Day Fifteen: A Day At The Races

School was an afterthought today, as we had been informed the previous day that we’d be attending a horse race at Leopardstown Race Track, located not too far outside of Dun Laoghaire. I’ve never been to a honest-to-goodness horse race before, with betting and women in big hats and mint juleps. To be fair, Leopardstown is not the Kentucky Derby (not by a long shot). People dressed up, as did we, but there weren’t any outrageously large hats as I had come to expect from watching some of the Triple Crown races on TV.

Leopardstown races are, however, sponsored by Bulmer’s Cider, something that made them instantly popular with our group. I don’t really know why alcoholic cider isn’t a product easily available in the states, but it’s not. This trip has been a long introduction to exactly how easy it is to drink an alcoholic beverage that is mainly produced from fruit, and retains a very sweet taste. And since they were the sponsors of Leopardstown, there was a large Bulmer’s tent, with the style we all knew (apple) and two flavors we’d never seen (pear and berry). Needless to say, they made money from our group.

On a typical Thursday night, the first race starts at 5:00, with a race every half hour until the last one at 8:30. The races all vary in the number of horses racing one another, but the competition gets better and better as the races go along. You can bet with any number of the bookies that set up posts in front of the grandstand, or you can bet with the Daíl (pronounced “dole”), which is sponsored by the racetrack itself. We were warned about using bookies, as their odds could change seemingly at a whim, while the Daíl never changed the odds on you. I wasn’t brave (or stupid) enough to risk my money with the bookies, so I bet with the Daíl for two races.

After perusing the racing sheet for the evening, two things became abundantly clear. One, I felt like I was in Guys & Dolls, and at any moment Nicely Nicely was going to put his hand on my shoulder and start singing to me about the benefits of his horse right here (there was no horse on the sheet named Paul Revere, unfortunately). Two, I had no idea what I was doing. I’m not a gambling person, but I will occasionally play poker with chips, winning and losing amongst friends. But horse racing is completely different. Unlike card games, you have absolutely no control over the races. It was sort of terrifying to put my money behind a horse that I didn’t know anything about.

The racing sheet did provide some good information, and it was pretty clear which horse I wasn’t going to bet on. I decided that it was in my best interest to pick a horse to place, rather than win, because that increased my chances of getting some dough back. The first horse I picked was named Black Witch Woman, and I put €3 on it at 3 to 1 odds. The racing sheet said he’d been doing well, and it was his time to shine. This race, somewhat to my surprise, was only three-quarters of the whole track, meaning that the starting point was off where we couldn’t really see, but the finish would be right in front of us. That meant that I had a first row view of my horse coming in 6^th out of 7. Not exactly the best way to start my gambling career.

I decided, despite my moment of failure, to try and bet again. I watched a few races, then opted to bet on the last race of the night. 8 horses were racing, and I read the racing sheet in much the same way as before. I decided on Aladdin’s Cave due both to racing sheet’s recommendations and the reference to the Disney film. I put €2 on Aladdin’s Cave to place at 4 to 1 odds. This time the race was a full loop, so I got to watch my horse immediately fall the back of the pack as they surged through the first quarter of the track. I groaned a little, trying to console myself that it was only €5 lost and I would probably never bet on a horse again. But as if sensing my disappointment, Aladdin’s Cave broke into the single greatest moment of horse racing history (Okay, not really, but I was still excited). Working the field like a pro, Aladdin’s Cave and his jockey broke from third to last all the way up to the front of the pack, winning the race by at least two lengths. I, and the other two people in our group who picked Aladdin’s Cave, went nuts the whole way.

That’s when I realized exactly why people get addicted to horse racing. I had put down a mere €2, which became €8 in a matter of minutes. And not only did I come out on top, the horse I picked had an amazing comeback that blew everyone else out of the water. The sheer thrill of victory was incredibly intense, and I could easily see someone fighting to get back to it again and again. But I was just happy to have won. I hindsight, I should have bet on Aladdin’s Cave to win, which had something like 11 to 1 odds, but I’m not that brave (or cocky).

Leopardstown, at least in the summer, is much more of an event than just a horse race. All summer they feature live performances after the races, so we were treated to the musical stylings of Duke Special. Duke Special is an incredibly odd looking man, with dreadlocks that go past his shoulder blades, and a purple crushed velvet suit with yellow shirt. His music was sort of a folky pop (read: boring), but the crowd seemed to enjoy him. I was just mad that Shan McGowan of the Pogues would be performing in mid-August and we wouldn’t get a chance to see him.

We weren’t sure what to do after Duke Special was finished until we learned there was a club on the Leopardstown premises. Club 92, also known as the Club of Love, was open to all Leopardstown attendants, and featured dancing until at least 2:00 in the morning. If someone had told me that I would be dancing to Ram Jam’s “Black Betty” with six other study abroad students at 1:00 in the morning at a racetrack before I had left to come to Ireland, I would have called them a liar. But there I was, and it was the perfect end to a winning night.

Day Fourteen: "Did You Know There Was A Castle In Dublin?"

This week's excursion was to Dublin Castle, a landmark so significant in Dublin's history that it turned out I had walked past its entrance about four times prior to our visit and I didn't even know it was there. Once you walk through the gate, however, we were treated to a gorgeous building that has incredible significance in Irish history. The bulk of the castle was built in the 18th century, and it's where the British viceroy overseeing Dublin would live. It's built on the remains of a castle built in the Norman era, thus it's much more modern that what we Americans usually imagine castles looking like.

The castle itself is quite interesting, as it housed the British representation in Ireland. It's quite ostentatious, and it was used to throw parties for the visiting dignitaries and other guests of the British empire. The one part of the tour that makes everyone's stomach churn is when we visited the dining room. It was notable that during the mid-1800s, those dining in Dublin castle would often engage in 12-course meals that would last for hours and hours. The mid-1800s were also, of course, the time of the Great Famine in Ireland, where over 1 million people starved to death and over 1.5 million were forced to leave the country to seek better living conditions. So while the wealthy British dined on their massive feasts, peasants who were literally starving to death would be banging on the gates outside, just trying to get someone to throw them a scrap of food. Needless to say, this is a somewhat harrowing image.

But it wasn't all bad! For me, the best part of Dublin Castle was the square at the center, and the historical significance of that site. For it was there, on January 16th, 1922, the British government handed Dublin Castle over to Michael Collins, and officially established the Irish Free State. It is one of the single most important moments in Irish history, and we were all lucky enough to set foot on the same hallowed ground.

Following a light lunch, we continued our excursion to the National History Museum. The museum was designed with the intention of creating a sense of a uniform Irish history, collecting artifacts from as early as the 3rd century BC. That being said, the museum goes to great lengths to ignore the presence of the British in Irish history. All the artifacts and pieces relate to an entirely Gaelic history, and there aren't any objects from the 1600s on, as they would all indicate the presence of the British. It's a typical Irish move: creating a very strong political statement by doing something that, at least on the surface, seems quite passive.

They do, however, have an amazing collection of bog bodies. Bog bodies are people who, for one reason or another (accident, ritual burial, torture, etc.), were dumped into the peat bogs around Ireland upon their death. The way the soil and nutrients collect in the bog allows these bodies to become perfectly preserved as they sat for hundreds of years. When scientists discovered these bodies, they instantly began to decay due to exposure to air for the first time in centuries, but were still incredibly well preserved. The National History Museum features several of these bodies, including one where you can make out the fingerprints, fingernails and pores on the back of the hand. It's utterly creepy, and still very cool. Sort of like mummies, but with much better preservation techniques.

Day Twelve & Day Thirteen: Let’s Take Some Time To Catch Our Collective Breath

In keeping with my grand tradition of Mondays and Tuesdays where I don’t really do anything, these two days were no different. So rather than waste this space with two more paragraph-long updates talking about summer school, I figured I’d expand a little on what this trip has been like so far.

Irish people, specifically those who live in Dublin, are some of the most idiosyncratic people on the planet. Let me explain. They often behave in a way that is completely different from everywhere else in the world, and they are more than content to do it. Case in point: when walking around the sidewalks of most American cities, you find people ambling along, taking their time and “stopping to smell the roses” (so to speak). In Dublin, every single person (with the exclusion of girls aged 14 to 18) walks at a rather swift pace that my history professor/program coordinator Dave Kilroy calls “Dublin Standard Pace.” This means that when you ask someone for directions, they may tell you it takes about 10 minutes, but you could end up walking for 20, especially if you’re looking at a map. Fortunately, I’m someone who enjoys walking very quickly, and so if I know where I’m going, I fit right in.

The other thing that really stands out about the Irish is their propensity to lie. Not lying in a malicious way, but in a joking way that can make it seem like you’re not really having a conversation so much as reciting dialogue in a comedy, and you’re the straight man. People of Ireland, specifically Dubliners, specifically Northsiders (north of the River Liffey) absolutely love to pull each other’s leg, and they love to do it to Americans even more. I’ve seen many people on our trip get a very confused look on their face as they try to figure out why this Irish person has just refused to give them directions. Usually, they see the look of confusion and let up, as they are not sociopaths. But the best way to get around this is to call them out on it. If you join them on the joke, they immediately see that you have your wits about you, and they’re instantly your best friend. Incidentally, that’s a good way to get someone to buy you a pint.

But one of the biggest things that has surprised me since I arrived here on the Emerald Isle is how backwards the American view of the Irish accent really is. Every single American I know thinks they can do an Irish accent. What I’ve realized is that the accent everyone is imitating is used by a very small percentage of the population, and they tend to live in rural areas. Within the city of Dublin, you’ll encounter at least two different accents (Northside and Southside), not to mention all the regional accents. It’s like the US, but compressed into a smaller country. But speaking with some Irish people (namely my film professor, Seamus), you would be hard pressed to figure out what country they were from. You can tell they have an accent, but it would be quite difficult to pin Ireland as the exact source. Lucky (the leprechaun from Lucky Charms cereal) would definitely come from the much more rural west, and thus his accent would stand out like a sore thumb in Dublin. Perhaps the worst instance of an American “doing” an Irish accent is Julia Roberts as Kitty Kiernan in Michael Collins, the story of the figurehead in the Irish War for Independence from Britain. I asked Seamus before watching the clip, “Does she have an Irish accent?” His reply: “She thinks she does.”

Day Eleven: “Feckin’ Jaysus!” And Other Things You Hear At A Hurling Match

Happy 4th of July! What better way to spend our nation’s birthday than going to a sporting event that is about as far away from American traditions as possible. Actually, that’s not true. Hurling embodies the classic American values of screaming profanities, regional pride, beer drinking and borderline humiliation of the losers. What a game!

In order to explain exactly what was going on, I have to explain a little Irish geography and some history of GAA hurling. Ireland is divided into four provinces (Connaught, Leinster, Munster and Ulster) and there are a total of 32 counties that make up these provinces. 31 of those 32 counties have hurling teams, and all of them are trying to win the All-Ireland Championship in September. In order to get there, each county’s team must play other teams in their province, first accumulating points, then playing each other in knockout rounds (like the World Cup). Each province then has their own final, establishing four of the teams that will compete in the All-Ireland. However, the losing teams still play some more, thus finding the four other teams to compete for the championship. Winning your province is a guaranteed trip to the final stages, but losing doesn’t mean you’re permanently out.

Whew. Moving on, then.

We happened to luck out and choose the weekend that was the Leinster province final, between Co. Galway and Co. Kilkenny. Leinster is widely recognized as the dominant province in hurling, especially since Kilkenny has won the All-Ireland for the past four years in a row. But before we got to the big match, we were treated to a minor league game between Co. Dublin and Co. Kilkenny (even their young teams are good). It was quite exciting to watch guys younger than me play a sport I barely understood with some pretty observable skill. Of course, Kilkenny won, much to the dismay of the many Dublin fans (it was practically a home game for them). We then observed an odd ritual, where the losing team had to stand on the field and watch as the winning team was presented with the Leinster Cup. Kilkenny was, obviously, quite happy, but the Dublin players looked pretty downtrodden, and had to do so in front of all the fans. Ah, humiliation!

After a brief intermission, the senior game kicked off. Unlike the minor’s game, this match began with a procession around the pitch, led by a bagpipe band and followed by both teams marching in two single file lines behind them. Then, everyone rose and sang the Irish national anthem. It’s quite odd to be in a stadium where everyone knows the words to a song except you, but I guess that’s exactly what it’s like to be Irish at a baseball game. I tried to fake it, but guess what? You can’t read Gaelic words off the giant screen like you’re reading English and get away with it. The song is, however, quite short, and, amidst cheers, we were off.

After a few minutes, it becomes pretty easy to follow a hurling game. Players want to get a baseball-sized sliotar either into a goal or through the uprights that extend above the goal. Each time the ball goes through the uprights, the team gets a point. In the net (a goal) is worth three points. Scores are written, for example, like “Kilkenny 1-19, Galway 1-12,” with goals listed first, then points. You can’t run with the ball for more than four steps, you can’t throw the ball (you have to toss it in the air and hit it with your open palm) and you can’t hit a person with your stick. Other than that, it’s pretty no-holds-barred. There’s a lot of physical contact, about as much as a hockey game, but the players wear helmets as their only padding. Anything else and you’re seen as a wimp.

Kilkenny are basically the Yankees of hurling. They’ve won the All-Ireland more than anybody else, and it’s always a safe bet that they’re going to go far. Because of this, our group decided to cheer for the underdogs, Galway. Galway, however, are comparable the team that repeatedly beats the Yankees about the face and neck. I’m not to familiar with the intricacies of all the counties’ hurling histories, but it became quickly apparent that Galway was big on the strategy of beating their opponents into submission. This is all well and good (and makes for an exciting and physical game), but it doesn’t necessarily put points on the board. Kilkenny proved victorious, and once again we got to watch them hoist the cup while the Galway players looked on in a gloomy state.

There’s one more thing I should say about hurling, and all GAA sports for that matter. What I find most impressive about the whole venture is that every single GAA athlete is an amateur. They cannot get paid for playing their respective sports, although winning the All-Ireland does come with a reasonable purse for the county. This means that all the players have regular day jobs. Many of them are teachers, as the hurling season is over the summer, and they can dedicate their time completely to the game. Also, you play for the county you live in for your entire life. From when you first pick up a hurling stick to when you play your last senior match, you are dedicated completely to your home county. In a world where American athletes get traded on a seemingly yearly basis and get paid boatloads of cash, it’s nice to know that there is a part of the world where they truly are dedicated to the purity of the game.

FOOTNOTE: I should mention that Co. Galway is not actually in the Leinster province. They’re actually located in the west (in Connaught) but were deemed too good for the area, and so now play in the Leinster division. The match we attended was actually quite historic, as it was the first time a non-provincial team has made it to the final of the province they play in. So well done Galway. Hopefully they’ll make it to the All-Ireland the more circuitous route.

Day Ten: Malahide Mayhem

Dublin, despite what some locals may tell you, has a pretty darn good public transportation system. There’s a whole spiderweb of bus routes to take you all over the area, and the DART is reasonably inexpensive and pretty fast. And because DART serves Dublin and its environs, it becomes just a short jaunt to the end of its route, Malahide.

I don’t really know much about the town of Malahide, other than it features a quaint little downtown that boasts an alarmingly large number of pubs. The central area of town is only about three square blocks, but we passed by at least eight different establishments for grabbing a pint. It also was home to the most temperamental weather I’ve seen since leaving Oregon. In traditional Pacific Northwest fashion, it rained intensely for about five minutes before breaking into brilliant sunshine, which eventually settled into a partly cloudy sky. I’m home!

To get to Malahide Castle (the only real reason for this trip), you have to traverse a very large park that has been formed from what used to be the castle grounds. The park is massive, and on the way to the castle we passed a cricket game in progress, two full size hurling/Gaelic football fields (not in use), a very large children’s playground and a series of soccer fields. Apparently the Malahide Castle grounds have over 500 different types of tree, but all I know is that it was the first time Ireland has lived up to the reputation for greenery that I had heard so much about.

Walking through all of this almost made me forget about the actual castle, which made it all the more surprising when we turned a corner and were suddenly faced with a large medieval castle. Malahide Castle is not the oldest castle in Ireland (it was built in 1108), nor is it the biggest (I have no idea which one is), but it was the first honest-to-God castle I think I’ve ever been in. And for that, it was pretty incredible. People actually lived in the castle from when it was built until it was sold to the Dublin City Council in the 1970s, so the interior has some far more modern touches than the exterior belies. Still, most of the rooms have been preserved to their mid-1800s incarnations, and it really is quite neat. They didn’t allow us to take pictures, presumably to prevent us from sharing detailed information on how to bust through the Irish castle defense system that is currently in place. Regardless, we saw a peacock when we left, so it put a nice cap on the whole experience.

Day Nine: Temple Braü, Brain Blasta And Wrasslers XXXX

The benefit of the AHA International style of running a study abroad program is their weekly schedule. We only have classes on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, allowing for day trips on Wednesdays and three-day weekends for sightseeing, etc. We decided to spend this weekend around the Dublin area, exploring places we’d yet to see.

This, of course, led to one of the most popular destinations in Dublin: Temple Bar and its environs. There are all sorts of shops and restaurants to look into, and no one really bats an eye if you’re not Irish. In fact, Temple Bar is one of the few places in Dublin where there seem to be more foreigners than actual Irish people. It has a very international vibe that makes it a very nice experience, especially for those of the college age.

But all that walking requires sustenance, so naturally we began looking for the most interesting food options. We landed on a place called the Porterhouse Brewing Co., largely because the rule in the US is that breweries usually make good food and they often have sampler options for their beers. We were correct on both counts. For a mere €5, you got three 1/3 pints of any of their nine house beers. I opted for a lager called Temple Braü, an ale called Brain Blasta and a stout called Wrasslers XXXX.

Temple Braü is described as “the lager beer of Temple Bar,” which seems unlikely due to the sheer number of pubs in Temple Bar, and the fact that only one of them actually serves Temple Braü. Regardless, it was delicious, and quite easy to drink. Brain Blasta is described as “a deep copper tinged brew for the true aficionado,” and is exactly that. It was a bit too bitter for my liking, and its 7% alcohol content was somewhat unexpected. But that’s why you get a sampler, right? Wrasslers XXXX is, apparently, the best beer they serve at the Porterhouse Brewing Co., and they say it’s “a stout like your grandfather used to drink.” As one member of our party observed, “It looks like oil in a glass.” That it did, but it’s taste was about as far away from oil as possible. I hate to admit it, but it might be better than Guinness, and I’ve had it at the source.

Walking around Temple Bar after our samplers made things far more interesting. The weather in Ireland has been incredibly nice, which just about every Irish person has been quick to point out to us Yanks. I’ve tried to explain that Oregon has very similar weather most of the year, but it largely falls on deaf ears. Anyway, we wandered around Temple Bar for another two hours or so in glorious sunshine, then took the DART home. After yet another full dinner, we went for a long walk around Dun Laoghaire, watching the sunset over the ocean.

I think I could live here.

Day Eight: Not Much To Say

There really is nothing to report about today. I went to my classes, did some homework in the afternoon, then spent the evening chatting with the other people in our house. But what I’ve realized is that this is all okay. I’m in Ireland for five weeks, so I’m entitled to the occasional day of semi-relaxation. It doesn’t make for an interesting blog entry, but I can only give so much. Don’t worry, I’m sure it will all get more interesting.