In the Half-Light

There is a very long twilight here. It's a time when people and objects are not visible in a full body of light but rather, you catch a passing glimpse of them through the half-light. Walking in twilight, shadows leave your mind to wander. It is a time of silhouttes and second-guessing. It is a time that can do some strange things to the imagination, and I wonder if it's a catalyst for Ireland's rich storytelling culture, from the daily craic to their ancient literary tradition. While taking a twilight walk through Saint Anne's park , the effect on Celtic lore (particularly tree worship) became obvious. Walking briskly, and rather nervously, in an effort to find our way out of the park before complete darkness, trees became boastful sea creatures, exposing swelled chests to the navy sky; they gathered as meddling mothers or voluptuous women; they froze as giants, caught in the act of escaping their own roots.

Yes, the odd interpretative medium of twilight.

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After we had slept off the remnants of sedatives and alcohol from our flight, we spent our first full day with Sarah and Stephen (Colin's brother and sister), first driving to Howth Head for a quick walk along the cliffs, then heading south into town (or the "city," as I say) for a visit to the Guinness Strorehouse. Howth is one of Colin's favorite places on this planet; it's not hard to understand why. It appears in several of Joyce's works, and supposedly has great relevance in  Finnegan's Wake, which I have yet to tackle. (Howth shows up in Dubliners too. At least I can say I've read that.) I can either bore or inspire you with descriptions of a heavenly sun filtering though mountainous clouds, or the jagged coastline stretching into the cold Irish sea, but  perhaps let the pictures speak for themselves.

Colin's great twilight shot. 

Brothers and sister soaking in the beauty.

Howth in full bloom. This was actually taken on our last trip, nearly 5 years ago. 

After a muddy ramble donning inappropriate boots, after Colin had determined that he would one day live in the Howth lighthouse and, full of revery, led us astray in some overgrown bush, we packed it in and drove to the Storehouse. I'm not particularly one for visiting buildings or taking tours. I would much rather walk through the streets, or the fields, or the beaches of wherever and get my fill of the space that way, than reading plaques and not being able to touch anything (or be touched by anything) indoors. But then again, this trip involved Guinness. The Storehouse was more interesting than expected, particularly visually. The interior architecture is set up to replicate a pint of Guinness, with seven winding floors taking you through an "incredible journey" of the beer's complex lifetime. Everything from the history of the building, to the fermentation process, to tasting, to marketing and advertising is covered. I, much to my own surprise, spent a decent amount of time entranced by the "Craft of the Cooper," watching old black and white videos of the cooper at work through the top of an old wooden cask. Did you know that the when a new cooper was to be initiated, his fellow brothers would throw him into his own barrel, dump oak shaving and water on top of him, and then proceed to roll him around? I think part of it also involves banging on the barrel with hammers, and I seem to remember fire, but that couldn't possibly be.

At the conclusion of our self-guided experience, we enjoyed a free pint on the seventh floor at the Gravity Bar, sourrounded by glass windows looking out onto Dublin city.

Yours truly. Slainte! 

Back at home in Raheny, as the twilight began to fall upon Dublin, a cozy night of storytelling and mystery was to ensue. It would be our first real night in Dublin, spent inside the  Dempsey household. I remembered it well since the last time I had been there, and was happy that we gathered in what had been my favorite room, a mauve and red sitting room just off the kitchen, opening up into the back courtyard (where Sarah's rabbits would be hopping about). There is a small dining table, a leather couch, television, fireplace and pictures of the family, particularly the kids through the years; as children posing for portraits, as young adults in cap and gown.

We enjoyed a warm meal of minced meat, vegetables and potatoes, and glass after glass of red wine. The evening did not lack in conversation, from the day's happenings, to family updates and childhood memories, and finally, tales of spirits and hauntings. Stephen mentioned his interest in visiting the Wicklow jail (or gaol) which has only recently been opened to the public, and is supposedly one of the most haunted destinations in Ireland. (For a country  with a rather bleak and gruesome past, I wonder just how many restless spirits this place must contain to gain such a title.) He tempted us with a recent psychic's visit to the establishmment, and the terrifying findings that were encountered in cell 13, the "hanging" cell.  So a tentative trip was planned. (More on that in a future post.)

After dinner, out came the tarot cards, more of an amusement than a serious pastime for Colin's mother, Denise. Each of us picked three cards, representing past, present and future. She interpreted the cards for us, based on intuition and what the cards said to her. I gave it a shot, after about my third glass of wine, and found them to be very stimulating, full of symbols just waiting to be decoded, though I could not tell you what on earth I happened to predict....

And so we continued in this way, far past twilight time, into the earlier hours of the morning, until eventually, one by one, we retired to bed.