dirty old town…

this is the story of the four-hundred dollar weekend in dublin. it began weeks in advance when a hasty invitation and acceptance occured between tim and i, before we even knew each other, really; the epitome of spur of the moment. well, perhaps it was more pre-meditated on his part, but i was going off a whim essentially. so the flights were booked and i was stuck; but i was excited about it. i tried to convince him we should just sleep on the streets but he wasn’t going for it. so a hostel was booked; whatever, i shrugged. i was looking forward to an adventure.

plane; arrival; hostel.

friday: we hopped a wild, irish tour with an even wilder tour guide, saw bits of dublin and surrounding countryside—beauty—sheep and mountains, and then off to glendalough after a ridiculously expensive but satisfying lunch. we had about an extra half hour to work it off when the bus broke down near one of the guinness lakes. we also saw the houses of bono, daniel day lewis, and enya, (who “only makes an album every ten years because every time she starts singing she falls asleep.”) glendalough was lush, green, fresh, burnt orange, forest and foliage reflected in lucid lakes stippled with ducks, continuously fed by mountainous waterfalls over mossy rocks and vined trees, encircling the monks’ tower of defense and the little church of stone, crumbling, yet standing, strong still. it begins to rain, softly, misting, gently caressing and refreshing faces, glossing smiles, glowing and content, in kind contemplation, wondering at the world. it ends with a sleepy, lullabied journey back into the city. that night we watch juno: golden brilliance of the highest quality, and polish our evening off with a bit of piping.

saturday: the morning consisted of fickle showers and an extended breakfast, followed by six thousand and three footsteps o’er the city sidewalks, soaking wet, splashing through puddles in saint steven’s green, not much else to see. (pretty ponies prancing in the puddles…) we eventually wandered into a wee coffee shop, after tim horton’s failed us, where i downed a love-topped late and devoured the warmest, richest chocolate muffin. two games of pass the pigs was played. i won the first by one; tim won the second by a landslide comeback. then off we traipsed to the lighthouse, where we were warmly welcomed by marion, jane, jimmy, richard, mave… clothes downstairs; food upstairs; grateful homeless; sandwiches evaporate; rambunctious praise; dirty dishes; greasy floor; eyes smiling; hot tea; bagged leftovers; fond farewells; pie; orange feet; crocheted roses.

sunday: awoke on the tiny mattress to a hushed and anticipatory church. we laughed in a lulling fashion, getting ready for the day. people arrived; a lady named anne made us tea. souls trickled in: singles, pairs, families, all friendly and welcoming… betty; george; mark; ruba; pat and loretta mullen: the pastor and his wife who had freely given us the keys, the upstairs, access to anything, immediately claimed us for lunch. the church service was beautiful, a warm eclectic mish-mash of ethnicities and backgrounds, laid-back, genuine; heartfelt music, powerful preaching; pat spoke of jesus riding into the city on palm sunday and the implications of people’s expectations. one of the singers was an older man, blind eyes with bushy eyebrows, the words from every song memorised, ringing out in richness up to the rafters; glory be to God. we had a most delectable lunch: chicken, potatoes, veggies, followed by pumpkin cheesecake and coffee, mmm, black and bold. pat and loretta are two solid, solid christ-followers, normal human beings with a servant’s heart. there was an exciting connection sparked when pat began to speak of a conference he had attended concerning café culture, a movement where cafes and churches unite to create atmospheric evenings of coffee and cakes, painting and poetry, comedy and music, etc., an open place where people of any amount of faith can feel comfortable and unafraid, where barriers break down, relationships develop and grow, a conversation is initiated; a place where musicians can debut, experiment, connect with the audience who can relate to the same sort of struggles, perhaps finding ultimate salvation through a loving saviour; a place where art and music collide, a poetical culmination of the beauty God has given us to share through gifts and talents and love… the fellowship and conversation flowed as smooth as the coffee. afterwards, richard met us at the lighthouse and we walked down to the stadium, listening to him tell his story. there we joined in ‘arise dublin,’ a large rally of sorts, where we saw a lot of the same people we had met the day before. there were good things said, and it was encouraging in many ways, but not quite as meaningful as meeting real people in a dimly lit building that’s falling apart, yet continues to fill people’s stomachs and souls. we thanked richard and said our goodbyes; he pointed us in the right direction, and tim got us the rest of the way; tim always knew the way.

monday! gosh, every day held something incredibly different but incredibly wonderful. neither was better than either, but my goodness monday was beautiful, just glorious! the sun indulged us with some warm rays as we walked and walked and walked, in a surreal daze almost, along the craggy rocks which dance beneath the icy ocean that supplies the locals with a life of longevity, along the sunny streets where we were told to back away from the gate of bono, along the breathtaking cliffs of killiney beach where we stopped to have a lovely picnic of nutella sandwiches, and down to the shore itself, where we laughed with the waves and attempted to skip stones… sunset; rusted bike; damien rice; pipes; white tic-tacs; train.

tuesday we flew back just in time to do our presentation on as you like it.

the end.

(oh, and did i forget to mention that it was saint patrick’s day weekend?)