Yesterday was Bloomsday, a date for great celebration in Dublin.  Kristen and I planned a day filled with adventure, and in our attempt to follow Bloom’s footsteps, we designed our own 24 hour Odyssey (Well, technically 17 hour).  We made things additionally hard on ourselves by trying to include events from both Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus’ June 16th, 1904.

Telemachus

We started the day off in Sandycove.  What a wonderful beginning!  Walking through town, we were greeted by restaurants and stores decorated for the occasion.  We also passed a group of children dressed in their Edwardian best who all wished a joyous “Happy Bloomsday!”  There was an exciting air of festivity, and it gave me a deep appreciation for a city and nation that could celebrate a work of literature with such enthusiasm.  At the Martello tower, we saw where Joyce stayed with St. John Gogarty, and where Ulysses was born.  This is also the opening scene of the novel.  From there we also visited the Forty Foot, a swimming place described in the novel.  We didn’t swim, but we did exercise our right to be there.  In Joyce’s time it would have been reserved exclusively for males, but a 1970’s “Attack of the Forty Foot Women” changed that.

Nestor

Next we walked in to Dalkey, the coastal town where Stephen Dedalus was a school teacher.  We warmed up in a little restaurant called the End Note, where we exchanged ghost stories while sipping tea with milk, the way Buck Mulligan would have insisted it be done.

Proteus

After Dalkey, we took a Dart train in to Sandymount.  Walking to and then navigating the train system was definitely a strenuous part of our odyssey.  This, in fact, was not our first time in Sandymount that day.  We had accidentally already been there once after getting on a train going in the wrong direction.  This time, however, it was our actual destination.  We walked in to town, where we happened to be arriving just in time for a presentation of 6 skits from Ulysses.  We watched Stephen walk blindly down the strand, Leopold shop for liver and explain to Molly the definition of “metempsychosis,” Bloom and Dedalus stumble drunkenly towards home, and Molly recall the day she agreed to marry Leopold (“Yes!”).  After the presentation, we went to the Sandymount Strand ourselves.  The tide was out, and it was an amazing place.  One can perhaps not understand Stephen’s walk “into eternity” without seeing the strand itself.  The packed sand stretches out almost as far as the eye can see, merging with the water and the the horizon off in the distance.  I also walked along with my eyes closed, listening to the world around me.  In some ways, it was similar to what Dedalus would have heard: the wind through the grass, the far off crashing of waves; but my experience was modified by the cars whooshing past and the sounds of construction not far off.  When I opened my eyes and discovered that the world was still there, I saw winding roads, towering cranes, and far in the distance a carrier ship.  At first it made me think that my experience was less authentic because there was more man-made interference, but it is not so much interference as the reality of my unique experience, instead of a failed recreation of Dedalus’.

There was much, much more to the day, but this was perhaps my favorite part.  It is also one of my favorite parts in the book (not just because it comes early on, either).

“Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. Basta! I will see if I can see.

See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end.”

That certainly wasn’t the end of our day, but it is the end of this one!  More adventures to come!

Today I had the opportunity to visit the National Gallery.  I really enjoyed my earlier visit to the Hugh Lane and today to the National Galleries.  The art in this city is amazing.  Dublin had a huge boom in the arts at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th.  This is my very favorite time period for all artistic mediums, so there is a lot here for me to enjoy.  Both the art galleries that we have visited have had on display some amazing pieces by Irish painters.  I have especially liked the works of Jack Yeats, W.B. Yeats’ younger brother, and Paul Henry, a post-impressionist landscape artist.

There is an interesting balance in the galleries between Irish works and other european artists.  There is certainly an emphasis on painters from Ireland that I have found refreshing and that is sometimes not found in other galleries in other cities.  However, I also find interesting the pride the gallery takes in its other european works.  For example, the National Gallery has a nice collection of paintings from the Dutch school, including a Vermeer.  In the gift shop, I found a lovely bookmark with “Irish National Gallery” printed on it, along with a reproduction of the Vermeer painting.  The Dutch school of painting has a very distinct look and is linked to a distinct place.  I find it interesting, then, that they chose this piece of art to include on the bookmark.  Of course a Vermeer would be expensive, and for a gallery to own one is something to advertise.  But it seems strange to me that this would be a greater point of pride for the gallery than the excellent work done by Dubliners and Irish painters.  Which is more impressive for a National Gallery, owning an expensive piece of art that has no connection to the nation or an exquisite but under appreciated artist from that place?

Paul Henry from national gallery.ie

Jack B Yeats, image from nationalgallery.ie

Vermeer, Lady Writing a Letter, image from national gallery.ie

Yesterday we went on a walking tour that focused on the events of the Easter Rising 1916.  Surprisingly, our tour guide was Lorcan Collins, the author of The Easter Rising: A Guide to Dublin 1916, which we had read for class.  Mr. Collins has done a lot of research and is very well informed on the subject, and he was the best tour guide one could hope to have.

What I found interesting and a little surprising was his support of the Irish Republican Army.  This, I have found, is not an uncommon sentiment here.  I was still young when the Troubles came to an official end in Ireland.  I didn’t really understand all that was taking place, but I remember having a sense of it and knew a little about the IRA.  What I remember knowing is that they were dangerous and scary.  They set off bombs.  I had the distinct impression that they were “bad people.”  This impression has continued into my adulthood through portrayals of the IRA in popular culture.  Never have they seemed to be on the right side.  Instead, they are seen in shows like Sons of Anarchy, smuggling weapons and drugs across the Atlantic and working alongside dangerous American gangs.  Gangs – that is the impression that I have always had of the IRA; it wasn’t of a group fighting for what they believed in, it was simply violence and illegal activity.  Even when we watched Michael Collins before leaving for this trip, the IRA was shown as being on the wrong side.  Viewers are encouraged to side with the idea of the Irish Free State and interpret Eamon De Valera as the villain.

This was not Lorcan Collins’ position on the tour.  In his book, he presents a (more or less) objective presentation of the 1916 Easter Rising.  However, in the tour, Mr. Collins voiced much stronger opinions about the Rising and its aftermath.  In terms of the vote to accept the Irish Free State, Lorcan viewed the move as a mistake.  “It is tempting to choose peace,” he said.  He said that he did not blame those who voted for the Free State but that he did think it was the wrong decision.  He painted a new picture, for me, of the Irish Republican Army.  His energy for the cause, and the historical context into which he put the movement, helped me understand the complexity of the issue and some of the motivation.  It also seems that Lorcan Collins is not alone in these sentiments.  With the understanding that I had of the IRA before arriving, I thought that discussing the Troubles would be a taboo topic.  The IRA would be talked about the same way we talk about Americans who join ISIS.  But that’s not it at all.  Many people that I have talked to support the ideas of the IRA, if not all of their actions.  Many of the people here still believe in an Irish Republic and still seem to believe in the importance of taking action to make that a reality.  (I have a feeling, though, that we may see something very different on this subject when we get to Belfast.)

I have been thinking a lot about claiming place.  Does place have its own, intrinsic value; or does space become place based on the human definition of it?  In what ways do we claim space?  In what ways do we have a right to?

When traveling, especially when staying in one place for an extended time, it is important for me to find a way to define “my” place – to lay claim.  When first arriving to UCD campus, one of the first things I did was unpack.  I put pictures up on my board, set my computer on the desk, draped headbands from a hook, etc.  I hate living out of a suitcase; it feels too transient.  I have a need to feel grounded, even when in a new place. I need to create a “home.”

Today, I spent more time in the apartment than I have in previous days.  Most of the group came together and made a spaghetti dinner.  Afterwards, we sat around and stayed up too late having in-depth conversations.  This, too, has made this space feel like home.  Much like hanging up my clothes and displaying my pictures, having good food and making good friends has really helped me feel grounded in this place.  Of course, this apartment and city cannot feel like home in only 5 days, but it is beginning to feel “homey.”

I have been on group trips before, and the dynamic of this group is better than any I have been with previously.  We stay in contact with each other, keep track of and take care of each other, and have even enjoyed making meals for the rest of the group.  This energy has really helped the group, both those of us who have travelled before and those who haven’t.  Even after my other traveling experience, I still usually tend to homesickness, but I haven’t really experienced that on this trip.  Of course I miss my family (hi mom!) and husband, but the kindness and energy of this group has really helped to make this feel like a home-space.

Yesterday we visited the Hugh Lane Gallery that includes a striking installation of Francis Bacon’s studio. The gallery removed each item from the studio’s original location and reproduced the space piece for piece within the museum.  When considering theories of place in conjunction with this studio, we might begin by asking questions about the changes that a place undergoes when it is dis-placed.  However, I want to go in a slightly different direction and consider the experience of the visitor.  Under what circumstances can one claim to have been to or been in a place?

My family has a rule that you can’t say you’ve been to a country if you don’t leave the airport.  If you have a layover and go out into the city, then it counts whether or not you spend the night.  This family rule informs the way that I feel about experiencing place.  One must experience a place to be able to claim it.  At the Francis Bacon studio, there is small space where one can “go in” to the room.  There is about a 3’x3′ glass alcove that allows one to have a simulated feeling of entering the space.  But does this count as entering?  How many of the 5 senses must be awaken?  Does seeing a place counting as “going”?  Or must one touch, smell, taste, and hear in order to experience?  Where is the line drawn?  I would argue that the hermetic seal between the visitor and the Francis Bacon studio keeps the individual from being able to claim having truly “been” in that place.  But what about a room that is simply roped off?  Does that count as “being” in a place?  It’s closer.  Maybe, in the end, it doesn’t matter.  The way we lay claim to places is perhaps arbitrary to begin with.  But I will say that I have seen the Francis Bacon studio.