back down the same street as about three hours had passed. A plastic milk bottle hit the street next to me. I looked over and seen a bunch of 12 year olds at the apartment complex on the stairs. I flipped them off and they said a bunch of stuff I didn't understand though I did hear "fag".
I called down to reception and talked to the gal down there. She said she had eggs thrown at her along with other people. She could call the cops, but the kids just laugh at the cops. If the cops even bother to come down and do anything.
Great. I have all sorts of nice scenarios where I buy a baseball bat and wait for the fuckers in an alley at night, but they are just a bunch of punk kids that no one does anything about. So now I have to watch my ass for a bunch of punk fuckers each time I leave my hotel. And this is the nice part of town. Throwing eggs I.m not worried about. If the little fuckers get too bold in a group of six or so - that might be problematic. So I'm going to have to get a cheap flick knife tomorrow in case they get the balls to try and jump me or some silly shit. Yay fun.
Here's where the shitty part starts. I went heading down the street west of the hotel to hit Augier street when a couple of young blonde starting yelling some things quickly in a heavy accent to me. I stared at them but kept walking as I had no idea what the hell they were saying. Then I felt something nick my finger hard.
Apparently a bunch of kids were throwing eggs at people that walked down the street. They missed my head and hit my pinkie finger. Whatever, I took it with a grain of salt. I'm from out of the country, so I know where the cops would fall on with this one.
So I spent some time having a nice nighttime walk through city. Up in the Temple Bar area, then down Grafford Street, and down then up Aungier Street. I made the mistake of walking back down the same street as about three hours had passed. A plastic milk bottle hit the street next to me. I looked over and seen a bunch of 12 year olds at the apartment complex on the stairs. I flipped them off and they said a bunch of stuff I didn't understand though I did hear "fag".
I called down to reception and talked to the gal down there. She said she had eggs thrown at her along with other people. She could call the cops, but the kids just laugh at the cops. If the cops even bother to come down and do anything.
Great. I have all sorts of nice scenarios where I buy a baseball bat and wait for the fuckers in an alley at night, but they are just a bunch of punk kids that no one does anything about. So now I have to watch my ass for a bunch of punk fuckers each time I leave my hotel. And this is the nice part of town. Throwing eggs I.m not worried about. If the little fuckers get too bold in a group of six or so - that might be problematic. So I'm going to have to get a cheap flick knife tomorrow in case they get the balls to try and jump me or some silly shit. Yay fun.
Little feckers. What, an inbred, crazed, drunken, warlike people? US? You don't say.
ReplyDelete