I was looking at my Flickr page, seeing how many people had looked at my latest batch of vacation photos, and I noticed something:

pictures with people get more visits than pictures of beautiful landscapes. Fair enough--the picture never quite captures the majesty.

But pictures of hot women always, always, always get more hits. Case in point: the blown-up picture of the supremely hot flight attendants from my flight to Dublin a couple of weeks ago.

God I love Ireland.

Okay, so someone from Ireland called my cell phone yesterday. (or as you from the Emerald Isle would say, my "mobile.")

Phone isn't doing so well at keeping voice mail messages, so I don't know who it was. Which really drives me crazy, because seriously, how many people get a call from overseas on their phone? That's like ordering a hamburger and getting steak to a guy like me!

Got back into town Monday afternoon, after a long but smooth flight home. Thanks to Doug and Donna for picking me up at O'Hare and taking me out for an early (or was it late?) dinner. Fought to stay awake but crashed around 9:30 pm. Good thing about this trip was that it helped me get back into a normal sleep mode.

It's been a busy rest-of-the-week: mostly at work, getting the classroom ready, and trying to recall stuff that's been archived in the back of my head for three years.

Lots more to say about the trip, and hopefully I'll get the chance to write a proper closing, but if I don't write anything else, the largest and warmest of thanks need to go out to The Dubliners (Donal, Isobel, Linus and Elimare) and the Glaswegian (Colin) for everything they did, from hitting the pubs on a Monday night, to touring around the Wicklow Mountains, to putting me up for a couple of nights and driving me through southern Scotland, and for fighting through severe back pain for one final night of drinks and conversation.

It summed up everything I believe in when it comes to blogging and travel and the role technology can play in bringing people together from far-flung places.

Now, off to work for a while, and then a farewell to Ben, my cousin, who will be having his own Awfully Big Adventure in Japan this fall.

Click the picture below to go to the now-complete Flickr slideshow of the trip.

Midnight, Ireland

Last night in Dublin, after a semi-drunken night out with Linus. Sitting in my hotel room, listening to the drunken Dubliners slowly make their way out of the pubs. Waiting for it to quiet down, so I can fall asleep. Sitting on the bed, typing away.

This makes the seventh night in a row that I've had free internet usage. In the past week I've spent several nights with people I met on the internet, received calls from my cell from several thousand miles away, uploaded vacation photos to a shared website moments after I took them, and stayed at hotels booked entirely online. And despite a looming Aer Lingus strike, I was able to take care of everything through email and websites and the dilligent work of my dear mother.

And now I'm sitting in bed, typing on the laptop, chatting with Jane from Seattle (who used to be Jane from work, but had the courage to move someplace New), and I'm so far from home, and yet home is right here. If I wanted to, I could grab my iPod and listen to any song I've ever purchased.

As Jasper once said: it's a time to be alive.

Sunday Morning, Glasgow

Sunday morning, Glasgow

Woke early and spent some time updating my Flickr page--the trip now has a proper Set, but will still need some work and adding to before it's finished.

Yesterday was a mixed bag of good and wet. Rained all day all over Scotland, and the traffic getting out of Glasgow was just horrendous. By the time we made it to St. Andrews, The Wolves in the Walls was more than half over, and so I never made it to the show.

The drive itself was great, however. Colin rented a very comfortable Jetta for the day, and I was able to sit back and watch the Scottish countryside roll by while he careened around sharp corners and flew through various towns and cities.

Wandered around St. Andrews a bit, had fish and chips in Anstruther, then headed down to Glasgow. Got to see the famous cantilevered Forth bridge while driving over the also-famous Forth Road Bridge (sorry, the weather was too mucky to take pics. Wikipedia will have to do instead.)

Caught the closing night of The Bacchae, which was one of the big draws at the Edinburgh International Festival, the largest arts festival in Europe. It featured the return to the Scottish stage of hometown boy Alan Cumming. It also featured a lot of lazy hamming and mincing around by Mr. Cumming. The play had some flaws, but still a great experience nonetheless.

And that's been Scotland, more or less. There was a lot of conversation, and pub-hopping Friday night, and more of that excellent bacon they have over here. But mostly just the deep getting-to-know a place, and people, that my traveling has become. I don't think I've seen one historial site or stepped foot into a single museum. I like doing those things, mind you, but I haven't really done any of that lately.

Time to pack up, hop back over to Dublin, and then home tomorrow. And then back to the great work ahead of me.

Yesterday was one of those days where I do nothing but sit on a train or wait for a plane to be boarded. The train part is kind of fun; you can read and listen to music and look out the window. Waiting for the plane is always a bitch, though. And I had to kill a good two hours at Dublin airport waiting for the plane to Glasgow.

Ok, so theAer Lingus thing: apparently the pilots are getting screwed over by the company; something about switching a hub to Belfast and pulling foreign pilots instead of Irish pilots. I could go into more detail, but just click here if you want to read more.

Donal figured it would blow over, but it looks like he might have misjudged that one. The strike is scheduled for next Tuesday, which was coincidentally the day I was flying home on Aer Lingus. Had to spend a bunch of time (and a bit of money, which I plan on collecting from Aer Lingus at a later date) rearranging my travel schedule, and now I'm coming home a day early.

I'm in Glasgow now, staying at Colin's flat, and we're about to leave for St. Andrews and Edinburgh, to catch a couple of NTS shows. Tomorrow it's back to Dublin, then, for a final night before heading home.

More to come--just giving everying a quick update.

Let Me Tell You About My Hotel

It's called The Glasshouse, and it's new, although it looks like what people thought the future would look like back in 1968. Lots of orange and interesting patterns on the carpet.

It sits on the west side of the River Garavogue, a shallow, fast-moving thing that dumps into Sligo Bay, on the northwest coast of Ireland.

I like it, even though I don't usually go for something so intentionally artsy. It sits as a sharp contrast to what Sligo is considered to be (i.e. forgotten and dumpy) and boldly tries to be different. So that's kind of cool.

Sligo has a sort of Continental feel to it, possibly due to the large number of Poles who work in the city. Walked through a bookstore with its own Polish section today; lots of Grabowskis coming to Ireland for work.

There's all the Yeats stuff, of course, and it's pretty decent. But Sligo seems to be on the knife's edge of something. Some of the Dubliners joked that going to Sligo was similar to heading off to some backwater town in Kentucky, but I have to say they were wrong. Sligo's something, but I don't quite know what that is yet, and I don't think the city does either. Lots of older pubs are closed, lots of shuttered doors, and yet there's a lot of guys in neon construction vests walking around the city.

Long riverwalk takes you out of the city to a wooded trail that goes and goes, with the mountains on your left and the sharp Atlantic wind catching you when the treeline opens up.

After a late breakfast I was walking near the weir when the sun disappeared and a short rain shower flew in. I ducked into the nearest doorway, and it was this little basement cafe, serving coffee and snacks, run by a French woman. I pulled out a notebook and ordered a cup of coffee, and thought about the play that I wanted to write.

And with my mind sufficiently separated from everying else in the world, and just a blank page in front of me, everything became crystal-clear, and the whole play just kind of spilled out. Spent about two hours scribbling down ideas on character and scenes and music and set pieces, until the lunch crowd came in and I figured it was time to give up my seat.

Grabbing an early train tomorrow, back to Dublin, to the airport, then to Scotland. I've been pretty wired during this trip, but after tonight I may not be able to get online as much, so if anyone really needs to get in touch with me, I have my cell phone with me. (The roaming charges are a bitch, though, so only call me if you really need to.)

Oh--that reminds me. The Aer Lingus pilots are going on strike next Tuesday, which happens to be the day I'm coming home. And the airline I was to fly home on. So I had to adjust my travel plans a bit, and I'll be home on Monday instead. 2:00 pm, in case anyone can pick me up. Duder, or Uncle Doug, I'm looking at you...

Photos, Dublin and Wicklow:

Dublin, Ireland
9:08 am

Gonna keep this short--need to get a few things done before catching the Sligo train. Wi-fi is a bit slow today, Flickr uploader's taking forever. So pics to come soon if they don't make it right now.

Lots of pints, lots of conversation, and finally the Wicklow Mountains. The Garden of Ireland or something like that. Hour south of Dublin, green and brown hills and quiet valleys and an old monestary and a fat monk shilling ice cream. Talk of mundane subjects like insurance and mortgages, the epilogue of The Deathly Hallows and late-night philosophizing by me regarding this damn country and its draw on me.

A hard goodbye and an egg sandwich before bed, and the last 20 pages of The Amber Spyglass, which pulled at my heart like no book had for a long, long time. Still no real sleep--woke at 5 am again today after a brief five-hour rest. Finished breakfast and now it's time for a brief walk before heading out to a new city.

Dublin, 11:40 am

Earl of Kildare Hotel

Just south of Trinity College

My hotel has a bar. Err, pub, I mean.

My hotel also has free wi-fi. In the bar. Pub, I mean. Free wi-fi in the pub.

My flight was on time, and only half-full. I had the seat next to me empty for the entire way. No crying babies, and no coughing fits from me. My chest infection is disappearing quickly.

Spent the hours deep in the middle of The Amber Spyglass. My dinner was actually tasty, the flight attendants were lovely (they always are on Aer Lingus), and the passengers gave light applause when we touched down in Ireland.

Grabbed the usual cheap bus into the Dublin city centre, got out at the main bus station and walked the rest of the way to the hotel, my legs eager to stretch out after doing nothing but sitting for hours, and days, really.

And now it's time for a bit of rest, and then a night out with some friends.

Life is grand.

A Few Thoughts Regarding Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Taken from a previous posting on a family blog, in response to an uncle's request for a review of the book:

To sum it up: it was simply excellent. Keeping in mind that it is a genre book, and #7 in a series, and living with the biggest buildup since anything I can remember, it blew me away. I started reading it shortly after midnight Friday, and finished it 5:30 Sunday morning. Couldn't put it down.

No point in discussing plot, or who lives and who dies, because that's not the point of the books, and I don't understand why that has become the focus of the media's attention. Let's just say that Harry dies a very existential death (and I cribbed that from Rowling, I think.) And that the last book, and really many of the books, are about understanding death. But they're really about so much more. They're about friendship, and loyalty, and a mother's love, and good teaching, and about a community that stands together in the face of unspeakable evil.

In some ways the Potter books aren't very original, as they follow very tried and true archetypes of fantasy and heroic storytelling. But let's be honest: Tolkien and Lucas were stealing from old stories as well, and that's kind of the point of this type of tale: the latest incarnation of the heroic epic, from ancient myth to Beowulf to Robin Hood to Disney and Star Wars.

I read the first book to my students when they were ten years old, which is about how old Harry is when the first book starts. At the end of the book, he's about to turn 18, which is how old those same students are now. They grew up with these books, aging with the characters, and it is their story, the defining moment of their generation (aside from 9-11 and other worldly events.)

It is the Beatles of their generation, if I can make so bold a claim. Nothing else has stretched across ages and cultures and given so many different people something to talk about and experience together. My buddy Eric came over Saturday night and we drank some beer and talked about the book and at one point just sat quietly and read a few pages by ourselves. (Oh, in fact, after I bought my copy at midnight he came over and had me read the first chapter aloud, because his wasn't arriving from Amazon until the next day.)

Going back to its originality: it's got your basic Joseph Campbell heroic archetypes, with the orphan hero and the big destiny, and allies and villains and the basic trappings of most myth and fantasy. But what makes the books revolutionary (and I choose that word purposefully), is the little things, the side things that makes the stories into something greater. Hermione's quest for House-Elf liberation; Ron's inferiority complex; Dumbledore's sly sense of humour (and his complex faults); the quiet commentary on what makes a good teacher; the warm chaos of the Weasley home; Tonk's pink hair.

All those things that make a "fairy story" feel like something those students of mine could relate to, could connect with. A universal story, and yet of its time.

There's an epilogue, where Harry is an older man; 36 years old, and he's taking his kids to Kings Cross Station in London to see them off to their next year at Hogwarts. And I don't know if people like that bit, seeing what happened to people After, but for me it was very significant, for obvious reasons. For seven books Harry suffered a great deal, after spending the first eleven years of his life in utter misery. For seven books he found a home, and a community, and a group of devoted and loyal friends that became his family. And it was such a beautiful moment to see that Harry's reward, his boon, was to have a family of his own, and to enjoy the simple pleasures of being a father, and to experience that little bereavement (again, Jo's words, not mine) of watching his children go off into the wide world on their own.

I felt a little bereavement of my own, finishing the book, knowing that there probably won't be another Big Story that I'll sink into like this one. Star Wars is done, The Lord of the Rings has been read and re-read by me, and I've finished the Potter series in my mid-thirties. I don't know if I'm really of the age to fall into another tale like this. That's why that epilogue was so significant for me: time passes, we get older, and we let the younger ones tell the stories for a while. Jo Rowling is only six-seven years older than me, and pretty soon there will be a new person, younger than me, that will tell a new story for a new generation, and that will be their story.