The (middling incoherent) Nutcracker Before Christmas

I saw The Nutcracker twice this year.  On Wednesday I went to Lincoln Center to see the Balanchine-choreographed New York City Ballet production, and earlier this evening I trekked to BAM for the American Ballet Theater version.

I like ballet, and I love Christmas, so The Nutcracker is one of my favorite annual traditions.  I've seen the Balanchine version every year since I came to the city.  I always enjoy it, and this year it was even better than usual because I had good company.  The production is full of familiar music and beloved characters and transcendent moments, and every year I notice different little details.  I was engrossed by the first act and thrilled by the second act and buzzing with happiness by the time I left.

The ABT version had a couple of strikes against it from the beginning: I had to go to Brooklyn, my theater companion was unavoidably detained, and the theater was full of young children and, worse, overtalkative hipsters.  Still, I was excited to see a familiar ballet in a new incarnation.

The first act was odd, but interesting.  Everything was a little bit more different than I thought it would be.  I knew the choreography would be totally different, and the costumes and sets.  I didn't realize, though, just how much of the story is open to interpretation.  In the NYCB version, Clara (the princess) and Fritz (her brother) are young children - maybe six or seven - and their antics read as playful gamboling.  In the ABT production, they're preteens - at least ten, possibly older - and their furious insistence on more and more gifts and rough fighting over the presents they receive is ... well, possibly it's social commentary, but also it's disturbing.

There were other disturbing things about the first act.  The godfather, always a bit of a menace, is a much more sinister presence.  I'd always read the family as bourgeois in a comfortable, homey way, but in this production they come off as rich.  Their house is more imposing, their servants more numerous and submissive.  The parents interact with their children less.  Everyone's costumes are very bright.  The godfather's son, who later becomes the Nutcracker and then the Prince, doesn't exist.  And the whole first scene is replaced.  In the NYCB production, Clara and Fritz are napping together while their parents decorate the tree in the other room.  They wake up and took through the keyhole, excitedly watching the tree come to life.  Their parents discover them and let them look at the tree before herding them off to dress for the party.  This presents an idea of family affection and togetherness which makes the conflict that follows less unpleasant.  

But in the ABT version, the first act starts with Clara and Fritz fighting and wreaking havoc with the cooks' party preparations, continues with the discovery of a mouse in the kitchen, and culminates with a troop of mice taking over the whole stage after the humans have left.  These mice - who play an important part in the plot - are not the harmless, comical, paunchy mice of the NYCB version.  They're adult-seeming, they wear suits, they dance like soldiers, and they are scary.

So the first act was not what I expected.  There were interesting things the NYCB version doesn't have - the first scene was actually quite well done, the godfather is a much clearer figure, and there's a very nice effect involving an oversized chair - but it was a bit disconcerting.  Still, I figured the second act has no plot and little action - it's just dancing - so it wouldn't be too much changed to an untrained eye like mine.

I was wrong.  Everything was changed.  There were some characters I hadn't seen before, and some familiar characters were changed almost beyond recognition.  The costumes were different, which I expected, but I mean they were *really* different.  They were... satirical.  The order of the dances was changed around.  But worst of all, the Sugar Plum Fairy - who in the NYCB version is a sort of fairy godmother - and her cavalier are, in the ABT version, a sort of future incarnation of Clara and the Prince.  They seem to actually become these creatures, who are both in love with each other and trapped in a land that doesn't really exist.  And then, when the play ends - this is the most heartbreaking moment - what is suppose to happen is that all the fairies have danced, and the Sugar Plum Fairy gives them her special blessing, and they fly away on a sled drawn by reindeer, back home where it is Christmas morning.  But what happens in this version is that Sugar Plum Clara and the grown-up Prince dance their sad duet, and then Clara wakes up in bed, alone, and the Nutcracker is just a doll, and it was all a dream, and Herr Whatever His Name Is looks through the window and laughs as Clara sobs into her pillow, and you forget that actually it's Christmas morning.

I don't want to say I didn't like this production.  It was interesting and well-executed and never boring.  It was probably very smart, too.  I'm told ABT productions are.  But I felt like it was, well, *too* smart.  It seemed to be taking the piss out of the real (by which I mean Balanchine) Nutcracker story, and even more of Christmas itself.  I know as a Jewish person I have limited knowledge of what Christmas is about, but I'm pretty sure it's not about taking the piss out of things.  In fact, to me Christmas *is* the Balanchine Nutcracker - joy and family and, yes, consumerism, lights and snow and pretty colors and uncritical wonderment.  The fantasy that the world is, underneath, beautiful and magical, that there's a part of reality where everyone is special and loved, that every little girl can access this reality, and that when the world seems most terrifying - the tree grows, the mice stage a battle against you and your toys - you're just one brave act (throwing a shoe, in this case) away from discovering the hidden beauty of everything.  But the ABT version seems to be exactly the opposite: life may seem to be harmless parties and present-giving, but beneath this is a roiling terror of class warfare and undisciplined fears and unknown hatreds; sexual maturity and the attendant politics are inevitable; even your fantasies can provide no escape.  All of this is perhaps true, and in some ways it's very impressive what ABT has done, how terrifying they've made a ballet that I always thought was delicate and childlike.  It's not a bad show.  But it's not a good Nutcracker.

On not winning Nanowrimo

I have written 26,241 words of a novel this month.  In order to "win", I have to get to 50,000 by midnight on Wednesday, a pace of nearly 4,000 words per day.  This is most likely not possible because in the next six days I have commitments with family and friends and my job, so I most likely will not win.  Except that I'll have written 30,000 words that I wouldn't have written otherwise, and found a story I didn't know I had.

The nanowrimo website has a little graphic showing you how many words you wrote each day, and that graphic is highly informative in my case.  The daily goal for nanowrimo is 1,667 words.  There were days I wrote 3,000 or 4,000 words.  There were days I wrote 1,000 or 2,000 words.  There were days - stretches of them, five or ten in a row - in which I wrote 0 words, and those days were what got me behind.  I would look at my goal up to that point - 26667 words for example - and my progress - say 18741 - and I would see a gulf too big to be crossed, and I wouldn't pick up the (metaphorical) pen.  And then the next day the goal would be 28333 words and my progress would still be 18741, and the gulf would be even bigger.

Writing 1667 words a day can be tough.  I can do it in an hour if I put my mind to it, but I don't always have an hour, especially an hour when I'm wide awake and undistracted.  But 500 words a day is easier, it would only take 15 or 20 minutes and they might be higher-quality words.  If I did that every day, I'd get 15,000 words a month - about half what I'll probably do in November - and I could write a novel in a year.

thankful thursday, thanksgiving edition

1. I'm thankful that I could take time off work - paid vacation during which I don't have to even check my work email - to visit my family.
2. I'm thankful I had some time alone with my parents before my brother and his girlfriend came.  I like them and was happy to see them, but sometimes it's nice not to have to share.  My father went out for several hours yesterday and my mother and I had a bonding-and-giggle-fest.
3. I'm thankful that I wasn't seriously injured running the marathon, and that I'm a basically healthy and fit person.  Running has been hard for me the past couple of weeks, but I had a short run yesterday and another short run today and I'm starting to feel pretty decent.
4. I'm thankful I don't have any food allergies or dietary restrictions and can enjoy a meal prepared by other people without asking what's in everything.
5. I'm thankful I live in a city so awesome that everyone watches it on TV every Thanksgiving morning.
6. I'm thankful I have a good job in that city, and good friends.
7. I'm thankful for all the great theater I've gotten to see this fall, and for my upcoming plans to see The Nutcracker twice.

This week I went to see two plays, Man and Boy and All-American.  Both were good and worth seeing (the former a bit more so).  It was nice, although I'm getting a tiny bit burned out on two plays a week (which is fine, since I don't think I have any more theater tickets for the immediate future).

Today I attempted to do my long run.  I'd been doing okay with the active recovery thing, I guess.  Saturday I did yoga, on the grounds that it is good for you.  Monday I attempted to run on the treadmill, and did not die, although I did have to take a long break to lift weights in the middle of my three mile run, which I thought was fairly pathetic.  Wednesday I went to spin class.  Thursday I did more yoga.  Friday I went to another running club workout, which was amazing.  The guy in charge of it is borderline-scary.  We did a progression run (= torture instrument) and then ran up and down Cat Hill, which is a largeish hill in Central Park, and by some miracle I did not faint or die.  Today I wanted to do a long run.  The guy in charge of running club said I should do an easy run, and I said I wanted to run six miles, and he said I would probably not be able to, and I thought (very stupidly) "of course I will be able to!".  This morning I felt pretty bad - my legs did not actively hurt the way they did on Saturday but they were not thrilled with the concept of standing up - but I set out for the run anyway.  Somehow in my (stupid) mind I had decided I would run eight miles rather than six (stupid, stupid) and also that I would run an out and back rather than a loop.  This seemed like a good idea in that it would force me to not bail out anytime after the halfway point.

The run started out rough, and did not improve.  It was warmer than I'd thought, and all the water fountains in the park were turned off for the winter, which I hadn't foreseen.  By 2.5 miles in, I was suffering.  I felt bad but not horrible at the turnaround, but I was struggling by the time I got to the 5.5-mile mark.  At this point I bought some water, which I thought would revive me and help me finish strong, but did not.  I resumed running, but my speed at this point was dismal - really, I'd gone from "very slow run" to "fast but highly inefficient walk" to "not very fast but highly inefficient walk".  I had no energy.  All of a sudden a grassy spot appeared and, without even thinking about it, I collapsed in a heap.

I decided it would not be a good idea to resume running after that.  Generally speaking, if I feel that I need to lie down, it probably means that my body is done running for the day.  Of course, I still had to get home, which was about a two-mile walk at that point - luckily the weather was nice, but my legs were pretty beat up (from what?  sleeping all morning?).  Worse, I felt terrible emotionally. True, I ran about six miles, which was the originally-planned length of the run, and which the much-smarter-about-running-than-me running club guy said I wouldn't be able to do.  But it's not a nice feeling to bail out in the middle of something, even if it was something I probably shouldn't have attempted.  And I'm supposed to be running a 15k in four weeks - I'd been hoping to be fully recovered and working on upping my speed by then, but now it's looking like I'll be very lucky if I can get in one proper long run before that.  I know I need to be patient, and that the 15k isn't really important, especially relative to recovering fully, but it's hard.  Plus, I've felt sick and yucky the whole rest of the day, not capable of doing much besides lying on my couch and being pissed off at how stupid television is.

Maybe my legs will be all fixed and ready for a nice long run tomorrow?

This week I have mostly attended plays and thought about running.

The first play was Suicide Incorporated, which was not very good for a Roundabout production, although that still puts it in about the 75th percentile of all theater. It was very well-acted and there were some funny parts and some affecting parts, but there were also a lot of places where it reminded me of something I would have seen, or written, in college.  The second play was Venus in Fur, which was very good.  Supposedly it has a lot to say about power in relationships, although mostly I thought it was very absorbing and featured some phenomenal voice work.  Also I ate at Maoz, which is rapidly becoming my new obsession now that I have run out of people willing to be dragged to Balade.

I didn't run much.  Apparently one is supposed to take some time to recover after the marathon.  I have opted for "active recovery", which means I walked two miles Monday (I could not run; in fact, walking was a challenge), did yoga at home on Tuesday, went to spin class on Wednesday, did no exercise on Thursday, went to running club (more on that below) Friday, and went to yoga class today.  My legs actually feel pretty good (although I think  I am a bit congested in the nose-and-throat region), which suggests I did not run hard enough in the marathon.

About running club.  So, I am filled with ideas about how to become a better runner: get a Garmin, take Jackrabbit classes, run twice a day, etc.  There is a running club at my office that meets Fridays, and I had not been going because (a) it requires leaving before my usual time, (b) I'd have to plan ahead and bring running clothes to work, (c) everyone else is a faster runner than me, and (d) I am a wimp.  Yesterday I decided those were bad reasons, and I went.  Everyone was really nice, even though I was the slowest runner there (albeit only out of six).  The guy who runs the club is an incredible athlete and longtime 3-hour marathoner who seems to really enjoy helping other runners improve.  He gave me lots of advice, some of which (about speedwork and hills and so forth) I will take, and some of which (about becoming a twig so that I can run faster, or something) I will ignore.  We ran about five miles, plus did some drills.  I've never done drills before, and apparently this shows in my form, as I don't pick up my knees, which means it is basically impossible for me to run at a reasonable pace.  I did the meat of the workout (the 3.4 miles in between warmup and drills) at about an 11-minute mile pace, which is by no means fast, but is pretty close to my normal running-in-the-hilly-park pace.  I can feel it in my legs today, probably more than I would if I hadn't just run the marathon, but I'm still pretty pleased about my recovery.

last week

1. Drinks at Ayza.  Actually, wine and cheese and chocolate-covered strawberries at Ayza.  The Girls' Night Out deal is amazing - you get a free chocolate-covered strawberry and a free shot of chocolate martini each, which was a great deal (free is always a great deal, especially when it's free chocolate) and also accomplished the presumed goal of making me want to go back and buy a whole chocolate martini.  Also they gave us coupons for more free chocolate at their new location in the West Village.
2. Dinner at Bianca, a tiny, noisy Italian restaurant downtown.  Good food at very reasonable prices.  But I don't think I'd go back - it's far away, and while the food was good, the wine was bad, and the chocolate dessert was overly sweet and not sufficiently chocolatey (and I'm not one of those 80% dark chocolate freaks... it was a* dessert even a boy would like).
3. Brunch at Josie's with the parental units.  Turns out an organic diner on the Upper West Side is a very odd place to eat with parents. 
   
4. The ING NEW YORK CITY MARATHON.  This is the most awesome race ever.  Or at least I thought it was for the first half.  The level of enthusiasm at the start is astounding - the sheer size of the race, the fact that you're starting on this huge amazing bridge, the people around you who came from all over the world to participate in the event.  And then there's singing about America (they only do the anthem for the first start, I assume), and then the announcer says, "Marathoners, the city awaits you.  The world awaits you."  Which any New Yorker knows is two repetitions of the exact same thing.  And the gun goes off, and they play "New York, New York", and you're not moving yet because there are ten thousand people in front of you, but everyone's singing and dancing and just fidgeting to be off.  The first half of the race - entirely in Brooklyn - was just incredible.  I had no trouble with speed - in fact, I was so distracted by the scenery and the spectators that the miles just flew by - and the runners were all going at the same pace.  I hit the half at 2:30:19.  Then I had to make a pit stop and wait in a long line right around the halfway point, and that kind of broke the spell (and caused my muscles to tighten up).  I walked on the uphill of the bridge to Queens, and Queens itself felt kind of sloggy, and then I ran up the hill of the Queensborough bridge but when I got to the top I felt very unhappy.  Coming down the hill into Manhattan was supposed (according to others) to be the highlight of the race, but I was mostly filled with a sense of exhaustion and desolation.  First Avenue is really wide, and it seemed like this endless desert that I was going to have to run on for a zillion miles (actually only about four), and then run around in the Bronx, and then run all the way back.  This is where my mental game slipped, and around mile 17 or 18 I started taking longer and more frequent walk breaks.  Up until then I'd only been walking at water stations and the one bridge, but I took a few unscheduled walk breaks of varying lengths, and when I was running I was not running fast.  The worst part about all of this was really my attitude - I was not happy about the walking, and that made me unhappy about the race, and that made me feel more tired and want to walk more.  And then we got to the Bronx, which is basically just two bridges connected by a narrow stretch of featureless asphalt (seriously, I remember almost nothing about that borough, even though I think we were in it for two miles), and then back into the city.  I was toddling along, not happily but anyway not really getting any slower (at this point I was at a 14-15 mile pace, which is amazing because I was actually running about 3/4 of the time, which means my run was basically a very fast and inefficient walk).  Finally I got to the 23-mile mark, where a friend was waiting for me (all my other spectating friends had long ago gone home) and told me that, actually, I was not going to die on the course.  This gave me the energy to continue running, and from then on I didn't take any walk breaks except at the 24-mile water station.  In fact, I picked up my pace significantly for the last 1.5 miles (at least, it felt significant... in fact, I ran the last 1.2 miles in around 14 minutes so I was not exactly a speedster, but I'll take it) and finished feeling strong.  My chip time was 5:33:00, which is actually about two minutes faster than my long-ago Raleigh marathon time.  The most bizarre thing is, one day later, barely able to walk, I'm already planning my next race.

a remarkably bad book

I really, really wanted to like My Name is Memory.  Mostly because it was written by Ann Brashares, who wrote the Traveling Pants series, which I loved, despite being at least ten years too old for it.  I read her first adult novel, The Last Summer (of You and Me) and thought it was fairly good, particularly in the setup, although the last third was anticlimactic.  I was excited to see My Name is Memory shelved in the Science Fiction category, where I assumed it was languishing because despite its fantastical premise (a character who can remember all his past lives) it's mostly a coming of age and a romance novel.

I had really high hopes, and at first they seemed warranted.  The the man who remembers his past lives is well-drawn, and I enjoyed his narration of his very long story.  The nominal main character, Lucy, with whom he has been in love for fifteen hundred years (I'm not giving anything away here) is far less interesting.  And as the novel wears on - it's 324 pages and doesn't feel one word shorter - her uninterestingness becomes more of an issue.  Sometimes I found myself indignant on her behalf; it wasn't her fault she was boring; the problem was the that author clearly just didn't care about her.

The last third of the novel was where it really fell apart.  As in so many romantic movies, the premise of the story is that these two people belong together, but the two characters spend so little time together that there's no reason for us, or even them, to really believe that.  In a romantic comedy, where the only thing a stake is another, more-annoying, guy or who to kiss at midnight, that's forgivable, but in such a serious novel with such weighty pretensions, you're left with two kids who have a crush, plus some mumbo-jumbo about an unfulfilled crush a hundred lifetimes ago. As they start to make serious, life-or-death decisions based on their grand, centuries-spanning, nonexistent love affair - and as their total unfamiliarity to each other aside from annoying gender stereotypes becomes grindingly obvious - it becomes hard, as a reader, to get on board with the frantic gyrations of the tail end of the plot.

Finally and bizarrely, the novel ends just as it starts to get really interesting.  Throughout the book there are hints at other things going on in the world of the novel, things about reincarnation even the narrator doesn't understand.  There are two characters who remember their past lives, but differently; there are a few characters who recur between lives.  At the end of the book, it seems like the characters might be moving into a space where some of this cool stuff would be elucidated - but then, of course, the book ends, and nothing more interesting happens than <SPOILER ALERT> an unanticipated yet totally welcome pregnancy, and a promising young woman throwing away her life to wait around endlessly for a man.  I feel like I could have found that same not-actually-happy ending, with a lot less of the pretension to depth, two aisles over in the bodice-ripper section of the library.

New holiday: Thankful Things Thursday

A blogger (whom I do not know, but who writes posts about running and 16 Handles and who has debunked the myth of dark chocolate being more satisfying than chocolate in brownie form, so she must be cool) has a weekly Thankful Things Thursday post.  She didn't give me permission to borrow her idea, but I'm going to anyway.  It's been kind of a crummy week - work is crazy, and with only a week and a half before the marathon I've come down with some kind of plague - so I could use some thankfulness.  So, without further ado:

1. The most important thing I am thankful for is the good health of almost everyone I care about.  A very close friend was recently in a serious accident, but she's going to be okay, and I'm thankful for that.  My family is all healthy.  And I don't really have the plague; I have a cold, and stress, and a bit of taper madness.  As long as everyone's skull is intact - or a least on the way - things can't be that bad.
2. I saw a very good play yesterday, Other Desert Cities.  I'm thankful that I live in a city where I can see good theater regularly, and that there are ways to see them affordably.
3. On the way home from work, I stopped by Fairway, which I do quite frequently.  I bought some food for dinner - of the convenience-and-comfort variety - and dental floss and a couple other things, and it cost about $18.  I'm thankful I don't have to sweat $18.  Also, I'm thankful my job provides all the food I eat the rest of the day, or else I'd have to keep proper groceries.
4. I'm thankful it's candy corn season.  I had some candy corn the other day.  Also, I'm thankful candy corn season is short.
5. It's almost Christmas!  Or, anyway, almost the Christmas season.  Definitely thankful for that.
6. I was given two free granola bars today, although with little cards about G-d.  I kept the granola bars, for when I'm having a low blood sugar moment and there's no food around, or to give to panhandlers on the subway.
7. Work may be stressful sometimes, but the people I work with are great.
8. It's Thursday, which means I'm watching Big Bang Theory and planning an exciting evening of Grey's Anatomy (while I work).  Is it bad to be grateful for TV?
9. Tomorrow is Friday.  After that comes the weekend.  VERY thankful for the weekend.

I will get more exciting in a couple weeks, I promise.

It's hard to convince myself to blog when my blog is this boring, because (a) it's kind of supposed to be boring, and (b) my life is pretty boring these days.  As it turns out, "resting up between incredibly long run and even-longer marathon" is not a super-exciting thing to write about.

This Saturday, however, I only had to run ten miles, so I had time for some excitement later in the weekend.  The first part of this excitement was hosting my super for a game of what's-wrong-with-the-electricity-?.  I have no electricity in parts of the apartment, which include a few outlets, the refrigerator, and the stove.  So all of my food is in the auxiliary fridge, which turns out to be plenty big enough for the food of a person who never cooks.  However I am going to need my stove back before the marathon so that I can make pasta.  Other super-thrilling parts of the weekend included why-don't-they-have-the-lotion-I-want-at-Bed-Bath-and-Beyond-? (never fear, I ordered it on Amazon; by "subscribing" to get it every six months, which I can change or cancel anytime, I got a 15% discount on the cheaper-than-NYC-stores price and free shipping, plus I got to buy it with an existing gift certificate, so this was a win), and doing a puzzle of the periodic table, which was fun and educational and, I assure you, only about four times as geeky as it sounds.  

Also I ate two meals in restaurants, of course.  I had an early dinner Saturday at Bocca, in Union Square.  This is a fussy Italian place with a somewhat unusual menu - everything had some kind of twist.  The gnocchi I ordered were lighter and creamier than most gnocchi - ricotta instead of potato - and were served with clams wrapped in some kind of Canadian bacon.  My dining companion had pasta with largish chunks of what I think was lamb, which I've never seen before.  It was a good meal, but the portions were small - obviously we were meant to order appetizers and dessert and so forth.

I also had a late brunch at Spoon, which is in the Chelsea mold of let's-pretend-this-is-a-rustic-farmyard-retreat-instead-of-a-trendy-fifth-avenue-eatery.  Again, everything on the menu was a twist.  I had the bacon, egg and cheddar "panini", and everything in it was really good - great bread, decent cheese, excellent bacon - but it was missing whatever it is that usually ties these sandwiches together (grease?).  Also - this is my pet peeve for brunch spots - the coffee was served in wide, shallow cups, which meant you didn't get much at a time and it got cold fast.  Seems like they should serve coffee in larger portions since refills are always free the server's time is probably more valuable than a tiny bit of wasted joe.

I had two good restaurant experiences that I forgot to blog about.  One was at a restaurant on Columbus Avenue around 72nd (Columbus Tavern, I think).  I was going for drinks with a friend, and we ended up sitting in the semi-enclosed porch in front, which the weather was perfect for.  They had a full menu, but we just had wine, of which they had a fairly good selection (although no vino verde), and the waiter didn't pester us to order more.  Also, I had a quick brunch a couple weeks ago at a nameless diner near Herald Square; the inside of the diner was depressing and gross and the outside was on a loud street, and I was determined to hate it, but the coffee was good (and hot and refilled quickly by the not-hipsterish waitress) and the pancakes were the best I've had in ages.

No, Reader(s), I have not entirely abandoned this blog (yet).  Just, you know, mostly.

Here's what I've been doing for the past month:

1) Running.  A lot, and yet not a lot.  As of today I'm in the taper portion of my training, which means since my last post I've done two very long runs of twenty and twenty-two miles, respectively.  I've also done a number of short runs.  And I've spent a lot of time resting, because it turns out a twenty-mile run takes quite a lot out of me; I definitely haven't been adhering to my schedule of speedwork and mid-distance runs.  They say it's better to be undertrained than overtrained; let's hope that's true.  Also, I've acquired some running accessories, including compression socks (very sexy) and an object called "The Stick" which is basically a skinny plastic version of the famed foam roller.  Both are helpful in recovery, although I'm not sure they actually improve my performance during runs.  My thoughts about running are split three ways right now: (a) "why didn't I train better  / harder / more diligently?  I could have done so much better"; (b) planning for the marathon itself; (c) post-marathon plans, which are to focus on the half-marathon for the foreseeable future.  I like having a goal, and being in training is so much more fun than aimlessly going to the gym a few times a week, but the marathon is just. so. huge., particularly for someone of my limited running abilities.  I think I'll enjoy myself more, see more improvement, and have less negative impact on the rest of my life if I focus on a distance that isn't quite so ginormous.

2) Eating.  A lot.  Obviously, because of the running.  But also I have eaten in some interesting places, including:

a) Tartinery, in Nolita.  This place is fairly awesome, from the atmosphere to the menu.  I ate a Cobb Salad (I'm not a big tartine person, for some reason) and it was one of the better ones I've had, ever; of course not much cheffery is involved, but the ingredients were all high-quality and fresh.

b) Jones Wood Foundry, on the Upper East Side.  I've had two meals here; the food is very high-quality and well-prepared, but you have to actually like British food, which most people don't.  The dining room is attractive and quiet, and you can eat a full meal at the very pleasant bar - the bartender this afternoon was a dead ringer for Seth Rogen.

c) Fatty Crab.  This place is supposed to be great, and maybe the one in Soho *is* great, but I went to the one on the Upper West Side, and I was not impressed.  The atmosphere is midway between pub and beach shack - my dining companion called it "one step up from Chili's".  The food is good (again, if you like that sort of food - it's Malaysian, which to my palate hits midway between Indian and Korean, neither of which I much like) but the portions are tiny and the prices are a bit steep.  It was an interesting meal, but I left the restaurant ready to hit 16 Handles (*never* a disappointment) for dessert.

d) Shake Shack, the original (Madison Square Park).  I think I had something at the UWS location once, but never a full meal.  This was a surprisingly pleasant experience - there are picnic tables in the park, and although the line to order is long, the food is ready pretty quickly and there are plenty of seats.  Very much a fan of the "concrete", and also any restaurant that has a dessert in its title.

3) Apple-picking!  I went to an orchard upstate and picked a bunch of apples of several varieties, most of which I hadn't ever heard of.  Then I came home and mostly didn't eat the apples, because they have much nicer apples at my office.  But I also got to go for a nice hike.  And, on a separate-but-still-out-of-the-city occasion, I went to Orchard Beach, which is in Pelham Bay Park, which is in the Bronx but certainly feels like it could be on a different planet than Manhattan.

4) Shows - I think I must have been to a couple, but the only one I can remember just now is Sons of the Prophet, which I saw during its preview week and which was very, very good - definitely one of the best shows of the season.  It's at Roundabout, home of a wide variety of consistently excellent shows and specializing in this sort of black humor.

5) Going to bed early, when I can manage it, for the sake of my running.  Which is what I am going to do right now.

Happy Monday, Reader(s)!

 

I am trying a new thing, which is being optimistic.  For example, on Friday, instead of going around saying "I have to run eighteen miles tomorrow morning," I said, "I get to run eighteen miles tomorrow morning."  Because, really, it is a privilege.  Lots of people aren't able to run at all, and lots of others don't have a whole Saturday morning to devote to something unnecessary and ultimately self-indulgent like this because they have to work, or take care of children, or they can't afford endless trips to Jackrabbit (um, yes, perhaps running expenditures is one part of the budget I could pare back on?).  So, really, I am lucky to have the physical ability, time, and resources to do this.

 

I have also decided to discard any expectations for myself for this marathon.  I am not a practiced marathoner; I have run this distance only once before, and that was four years ago, in a different city, under different circumstances.  My only goals for myself for this race are to enjoy this once in a lifetime experience as much as I can, and - if possible - to run strong throughout.  Having a time goal - even a really slow, ridiculous-nongoal-for-most-runners time goal - was just stressing me out with the worry that I wouldn't be able to achieve it; I simply am not in the kind of shape I would need to be in to train for any particular pace, and that isn't something that can be changed in the next two months.

 

Saturday's run was eighteen miles.  When I set out in the morning, my legs already hurt - from the seven miles I ran Wednesday?  from the gentle yoga I did Thursday?  in anticipation?  who knows? - but I'm getting used to long runs that start out difficult.  As the run proceeded, I worked to keep my focus on the present rather than the future (or, if possible, off the run entirely).  Every time I started to think about the big hill at the top of the park, or how the previous hill would feel on the next lap, or how many miles I had remaining, I consciously brought my attention back to the ground I was currently running on.  This really helped with the toughest element of a long run, which (at least for me) is the intimidation and fear that sets in as soon as one starts to feel tired but realizes that there are five or ten or fifteen miles still to run.

 

And it actually wasn't bad.  The weather was a bit warm, but as last week, I wasn't too bothered.  I stopped to refill my water bottles every few miles and didn't get too dehydrated.  I didn't push myself to run fast.  About halfway through the run I actually started to feel good (for about two miles, anyway).  I didn't walk at all.  The only really bad part was that every time I stopped to refill my water bottles, my muscles tightened up and made it difficult to resume running.  I didn't start feeling bad until about mile sixteen, and at no point did I feel as bad as at the end of last week's run.  Best of all, although of course I was fatigued, sleepy, and hungry when I got home, at no point did I feel as physically miserable as I have frequently been feeling after long runs.  So this was a big win.

 

... And that's pretty much all I have to say.  I have not been doing much in the way of exploring the city the last couple of weeks because I have not had much in the way of energy.  Instead, I've been running, sleeping, and eating, and that's pretty much it.  For the first time in years I'm getting eight hours of sleep most nights, although it doesn't seem to be nearly enough, and I'm eating an unimaginably large amount of food, of which there is no such thing as enough.  This is to be expected on both counts, of course.

 

I have had a few interesting meals (this would be inevitable, what with the continuous eating).  Most notably, I went to Bryant Park Grill for brunch on Sunday.  The two highlights of this meal were (a) it is outdoors, and the weather was nice, although threatening rain, and (the much bigger highlight) (b) best bread basket ever.  I am not a big bread basket person, because usually it is just dumpy italian bread, but this was all kinds of stuff - cornbread and little scones and mini muffins and lemon pound cake.  It was exceptionally awesome.  Also, I had a nice omelet with very fancy mushrooms and a very small amount of cheese that was supposed to be cheddar but seemed more like provolone.  And now thinking about this meal has made me hungry again.   

 

in which my long runs cross over into insane (>15 miles) territory

Well, there are certainly worse things to come back to, after a fun but highly exertive two-week vacation, than a two-day week followed by a three-day weekend.

War Horse, which I was complaining Thursday about having to go see, was incredible.  I didn't think I'd like it because I'm not particularly interested in horses or military history, but it was a sufficiently good play to transcend its subject matter.  The stars of the play were really the horses, which were - this is going to sound weird, but it's the best way to describe them - puppets.  Or maybe you'd say actors/dancers (generally pairs) in horse costumes?  Anyway, their movements were amazingly realistic, to the point that I flinched when one of them was hit with a whip, because the horse - the inanimate paper puppet - was being hurt.  Also, the production was quite good - the acting, music, and lighting made a so-so story (simultaneously dry and melodramatic) really affecting.  I found myself quite caught up in the plot, despite myself.

Friday I took a rest day.  I had planned to practice yoga or lift weights in the evening, but I felt sick all day and by the time I got home could not imagine lifting myself off my couch.  I had mentally postponed my long run from its usual Saturday-morning slot because of how bad I felt, and consequently didn't do any of my usual preparations (i.e. eating lots of carbs and salt and drinking extra water); in fact, I felt so poorly that I didn't eat much dinner at all.  I told myself that I'd sleep late Saturday, rest all day, and hopefully feel better by Sunday.

Instead, I woke up at 5:50 a.m., legs raring to run.  I tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use; my body had decided it was time for a long run and all the sensible arguments of my mind were useless.  I figured, well, if I wasn't going to sleep, I might as well give it a shot.  I did get a later start than usual because I had to do things like assemble my belt (which I usually do the night before) and eat a bit extra (I'd woken up quite hungry, and you don't want to start a long run being hungry), but I was in Central Park starting my 16-miler around 7:30.

I felt bad.  My legs were tight and sore, apparently still from the slow five miles I did on Thursday.  It was cool when I first went outside, but the sun was already fairly high and in the park it was plenty warm.  The first three miles were a struggle, but then - as usually happens - it got a little better.  My legs loosened up a bit, and I stopped worrying so much about how bad I felt and what it might mean for later in the run.  I didn't feel significantly worse at mile ten than I had at mile one, and although the last two miles of the run were tough - I ran very, very slowly and had to walk briefly - I finished much stronger than my last Central Park run, the 14-miler I did a month ago, during which the last four - despite being on the bottom loop of the park rather than the up-and-down west descent - were an even more pronounced struggle.

I feel okay about this run.  Not great - the marathon is ten miles longer, and there's no way I could have run another ten, or possibly even two, miles.  But the marathon isn't for another two months.  And the marathon will have better weather (the heat didn't bother me a lot compared to some previous runs, but I'm sure it slowed me down and dehydrated me) and better facilities (I ran out of water for a couple miles, maybe 11-13, when the water fountain at a planned stop wasn't working; I'm guessing being thirsty this late in the run didn't help, especially because I'd just taken my gu and had very little to wash it down with; also, I could have done with a portapotty in the last third of the run), and I'll be more prepared the day before.

After the run, I laid about for most of the afternoon.  As seems to be typical, I spent a couple hours feeling more or less horrible before perking up in the late afternoon.  I went to dinner at Kefi, the very popular UWS Greek restaurant, which was good as always (although I seem to always get pasta there) and then took a very long walk (recovery, right?) before stopping off at 16 Handles for dessert (fuel, obviously).

Today I have done, basically, nothing.  I spent some time planning What I Could Do Today - go to a museum?  take in an independent film? - before realizing that I did not want to do anything.  I just had a vacation in which I did lots of stuff, so during this long weekend I just want to do ... nothing.  So I've been lying around on my couch, catching up on blogs and watching old Star Trek episodes and reading the New York Times.  I am educating myself about the culture, right?

yes, this is going to be a marathon-training blog for a while

So this morning's run was not awesome, which was not really a big surprise.  It would be nice if taking 2.5 weeks away from running resulted in feeling fresh and fast, but it rarely does - especially when instead I spend that time gallivanting around a foreign country on foot, bus, and bike and not eating balanced meals or sleeping enough.

 

I ran five miles on the treadmill.  It took me forever, partly because I was running very very slowly and partly because I had to take breaks.  (Treadmill runs have been uniformly unpleasant ever since my gym switched out the treadmills; the ones they have now, I swear, absorb half the energy from your leggs every time you step on them.)  Then I stretched.  I did not do any strength training, on the grounds that it was getting late and I would do it tomorrow (sadly, I cannot do that or anything else productive tonight, as I very stupidly made plans to go see War Horse, which was highly recommended but which I don't actually want to see... fortunately tomorrow is Friday, so maybe I can get some stuff done then or over the three-day weekend, if I can get out of my ill-conceived semi-commitment to go to the beach with my family).

 

So.  At least I did the five miles, right?  It would have been nice to do it fast, but at least I did it.  Now that it's getting cooler, at least in the morning, maybe I should consider doing some of these workouts outdoors, especially if I'm not actually going to lift any weights - but then what's the point of my gym membership?

 

The way I felt today - tired, leaden, but not actually sore anywhere - was typical of how I've felt through much of the training season.  I think the issue here may be inadequate sleep/rest and perhaps improper nutrition.  I'm lucky enough not to have serious stomach issues, so I don't need to avoid dairy or meat or anything (lots of runners do), but I should definitely focus on good-quality fuel and getting enough sleep, if such a thing is possible.  Again, the three-day weekend should help with this.

and now for something completely different: marathon training

I'm feeling so not enthused on this subject, but the marathon is in 9.5 weeks so I'd better act enthused.  Tomorrow will be my first run in over two weeks.  It's not going to be a big one - just 3-5 miles (depending on how I feel) at a gentle pace, on the treadmill, followed by plenty of stretching and some toning.  Hopefully I'll be blogging again tomorrow morning to say how great it went.

final bus post

This particular bus post may actually be posted from the bus, rather than just written on the bus and saved in a word file for posting at the hostel.  I say "may" because the connection is more than a little wonky, which of course is typical, and since it's a free connection on a cheap (10 euro) bus, I'm not going to complain.

Today is my last day of vacation.  Or my second-to-last day, if you count tomorrow, when I'll get getting up early, flying for several hours (it looks like today's flight arrived more or less on time, so I assume flights will be getting through to JFK just fine tomorrow), getting home (assuming there's some sort of transportation available), and dealing with the mess I must surely have left my apartment in, as well as the contents of my suitcase, which at this point weighs around one hundred fifty pound and contains mostly dirty laundry.  Or my third-to-last day, if you count Wednesday, which I will be getting my life in order and seeing the dentist about possibly acquiring some teeth.  I'm rather pleased about having this extra day off to reduce the post-vacation stressiness.

I had originally intended to go back to Dublin this morning, but there was nothing I was particularly wanting to do there, and I did want to do a Galway walking tour.  So I left my bag in the hostel and, after a scone (last scone of the trip, I guess), went to the tour office.  I ended up being the only person to show up, which made for quite a nice tour.  The guide was very knowledgeable (has degrees in political history and architecture, and is now working on his PhD in archeoastronomy... a nice change from the drunken idiots who had seemed to constitute the entire male population of the country) and it was an interesting tour; I'd seen all the landmarks already but of course hadn't known as much about them.

After the tour, I spend about an hour and a half in a very good bookstore, and walked out with four books for ten euros (at least one of these was a necessity, as I was about to finish my current novel had only one book left and didn't know if I'd like it, and the bus ride today and flight tomorrow to get through), which was only due to a major exercise of willpower and the finite amount of space in my backpack.  Then I had a bowl of soup and a cappuccino (I am becoming very European, although not to the pint of being able to spell that word without help) and finished my book (Scarlet Feather, by Maeve Binchy, quietly excellent like all her books are), and then I walked around and thought about buying a wool scarf, but all the ones that were authentic I just didn't like, plus they're not cheap (20 euros for the really awful ones, 30 for the decent ones). I don't need a $45 scarf that I'm not enthusiastic about, although perhaps I'll still see something.  Then I had a headache coming on and the streets were getting crowded, so I went into a shop with a line coming out the door and had a coffee and brownie, but the brownie wasn't terribly good and the headache came on anyway.  Possibly I'm dehydrated from days of limited water, or else my body would like something to eat that is not soup or dessert... I'll try to rectify both of those tonight.  I was fortunate enough to get on a cheap bus to Dublin that's supposed to arrive at 7:30 (although that might be the airport arrival and the city stop is first... if I'd known about this service I'd have spent the night here and gotten up at the crack of dawn to get the 5 a.m. bus, since I'll still have to deal with annoying transit to the airport tomorrow fairly early) and then by the time I get cash (I'm all out since the bus was cash but will probably need a key deposit, and you can't use cash for small purchases here anyway... if I get 20 euros and buy dinner and breakfast I can spend the rest on junk at the airport, which is always fun) and get to the hostel it will be eight, but hopefully I can stop somewhere on the way for a sandwich or, what I would really love, a nice warm takeout dish of pasta, although that's probably getting a bit carried away.

So... that's pretty much it, right?  Not a bad vacation, all in all.  I don't feel excited about re-transitioning to work (and marathon training) but maybe I will in a day or two.  And, I have tons of Irish books to read when I get home.

change of plans: Cliffs of Moher

Today I was going to go on a walking tour and then... I don't know what.  Shop more, walk more, try to find something open on a weekend.  It would probably have been slightly boring and slightly depressing.  Instead, I went on a day trip to the Cliffs of Moher.

First, I walked out on the hostel's breakfast.  I've been doing that a lot this trip at hostels.  I suppose when I was twenty-one and well beyond broke, I was willing to eat the European version of Wonder Bread, with off-brand jelly and instant coffee (actually, I didn't drink coffee back then).  Now, I don't care that it's free, I'm not eating it.  I'd rather spend money for decent food.  So I went out at around eight-thirty this morning, found out where and how to catch the tour bus, and then spent some time waiting for things to open so I could get coffee and food.

On boarding the bus, I found myself seated next to a college student from Switzerland, who was reasonably quiet and pleasant and a good seat partner - plus, I got the window seat.  The day was a lot of driving, but we also saw a lot of different things.  In addition to the Cliffs of Moher themselves (which are best described by the pictures) we drove through the Burren and saw a number of castles and ruins.  The day dragged a bit at the beginning and the end, but I'm definitely glad I went, since this was exactly the sort of stuff one comes to Ireland to see.  (Although it seems like a lot of my trips are starting to blend together at this point... Ireland and Iceland look a tiny bit alike)

Now my trip is mostly over.  Tomorrow I'll spend a bit more time here in Galway, if I can, before returning to Dublin, and Tuesday morning I go home.  It's been a good trip, especially the cycling part.  I'd forgotten how isolating and dislocating solo travel can be - something I forget every time I'm planning a trip, and remember as soon as I am on it.  But I suppose all travel has its difficulties; family vacations seem to be not really fun for anyone, and couples trips can entail a lot of fighting.  One should probably try not to quote cancelled television shows, but I'm reminded of a line in Joan of Arcadia in which God tells Joan that she needs recreation, but that the word should be taken literally, as a re-making of herself, and not to mean necessarily fun.

complaints

Judging from the volume of the guests at this hostel, Galway must have the best - by which I mean most awful - bars in Europe.  I'm going to need another two weeks off to catch up on sleep after this trip because I haven't gotten more than five or six hours most nights.

Travel, particularly, solo travel, is so high-variance.  One minute you can be thrilled to be wherever you are and not wanting to go home ever, and just a few hours later - without anything in particular happening - you can be wondering why you decided to make the trip so damn long.

Weekends are particularly difficult times for travel.  It seems like the usual hostelling population - lone travelers and pairs who keep to themselves and have a tendency toward early hours - is eclipsed on weekends by a population I can only refer to as Drunken Idiots.  They arrive in the city for one night, primarily to drink, and they travel in huge packs, and they are loud.  Also, they tend to be already drunk when they arrive, and the men among them leer at any women they can lay their eyes on - even women as bedraggled as I am at the moment (aside from the missing half of my front tooth, my lip is still obviously beaten up, and I have several scratches still on my face, and of course every garment I own is dirty or damp or both, and I've spent the past ten days in a country without proper hot water).  I can't determine any reason for their existence except that possibly they have already been banned from every bar in their own city.

There's nothing wrong with Galway, really.  It's a small city with some medieval remains.  I'm going to try to take a walking tour tomorrow to learn more about them.  I had a pretty good afternoon today - after waiting for several dozen DIs (probably I'll have to talk about these Drunken Idiots again, so I might as well have a handy abbreviation) to vacate the lobby, which is located on what in the US would be called the fourth floor, I left my bag and took a walk around.  Most of what there is to do here (before 6 p.m. on non-Sundays, at least) is shop - there's one museum, but it's open about two days a week, and every other historical site is by appointment only, which is very popular here.  I went into a few places but was not feeling too excited about the same sweaters and jewelry as everywhere else; however, they do have some nice bookstores, and a nice river, and it seems like there are some recommended "long walks" if the weather is nice tomorrow.  I went into a coffee shop and had a nice "salad" (salads here consist mostly of cheese and bacon, which is not really the American definition of the term) and "cake" (British for dessert) and sat for a while, and then I walked around some more.  By seven, everything had been closed for ages and it was too cold outside to sit, so I came back to the hostel.

The hostel makes me homesick.  I think I'm much too old and antisocial for these places, although European hotels are really no better - more privacy, but fewer amenities and even more barren; often just as much noise.  I miss the cycling group and I miss home; I might wish I'd decided to go home earlier, but of course I probably wouldn't be able to get back because of the impending hurricane.

Another bus post

I have been, of course, exceptionally remiss.  I always am, around the middle of the trip.  But to a great extent, on this trip, the photos speak for themselves.  The second half of the bike trip was a lot of biking, rather a lot of rain, and small towns with one commercial street.  It was beautiful, of course, and I was with good company, but it was also a lot of riding and a lot of hills.

Tuesday – I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve blogged – was a day of riding around the Dingle peninsula.  I think I must have written about this.  There are some ruins on the peninsula, and some smaller towns than Dingle, and many shops and B&B’s and small restaurants or tearooms catering to tourists.  Wednesday was a rest day in Dingle, which I actually did spend resting – I think I must have blogged about this as well.

Thursday was a very long bike ride.  The first half was quite tough but also went quite well.  The lunch stop was not very nice – just a little store in a gas station with tables in it.  There was a tea stop in the afternoon and that was very nice – it was this small, local establishment that you might have seen in Western Massachusetts, organic and sort of hippy-ish.  But the ride still went on and on, and I was very tired, and there were still twelve miles to go.  There was traffic – by this time it was rush hour, and while drivers are quite polite on the back roads, in towns they are less forgiving of bicyclists – and the roads are narrow.  At some point the people I was biking with went up on the curb, to get out of the traffic, and I tried to go up on the curb as well, but I was tired and not thinking clearly and went at it from the wrong angle, and I wasn’t ready for the impact and the bike skittered out to the side.  It all happened very fast, too fast for me to react.  I got one hand down, sort of, but mostly I landed flat on my face on the sidewalk, which hurt so much it almost didn’t hurt at all.  There was blood all over the sidewalk and I couldn’t think for a few minutes and I was very scared.  But I came away lucky – a cut lip and a cut hand and some scratches on my nose, a few bruises and scrapes to add to the collection on my legs, but the only permanent damage I sustained was a badly-chipped tooth, which I’m told the dentist can patch up entirely.  With the chipped tooth and the still-swollen lip it doesn’t *look* all that minor, but it could have been a lot worse – I didn’t break my nose or even my glasses, my eyes are fine, I didn’t hit my head, and while I’ve lost rather a lot of tooth, the root is still intact and as long as I don’t try to bite directly into anything I’m not in any pain.  The others in the cycling trip have been very nice about it, and when I came back to the hotel all battered up they did everything they could to make me comfortable, making me tea and bringing me band-aids and assuring me that I don’t look completely ridiculous and that my teeth can be fixed and someday not too long I’ll laugh about my war wounds from the trip.

So, surprisingly, losing half a tooth didn’t ruin my vacation, or even my day.  That night I went to dinner with everyone else, and had some pasta and an Irish coffee and was perfectly cheerful even though my lip was still quite swollen and periodically would start bleeding.  Yesterday was another long bike, and I wanted to do some of it – there was supposed to be a great view at the beginning, and I also didn’t want to let the injury be the last thing that happened on the cycling trip (which yesterday was the last day of).  So I decided to go slowly – by that point I didn’t have much choice, as my muscles were quite fatigued.  I went with two others who I’d spent a lot of time with on the trip, and we took it very easy.  Before we even started up the big hill, we stopped for shopping and a cup o tea, which was lucky since it rained for quite a while, and instead of biking up a mountain in the rain, we were in the cottage, drinking coffee and Guinness and eating chocolates and warming our hands by the fire (yes, they have fires in Ireland in August, for very good reason – it’s chilly here, and nothing is heated adequately).  Then we set off up the hill, and to be honest we walked a good bit of it.  None of us had a lot of strength left, and I wasn’t using my clips anymore (which was a good thing, since it was so wet and of course I was leery of falling, but which did reduce my ability to power up hills) and I was less willing to push myself than previously.  But the whole area was gorgeous and we saw some spectacular views, both on the way up and on the way down.  However, by the time we got to the bottom it was getting onto the middle of the afternoon and we still had about ten miles to go before the lunch stop and then, in theory, another twenty after (I had not planned to do this last part).  I was hungry, especially since I hadn’t felt wonderfully that morning and had hardly eating anything at breakfast, and getting very tired, as was one of the people I was biking with, but the other was quite – almost annoyingly – chipper and getting impatient with us.  I’m not usually the person with less energy in a group, which made me feel even worse, but I told myself that she was probably tired as well and just trying to keep the group’s spirits up and make her last day as good as it could be.

The way it ended was that we got lost, and spent about an hour going the wrong way, figuring out that we’d gone the wrong way, and trying to figure out what the right way would be.  We saw some interesting country and a herd of sheep being herded, which I’d only ever seen in movies, and then we found the right way and continued on.  At that point our guide, who’d been looking for us because it was nearly four and we weren’t at the lunch stop, found us, and we all ended up deciding to end our ride there.  I was very happy to climb in the bus, be driven through thirty miles of scenic country, and then go to my hotel, have a long, hot shower, and lie on my bed reading before dinner.

For dinner I had bangers (sausage) and mash (ed potatoes), a nice change from the chowders and soups I’ve been eating.  It was quite good, actually (and, in keeping with all Irish food, quite substantial) and the dinner itself was a lot of fun, with everyone in good spirits and getting a bit nostalgic about the trip, talking about what their next cycling trip might be and insisting that we all keep in touch and call if we’re ever in each other’s cities.

This morning I awoke early, repacked my bag in an increasingly doomed effort to make everything fit, had a hearty breakfast in the B&B, and caught the 9:00 bus to Limerick.  We’re just about to arrive, and I’ll switch to the bus for Galway, which is where I’ll spend the next two days before returning to Dublin to head, a bit sadly, home.

rest day

Today was our rest day in Dingle.  We had lots of options for things to do - small bike trips or taxi trips to museums, and there was certainly plenty on the island that I would have liked to see if it hadn't been fifteen miles away or if it wasn't my rest day in the middle of a fairly demanding cycling trip - but I decided to take it very, very easy.  After a leisurely breakfast, I set out with another of the members of the tour group to visit a church and a convent we'd read about in one of the guidebooks in the B&B lobby.  These turned out to be actually quite interesting, and we also saw an art gallery that we both really liked.  Then we met up with another member of the trip and shopped for a bit, and then had lunch at a very nice seafood house - I had chowder that had at least an entire fish, and several mussels, in it, and then another appetizer called Crab Gratin which I could only eat about half of - and then continued shopping, and then had ice cream, and then continued shopping some more.  It was a lot of fun, and I got some good things - a travel wallet, which I needed since my existing one broke several days ago, and two pairs of running socks for much less than they would have cost at home (and they're not wool; wool is a big fad in running socks right now and I hate it), and a very nice green poncho sweater which was extremely expensive (at least, for a souvenir) but I really liked it.  All in all, a pleasant, companionable, unproductive, restful day.  My only concern is how I'm possibly going to bike forty-three miles tomorrow.

quick post after breakfast

A great deal of time has passed (okay, two days) without blogging, and as so often happens, things have begun to recede into the mists.  I have, probably, only a few minutes, but I want to record as much as I can in that time before it all drifts away.

Monday:

• A rather hilly day of cycling.  I started out fairly fast, and alone; there were a lot of uphills and a long flat cycle through a valley and then an ascent to a gap.  I felt like a character in The Lord of the Rings, with the sun beating down on me in the broad green valley and cows and goats and sheep making noises at my bike. 
• At the top of the gap, I gathered with the other bikers in my group - it seems like we all tend to congregate at these sorts of locations, and like the biggest climb ends about a third of the way into the trip but takes the first half of the day.  There was then a descent, and then another long climb, and then the lunch location.  Everyone was feeling pretty draggy and defeated at that point, I think, and nobody stopped for lunch.
• The afternoon was a bit of a blur - I remember I spent most of the time biking with a couple who goes slower than I normally would, which encourages me to slow down and check out the scenery.  
• At the very end of the bike ride, there's the option to go past the town a couple miles and go to a beach.  That was really amazing - I have pictures of it but, as with all of my pictures, they totally fail to capture the awesomeness.  The beach was wide and cold, and people were walking along it in parkas.

Tuesday:

• A fairly flat cycle.  The views were amazing.  We kept stopping to look a the water, at ruins, at rocks, and to climb up things.  Unfortunately, between getting a fairly late start - we had to ride to Dingle first - and all this stopping, we didn't have time to do everything there was to do on the ride.  We saw views of the Blasket Islands, but didn't go to the Blasket Islands visitors center, which apparently has some very interesting exhibits.  There were also other museums and monuments and ruins that I would like to visit but that there just wasn't time for.  
• I've noticed that - for everyone, not just me - the primary impediment to enjoyment is an anxiety that sets in late in the afternoon, that there won't be time to get there, and that makes us hurry along, often needlessly, to get there.
• The day ended at a pub called Dingle Pub, with chowder and a sandwich and "Irish Country Western" music, which is a bit like Irish music and a bit like American country music.  They are big on the song Country Roads here, and when the musician played it, I had that feeling you can only have when you're very far from home, of being totally displaced from your own home, and totally at home in the broader world. 

Today is a rest day... I think I'm just going to take it easy and shop.

Cycling, Day One

               Today was the first day of my cycling tour.  It began with breakfast in the B&B, which began with the landlady saying “the buffet [of toast, cereal, yogurt, granola, fruit, etc.] is over there, and what would you like to eat?”  After breakfast (eggs, very good bacon, toast, and coffee) we got situated on our bikes, and then set out.  Much of the morning was spent near Killarney, seeing attractions in the Killarney National Park – Muckross Abbey (a ruin) and Muckross House (a Victorian house with a tour, complete with reenactments).  The group started out together but I ended up spending a lot of my time with two women on the trip, which was nice because it gave me some company (and gave one of the other girls some company later in the day, when her friend elected to ride in the van) and encouraged me to move at their pace, which was more laid-back and fun than mine might have been. The first half of the cycling today was actually fairly tough – there were some steep hills, and I fell over once when I was going slowly up a hill and being passed by a car and moved too far to the left and ended up in the ditch, with my bike on top of me, because I couldn’t get out of the clips fast enough.  After that I felt pretty shakey, and it rained for a while, and there were still some steep hills before the lunch break.  Fortunately, the girls I’d been with earlier had caught up to me, so I rode with them all the way to lunch.

               Lunch was at a café at Molls Gap.  The view was lovely, the soup was warm and filling, and the chocolate cake was excellent.  Afterwards, we had another fifteen miles to cycle, and I was a bit worried because the last twelve or so miles had taken us two hours (we hadn’t left the park until 1) and it was already 4:30.  But the long lunch break had been very refreshing, the weather had perked up, and the ride was easier, and we made it to our destination around six.  This left time for a short bath, a quick shower, and a walk around town before dinner; somehow through the excitement of travel I’ve bonded with one of my bikemates to the point of sharing entrees (neither of us could choose between the cod and the lamb; I’m very glad I got to try both).  Also, there was more chocolate for dessert. 

               What else to say about the bike ride?  I saw beautiful scenery, to which I cannot do justice with either words or photographs, and adorable towns and houses, and sheep.  I got sweaty and dirty, and at some point I cut my thumb.  I felt exhausted at the end, and it was awesome.  I am a very simple person, I suppose; give me pretty scenery and an opportunity to sweat in it, and something good to eat afterwards, and I consider it an excellent vacation.

               

Saturday's Post

I’m writing this Saturday evening at the B&B in Killarney, although I won’t be able to post it until… Wednesday?  Next Saturday?  Internet does not seem to be, you know, a thing in Ireland.

This morning I slept surprisingly late – at least, *I* was surprised when I checked my watch upon waking and found it was 8:49 a.m.  But I guess I shouldn’t been; I haven’t been sleeping all that much or all that well, so I was due for it.  I made tracks out of the hostel and caught the 9:30 bus to Killarney; after about 90 minutes of scenic riding I arrived.  It was a bit disorienting because my guidebook doesn’t have much in the way of coverage here and the bus station is not in an obviously central location, but I found the center of town quickly enough.  After dropping off my bag at the bike tour’s meeting point, I ducked into the coffee shop around the corner.  I briefly considered not doing so, since it didn’t seem like the most super-optimal coffee shop, but decided that, since I hadn’t eaten or had any coffee yet, I should go for the easy option over the perfect one.  This turned out to be a very good idea.

After having a scone (good, but not as transcendent as yesterday’s) and a cup of coffee, I set off to explore the town.  The first thing I saw was a bookstore, and – convinced that possibly Southwestern Ireland might be the Land of No Books, I went inside and bought a book.  (I also bought a book in Cork, so I now have three books in my possession, the first of which I am halfway through, and have finished and discarded three magazines and any number of local papers).  Of course, Southwestern Ireland is actually lousy with books, and there were (at least) three other bookstores in Killarney, but this was the best one so if I was going to buy a book it was good that I bought it there.  It is, however, the Land of No Cash Machines; there were three total cash machines in town, I think, and all the tourists were being directed to the same one.

After walking the length of the town, going into a few other stores, and seeing a couple of the historic government and religious buildings, I set out for Ross Castle.  It was a nice walk through the outskirts of Killarney and a wooded area, and the castle is on a beautiful lake.  I just walked around the castle – there was a tour to go inside, but my book called it tedious (some other girls on the tour did go inside, and they said it was interesting enough).  There were also boat trips to go to an island in the middle of the river, but they seemed rather disorganized and understated, so instead I sat by the lake and read for a bit.

By the time I got back to town, I was quite hungry.  There were a lot of pubs in Killarney, and proper restaurants, but not really a lot of coffee shops or places to get a snack.  Eventually I stumbled on Murphy’s, an ice cream shop from Dingle that my guidebook mentioned.  I tried the sea salt ice cream (weird but not good) and settled on the chocolate and caramel.  It was good, inferior to most of the ice cream I had in France but still far superior to most American ice cream.  Then I walked around a bit more, shopping (not with any intent to buy) and looking for provisions to stock up on, and then sat in a courtyard by a playground and read for a while before it was time for the tour group to meet up.

The tour group met in a hotel, where we had an introduction to the trip before a somewhat fancy and not very good dinner.  (I’m terrible at ordering, of course; too often, I get what I think I should get rather than what I actually want.  This time I had what was basically a fancy version of fish and chips.  Since I’m not very fond of either fish or chips, it’s not surprising that I wasn’t thrilled with this meal.  However, it wasn’t bad, and now I can say I had it once in Ireland and I do not need to have it again.  Also, really, nothing on the menu was very interesting and much of it was a lot more expensive, so there were not really any great choices.  During the meal, I met the other people on the trip – there are twelve of us, which is a nice number, enough that you’re not forced to be with the same couple people all the time, but not an unwieldy amount – including the woman who will be my roommate for the next several nights.  Finally, we departed for our guesthouses; we’re split up, and my half the group is at a guesthouse run by an exceptionally friendly middle-aged woman.  The guesthouse does not have internet, so hopefully nobody is expecting to hear from me anytime soon.

Cork, part II

This morning I was awakened at some indeterminate hour by one of the women in my room, who had set an alarm.  Actually, I was wakened at several indeterminate hours by various of the women in my room as they snored, came in late, snored more, etc., but on this latest occasion I was unable to fall back asleep, especially because the other women also began to wake up.  Eventually I bestirred myself to dress and gather my things.  The hostel was charging three euros for breakfast, which seemed not a very good price for tea, whole milk, and dry cereal.  Instead I went to a coffee shop I sighted yesterday, which I anticipated would be worth visiting - in fact they were; they had filter coffee - a true rarity at coffee shops in Europe.  I also had a scone, in fact my first-ever British (ish) scone, with butter and jam, and it was quite excellent.

Thus fortified, I took the bus to Blarney to visit Blarney Castle.  My guidebook considers it an overrated tourist attraction, and perhaps as ancient castles go it is ordinary, but I am not a connoisseur of ancient castles so I thought it was pretty cool.  I took many, many pictures of the castle and grounds (you can see them in the album I linked to yesterday, if you are so inclined).  I also visited a few of the touristy stores in Blarney carrying wool, linen, lace, etc. while I waited for the next bus back to Cork.  Shortly before the bus came it started to rain, and the rest of the day was rainy, windy, cold, etc. - typical Irish summer weather, I'm told.

One of the first things that happened when I got back to Cork is that I stumbled upon one of the two modestly-priced restaurants recommended by my guidebook, Idaho.  There I ordered coffee (no such thing as too much coffee) and something called a "potato bake" - baked potato covered with cheese and topped with bacon.  This is exactly as rich and hearty and perfect for a cold afternoon as it sounds, and while it is not exactly a subtle dish, it was quite good.  According to my guidebook the place is "tiny" and diners are "packed in like sardines", but I found it quite cozy.  Also, my meal came with a side salad, which gave a whiff of nutrition to the comfort food.

After lunch, I walked around the downtown for a bit.  I intended to work my way westward and end up at the Cork Public Museum, but I got a bit sidetracked and ended up visiting the southern third of the city, which I hadn't been before.  I saw one of the major churches and some of the University College Cork campus (one very nice building in every single architectural style of the last three hundred years).  Then I went into the park (the museum is kept inside the park, supposedly), but apparently the wrong park, or I went the wrong way in it, because I ended up on a path by the river with a wooded area on the other side and absolutely no turnoffs, and when I came out I found myself nowhere near where the museum was meant to be, and also on an entirely different river than I  had meant to be on.  After a somewhat extended detour in search of a restroom (they do not have them in most restaurants, or pay toilets as they used to in London) I climbed the hill on the northern side of the history to visit the other major church, and discovered that the Butter Museum was nearby, so I visited that as well.  I concluded my day with a trip to Vibes and Scribes, a chain of bookstores (that are in some places combined with record stores or craft stores or some other type of stores).

It was a good day.  Turns out, lunch - both the sitting-down and the fueling-up components - is helpful for having energy in the afternoon.  Tomorrow I will spend the morning traveling to Killarney.

photos

My Ireland 2011 album ... for some reason the post-on-blogger link isn't working.  I'm going to do just one album, in order to keep it a bit more manageable than my dozen or so Parisian albums are.

Cork.

So the first half of today was occupied with getting from Dublin to Cork.  I took the bus, as I mentioned, which was pretty inefficient - the trip was nearly five hours long, as compared to less than three hours for the train trip.  But it was also very interesting.  Although we were on highways for part of the time, we drove through (and stopped in) many small towns.  Especially during the second half of the trip, I got a passing glimpse of several sights mentioned in my guidebook (castles and monasteries built on rocks and whatnot.  Ireland is lousy with castles.)  The ridership was about equal parts elderly people and young people - no families, children, or, that I saw, anyone between 40 and 60.  (Actually, I may well have been the only person over 30 and under 60; people who look the age I think I look - and, apparently, as I learned last night, even more people who look the age I actually look - tend to be in their mid-twenties.)  It was actually a fairly pleasant experience, which bus rides in the states - even with wifi - never, ever are.

When I got to Cork, I proceeded immediately to my hostel; this place is definitely friendlier than where I stayed in Dublin, and the common rooms are more spacious and the bathroom less deplorable, but it's also more crowded.  And, again, no towel for rent, and not even a scrap of hand soap in the bathroom.  In my old age I have become exceptionally demanding.  I set out to explore the city, and one of the first things I did was go into a conveniently-located Marks and Spencer to purchase a towel.  I was also a bit curious what, exactly, the famous M&S entailed - it seems to be basically a giant Target, a bit more pretentious and much more expensive but really only because it's British.  I ended up getting a beach towel because (a) it was on clearance sale for a price I might actually, at home, consider paying for such a thing, and (b) I don't have a beach towel and have occasionally wished for one, so it's not a completely wasted purchase as a bath towel would become after this trip.  Now it will be my Irish beach towel.

I walked about Cork for a while, getting the lay of the land - it seems to be much less big-cityized, but also more spread-out, than Dublin.  I went to the English Market (continuing the Ireland-is-the-Philadelphia-of-Europe theme; it was just like the market in Philly except with no Amish vendors and much smaller) and purchased my first proper(?) meal of the trip, a sausage on a stick.  (It was actually really good, even if I did feel a bit stupid eating it.)  I went to the Crawford Art Gallery, which is supposed to be one of the best art museums in Ireland (according to my guidebook); it was actually quite good, even ignoring the zero-Euro cost.  They had a variety of paintings, sculptures, and installations from the nineteen, twentieth, and twenty-third centuries, with some - but not too much - explanation.  On the way back to the hostel, I got a bit lost and ended up walking in what I would have thought was a pedestrian-unfriendly zone - a sort of industrial area with lots of car traffic, home of Heineken Ireland - which contained quite a lot of pedestrians.  I went into several small grocery stores to buy something for dinner, and was repeatedly appalled at the offerings outside the snack / dessert area.  Mayonnaise seems to be a major ingredient in everything here, sometimes in addition to margarine.  Butter and ham also feature prominently.  I ended up buying a wrap with ham and coleslaw (apparently that's considered a vegetable here).  I may have discovered the one country on earth where the cuisine is actually worse than in the States, and - at the same time - the one vacation where it is possible for me to gain weight.

written this morning, on the bus

Well, it’s been up and down.  After finishing my blog entry last night and eating the last of my filched-from-work snacks for dinner (when I get around to posting photos, you’ll see that I haven’t had a proper meal since…. Well, it depends how you define proper meals; possibly since Sunday) I went to the pub where the Literary Pub Crawl was to begin.  It was a very good tour; it began with an introduction to the literary heritage of Ireland and an excerpt from Waiting for Godot I hadn’t realized it, but Samuel Beckett is Irish) and continued with three more pubs alternated with (outdoor) discussion of Oscar Wilde, James Joyce and other Irish writers as well as excerpts from the work.  The tour guides were really excellent; they are professional actors and very knowledgeable on the subject matter.  I didn’t have anything to drink at any of the pubs because I was already feeling so knocked-about, but it was interesting to see all the different places.  One of the people on the tour had also been on the historical walking tour in the morning, and we got to talking – he was a law student from Moscow doing a summer-long tour of Europe to participate in debate competitions.  As I was leaving the final pub to go back to the hostel, one of the tour guides suggested I arrange a future meeting with “[my] friend from Moscow” because “stranger things have happened”.  I pointed out that (aside from the fact that I’m pretty sure neither of us was interested in such “things”) he lives in, you know, Moscow, and also is probably a decade younger than me, and both tour guides were quite surprised to learn that I am not, in fact, 22.  Of course I know I look young, particularly when I’m tired, but these days I mostly meet people who know that I’m not a college student, and my conception of myself has evolved so much in the last five years that it’s surprising to realize that I still register (at least to middle-aged men) as very nearly a child.

               That was the up bit.  The down bit started in the middle of the night, when I was awoken by the noise of the bars outside and the snoring roommate inside and kept awake for, I don’t know, somewhere between one and two hours.  This was much-needed sleep that I lost, but worse was the fact that I couldn’t really entertain myself, since my netbook was in my locker outside and turning on a light while other people are sleeping is not the done thing.  Also, I was starving; I retrieved and ate the “flapjack” I bought yesterday – that was the last of my stockpiled food, and events like last night are one of the reasons I stockpile – and tried not to feel too sorry for myself.  I thought of two of the couples on the literary tour; they must have been in their late twenties, both newlyweds, with about eight brain cells among  the four of them (this is an unfair characterization, I suppose, as one of the couples seemed to possess about four brain cells each, while the other couple clearly had none).  They chattered away merrily while we waited for the tour to begin, mostly about their weddings (one of the couples was on their honeymoon; the other, or at least its female half, was just wedding-obsessed) and a bit about their travels.  I was certain that neither of these couples, in their proper hotel rooms, was having trouble sleeping, or at least if they were, they were having trouble sleeping in a proper room.  Of course, I told myself, hotel rooms in Europe are not, in my experience, significantly less depressing – or any more spacious, per person – than hostel rooms. 

               At some point I fell asleep again and didn’t wake up until morning (good).  I showered – there was hot water (good), and although I didn’t have a towel and the hostel people didn’t have one to rent to me (bad), it was fairly warm so I was able to get cleanish and dryish without too much fuss (good). I had a bit of breakfast (good).  I discovered that I had forgotten half the cord for my camera (bad, but could have been worse – it was the outlet half, not the camera half, so I can still charge by connecting to my computer, possibly, or possibly with the plug half of the computer adaptor) and had been under a misapprehension about the outlets available in Ireland and brought the wrong adaptor (bad, but could have been worse – the hostel sold me a universal adaptor).  I also discovered that I could get a bus instead of a train to Cork, which would take more time – unclear how much more time, maybe an hour?) and cost a great deal less money (13E rather than 60E, which seems worth it).  I had to hightail it to the bus station, though, since there are only buses every two hours.  I made it just in the nick of time (very good; the train station is all the way across town so I might have been stuck for two hours if I’d missed the bus) but as I was putting my bag under the bus I realized that one of the compartments was open.  It wasn’t the main one, where I have all my clothes and sundries or one of the smaller ones where I have shoes and lotions.  It was the second-to-main one, where I put all my biking gear.  It’s unclear what, if anything, fell out – I didn’t have time to look, and I don’t even recall how far open the compartment was, definitely significantly.  This could be very, very bad – my biking shoes and toe clips were in there, which might be hard to replace here and would certainly be expensive ($200, or more, for both); also my biking shorts, brand-new camelback, and bike helmet – in other words, all the expensive and/or difficult-to-replace-while-traveling stuff is in this compartment, so this is probably the worst compartment to lose something from, since clothe and toiletries are comparatively disposable.  So I could have really screwed myself over here, simply by being in a rush and forgetting to check all the compartments of the bag.  It is also possible that nothing fell out; if something heavy or loud had fallen, it is to be hoped that I would have heard it, or that someone walking behind me would have seen and told me.  My blue vest was sort of poking out when I discovered; this is encouraging because it is one of the last things I put in the compartment (although also lightweight and friction, which means less likely to fall out).  The nature of the compartment is such that I’m most worried about narrow things, particularly the camelback and the pedals.  I suppose there’s no point in worrying about it too much, since I can do exactly nothing about it until I get to Cork.

               Which is where I’m on my way to now.  We’re driving through countryside; it seems to be not exactly woods and not exactly farmland.  Pastureland, maybe?  Just now I see a field with grazing animals – cows or sheep.  Very Britishly, there have been lots of walkers, on the road (when we’re not on highways) and even in the fields.  The fields are much smaller than American fields, too, and have trees or shrubs as borders.

One thing I’ve noticed here is how many other languages, besides English and Irish, I see.  Everything is in English, of course, and everything official is also in Irish - apparently only the very old and the very well-off speak it now – but there are also bits of German and French and everything else.  I wonder if this is a European thing, with all the countries being so close together.  I didn’t notice it in France, but they’re defensive of their language there and frequently signage isn’t even in English.  I noticed it a bit in Iceland, but not as much, and thought it was because of the prominence of the tourist industry.  I don’t recall noticing it at all in Germany. 

Sleepy, and also hungry.  Should have had more breakfast in the hostel, but I didn’t really like the place and felt uncomfortable there.  Hostels are always physically uncomfortable, but the attitude of the management and guests makes a big difference in how they feel.  At this one, the management seemed largely contemptuous of the foreignness and uncoolness of the guests, and the guests seemed obnoxious and aggressive.  Perhaps, though, this is just that I’ve gotten too old and remain too uncool for such places.  I think Cork will be better, if only because it’s a smaller city.  There should be less street noise, hopefully less crowding.  I’m looking forward to relaxing for the day and a half after I get there (assuming I don’t have to shop for new bike supplies…) – and also to the rest stop we’re supposed to make in a while, when I’ll be able to get some kind of snack.

Dublin. No, I do not have a creative title.

Somehow, when I travel, I always seem to have more adventures than usual even before I leave home.  Perhaps I am more attuned to adventures, or perhaps there is something about dragging a suitcase that creates adventure.

I don't know that I have the energy - or the time, really - to do my adventures of the last 24 hours justice, but I'll try to make a quick rundown for the benefit of posterity and my two readers.

• Met a bizarre character on the way to the airport
• Flew on  possibly the oldest commercial airplane currently in service.  
• Took pleasant, efficient, reasonably-priced public transit directly to hostel.
• Discovered that I have become too old and spoiled to appreciate hostels.  In this one, you have to either leave your stuff unlocked (bad idea, obviously) or lock it in lockers that are not only not in the same building as where you are going to sleep but not in an actual building at all.  This is particularly fun when you discover something in your bag has exploded; my approach to this has been to mop up as best I can and just cede that compartment to grossness for the time being. (Fortunately it only had bottles in it, no clothes.)
• Walked around a bit, trying to get my bearings and choose between the free walking tour recommended by the hostel guy, which seemed poorly organized but was free, and the 12E walking tour recommended by the guidebook.  After a meallet of yogurt and coffee (eating is an adventure for me even at home; in a foreign country, there are whole realms of excitement, such as the fact that they have hazelnut yogurt here, which is actually really good, even though it's Yoplait, which is a brand I can't stand in the US, and also trying to ingest caffeine in the absence of proper drip coffee, which which today's solution has been something called the macchiato) I chose the latter.  It turned out to be a good decision; there wasn't too much walking involved, but it was historically-focused and quite interesting.
• Comment: A lot of Dublin architecture reminds me of early U.S. architecture, I think what would be called Federalist at home.  Here it's called Georgian and is on a grander scale.  In general the city is a bit like Philadelphia - lots of history, lots of old politics, buildings from the same period, upscale shopping, a bit of seaminess - but with more aggressive drivers.
• After the walking tour, visited the Chester Beatty Library, which is an impressive collection of illuminated manuscripts, plus an exhibit about art books by Matisse.
• Walked north of the river - shopping (largely chains we have in NYC, plus Marks and Spencer), books and more books, tourists and souvenir shops, statues.  Had more coffee, and something called a "tiffin" that I thought, from the packaging and display, would be a granola bar or protein bar or something, but turned out to have the following ingredient list: "Belgian milk chocolate, biscuit".  I'm pretty sure this food item would be illegal at home, but it did give me the energy to continue walking - important, because at this point (around 3 p.m., or 10 a.m. after almost no sleep according to my internal clock) I was definitely flagging. 
• Continued walking.  Presumably there are pictures of the interesting things I saw on my camera.  Saw another shopping district and a biggish park.  Sat on the grass, fell asleep, woke up freezing (it was warm-ish this morning but by late afternoon was in the low 60s).  
• Detoured through residential areas to see the birthplace of George Bernard Shaw and the Irish Jewish Museum, both open only a couple hours a day and not the hours I was there.  At this point the day was starting to feel less like vacation and more like boot camp, which I suppose is how my vacations frequently end up.

I have at this point walked past/through a good portion of the tourism-relevant area of the city.  There is certainly more I could see, and museums I could visit and so forth, but I won't feel bad about leaving tomorrow morning.  Tonight - because a hostel is not a place you have a quiet night in - I'm going to go to something called the Literary Pub Crawl, which is basically a tour of places that writers went (although probably also a bit of a pub crawl as per the name) and is supposed to be very interesting.  Then, I'm looking forward (with perhaps a bit of delusional optimism) to a good night's sleep before a quiet train ride to Cork.