When Irish Skies Are Smiling

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to remember a lot of the Irish history that was imparted to us on a "free" three hour walking tour around Dublin.  It's "free" because you only pay at the end if you feel it was worth it.  Our guide, Patrick, had strawberry blonde hair and very pale blue eyes.  Despite that, he looked like Johnny Depp.  Three hours of eye candy with an Irish accent.  Patrick got paid.

Our afternoon was spent walking from Killiney to Dalkey, a couple of small seaside towns that are home to Bono, Enya, and Van Morrison.  We think we saw the wall around Bono's little shack but who knows.  We asked a guy walking by if he knew where Bono lived.  He said he didn't care.  And Enya lives in a castle.  So she must have a moat.  Bottom line -- neither came out to invite us in for tea.  Worst case of celebrity stalking ever.  Or the polite Canadian version...you chose.

There's nothing stereotypically Irish about the area.  Unless you think of palm-like trees when you think of Ireland.

It was one of those stunningly beautiful days where you can't tell where the sea ends and the sky starts.  

But they're missing the boat.  All of this gorgeous shoreline and not one outdoor waterside cafe to be found.  What's up with that?  And while we may not be able to find "celebrity" houses unaided, we did manage to locate some beer, cider, and wings, albeit not with a water view.

Correction.  We did see Maeve Binchy's house.  Right beside the pub where she was a regular.

And just to clarify...neither of us are U2 fans.  So why did we want to see his house?  Because we were there?  Seems a good enough reason.  And not being a U2 fan, I wasn't really aware that Bono apparently isn't very popular here in Ireland.  Evidenced by this -- what's the difference between God and Bono?

God doesn't think he's Bono.

Look Up...Waaaay Up

Did I mention we've relocated to Dublin?  Day before yesterday.  Smooth as silk journey of trains and ferry to arrive here on the Emerald Isle.  Yesterday we went on a 12 hour bus tour, followed up with a couple of pints...so yep, I'm writing this the morning after.  Now if you're thinking, "12 hours on a bus -- shoot me now!" then you obviously haven't been on a Paddywagon bus tour with a driver named Val.  Think Robin Williams doing one of his manic dialogues and that pretty much sums up Val.  And any tour bus driver who can also recommend an above decent local craft beer, gets top marks from me.

The sights weren't bad either.  There were a few stops along the way but the purpose and highlight of the tour was the Cliffs of Moher.  The surprise of the day was that we also had the chance to go out in a ferry to see them from the water before the walk along the top. The three highest cliffs in Europe are all in Ireland and the Cliffs of Moher are the 2nd highest, at over 700 feet.

The bonus of seeing them from the water is getting up close to the sea stack where 29 different species of birds nest.

 

The other bonus of seeing them from the water is there is no chance of falling off.  Apparently a few do...

And there's even a Harry Potter moment at the cliffs -- this was the cave in the Half Blood Prince where Dumbledore and Harry went to find the locket containing a horcrux.  It was the only part of the HP movies filmed outside of the U.K.  Did I mention it was raining and blowing and getting foggy up there?

The cliffs are Ireland's second most popular tourist attraction.  

A pint of Guinness if you can guess the first.

When Dreams Come True

I remember watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.  The first album I bought was Rubber Soul.  Their music is the soundtrack of my youth.  I'd like to say my "misguided youth" but I was horribly goody-two-shoes.  I didn't do "misguided" until I was in my 20's.  Bad behaviour really is wasted on teens.  So when we started planning our UK trip, Liverpool and a Beatles tour was top of my must do's.  I did my research and booked a private tour with MopTop Tours, scoring Stevie T, the number one rated tour guide on Trip Advisor.  He did not disappoint.  To call the experience surreal would be an understatement.  Had I died at the end, I would have gone out a happy woman!

I only took about a gazillion photos.  So without further ado, you know that old cliche about pictures and words, here's just a small taste from my day...

Ringo's childhood home, saved for the time being from the wrecking ball, although the whole neighbourhood is boarded up...

Paul's family home, now owned by the National Trust and open for tours...

Where John lived with Aunt Mimi, very nice digs, also owned by the National Trust...

And last -- but never least -- George's place, now privately owned...

A very important place in the history of the group -- St Peter's Church where Paul first heard John's skiffle band, The Quarry Men play at the fete on July 6, 1957 and the hall across the street where they first met and Paul played for John...

Song inspirations...

You have to be a true Beatles fan to get how absolutely totally cool it is to see this stuff.  There's just no way to describe it.

You either get it or you don't.

Imagine!

What do you get when you drop three chatty Beatles fans into the Beatles Story in Liverpool?  If you meet and chat up the right guys, you get a private tour of an exhibit that's not even open yet to the public.  Here's the story...

We arrive in Liverpool, check into our hotel conveniently located right beside the train station and a hop, skip, and a jump to the Albert Dock where we find one of the two buildings housing the Beatles Story.  Being a little confused about the whole set up, I ask these two guys wearing the official shirts how the whole thing works.  And the banter begins.  Katrina presents them with some Mountie pins.  They're pretty stoked about that.  We tour the exhibit, British Invasion as well as Beatles, and when we come out, these guys are waiting and give us some of those souvenir pennies...you know, the kind you can press and flatten.  We take a little group photo and they tell us there is a new exhibit opening the next day -- George, Eric, & Me...a personal collection of photos by Patty Boyd.  Oh, and would we like to see it? A little sneak preview? A personal tour? Are ya kidding? Sign me up!  And wow! What awesome photos.  If you know anything about me, you know George is my favourite Beatle, so the collection was especially poignant for me.

  

Then it was off for the main event, in another building, down the docks a way. I was so pumped... 

...and so I hate to admit this, but -- I was a little disappointed.  Maybe it was the excitement of what had just happened; maybe it was having seen that freaking awesome Rolling Stones exhibit the day before.  Maybe I was expecting something different.  It just lacked any real impact except for a series of photos of John at the end and his white Imagine piano. Sorry, Beatles fans.

But hey, I'm in Liverpool and I have another whole day to soak it all in.  And the weather is amazing. And there was a sunset over the Mersey.

Does it really get any better than that?

Pucker Up And Say Goodbye

We've had a pretty action packed schedule here in London, mostly things we booked and paid for well ahead of time.  So it's been kind of like a "free" holiday ever since we arrived.  Now it may seem like that's playing it pretty rigid for a "holiday" but most of the things we've done, we wouldn't have been able to get tickets for without booking in advance.  So when we found ourselves with an open day, it was a no-brainer -- the Rolling Stones Exhibitionism display at the Saatchi Gallery.  If you find yourself in London from now until September 4, do yourself a favour and make the time.  Even if you're not a Stones fan.  One of, if not THE best exhibit I've ever attended. Especially liked the clothes.  There was a pair of pants on display worn by Keith Richards that I would kill to own.  Would I fit them?  (Hahahaha...me, rolling on the floor laughing) Not in this lifetime, but a girl can dream.  Sadly -- just like every place we've been except Harry -- no photography or you'd be seeing those pants.  You'll just have to settle for the tongue...

We capped off the London leg of our UK adventures at The Chambers of Flavour.  Now I really wish I could tell you about this "dining experience" but I've taken an oath and been sworn to secrecy.  As a Gingerlines alumni I take my oath seriously.  All I can really tell you is that you enter "the machine" which transports you into worlds unknown to eat, drink, and be merry in the most incredible interactive dining experience EVER.  Again, no pics allowed, except for these in the bar area.  Intrigued?  Google Gingerlines.  And if you're ever in London...

Final stop -- the Tower of London for the Ceremony of the Keys.  Tickets are free online, if you get them early enough.  And you get to witness a ceremony that happens 24/7/365 at 10:00 p.m. for over 700 years.  It's short but kinda cool, when you think how long it's been going on.  Nice to know the Crown Jewels are well protected.  Again, no photos.  So you'll have to settle for the Tower Bridge...

And that's it from London.  Next stop Liverpool.

You know what that means.

What's Popping Up In London

Three women, day five in London, and this is the first day we've indulged in a little retail therapy.  Except for the mandatory gift shops they funnel you through at places like Harry Potter.  And no, I did not buy a wand or a quidditch broom.  Good sense prevailed.  I also refrained from buying anything bearing the image or likeness of any Royal at either Kensington Palace or Highclere Castle. But I did manage to find the clothing line Weird Fish that I've seen people wearing and even hit a 20% off sale.  You just know it's going to be a good day when...

And it was a good day.  Afternoon tea at Waterstones.  No one got hit by a bus.  Or a urinal.  Nope, not a typo.  We came upon this contraption outside Paddington station.  It's called a Urilift.  It has three, what...stations?  Holes? Actually saw a guy zipping up today.  And it's not exactly in a discrete location. Right smack dab on a busy corner.  Pop up toilets.  Who knew?

But the real highlight of the day -- yep, even better than the urinal -- was Motown the Musical.  Could well have been called the Barry Gordy Diana Ross story.  But it was a rocking good time with all the Motown hits from the late 50's through to the early 80's.  Over 60 songs packed into 2 h 45 min. Little Michael Jackson in his purple hat and fringe vest stole the show. Although it was also interesting what Rick James could do with a microphone during Super Freak.

Just hope I don't see him down at the Urilift.

Do You Know Your ABC's?

I'm yet to meet a Brit who has watched -- or will admit to watching -- Downton Abbey.  But surely all those cars at Highclere Castle didn't belong to tourists. And I'm pretty sure I heard a lot of British accents in the queues inside and out.  So either they're all closet fans or they just enjoy touring through old castles.  In the ABC land of 'another bloody church' or 'another bloody castle' my money is on the closet.

And for those of us who will whole heartedly shout from the rooftops, "I'm a fan!" a trip to the castle is almost akin to visiting the Harry Potter studios. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration.  Okay, a lot of exaggeration.  But standing in the same spaces where Mary bitched, Carson sniffed, and Maggie Smith delivered some of the best one liners every heard on network TV is pretty damn cool.  Except for the "no photography inside the castle" rule.  That whole notion of photography damages the paintings and tapestries is just so much BS.  Think about it -- is the dinky flash on my camera going to compete with the lights of a television crew?  Methinks they just want to sell more of the guidebooks they flog at the front entrance.

So Downton fans, you'll just have to settle for these exterior shots that will likely look familiar...

Meanwhile, back in London, it's a bank holiday weekend, and the Canalway Cavalcade is in full swing at Little Venice in the Paddington Basin which is conveniently located a hop, skip, and a jump from our hotel.  

Oh, and back at the castle, we were in the downstairs hallway heading towards the exit when the lady of the house, the Countess of Carnarvon, scurried by with her dog, and headed up a nearby stairwell, after carefully affixing the security rope behind her.

I'm sure her haste was the only reason we weren't invited up for tea.