I had thought about chunking this into smaller blogs, but I think it'll just be a big old rambly thing at first. I may go back and chunk out to repost specifics, as I'm having trouble getting photos to load and I don't wanna play any more.
Most of the missing photos are on my facebook wall, I cannot get them to re post. If you really need to see a photo, check the wall. I wish technology would work better for me but...well, it's me.
20 March 2019
I am back at school after eight days in Dublin. At 53, I finally have a passport, and that passport has two stamps on it.
I did not, at any point, either while achieving my passport, or standing in line waiting for customs, say "I have lived too much life to put up with this." Because it's not much to put up with when you look at it as continuing to live your life. That phrase doesn't apply when traveling. However, at two points I did say "I don't want to play any more" when it came to following signs or google maps.
Can We Just Get Out Of DIA?
Really, since this is our home airport, you would think there wouldn't be any issues.
And you would be wrong.
I'm the kid who lets anxiety drive the bus. Therefore the passports are safely tucked away, and I made Jim print the itinerary so I could memorize it. I made him check the hotel reservations, which were wrong (just saying) and we would not have known that until we got there had it not been for my need to obsessively check everything, all of the time.
Jim is the opposite. For example, he may grab an old bag that belonged to one of the girls at the last minute, to use for his laptop. Being Not kryssi, he did not clean out the bag. He just put his laptop in it and hopped into the truck.
Cue Security at DIA stopping him because there is something up with his bag. What could it be?
SCISSORS.
Not nose hair scissors, not tiny scissors, full kitchen SCISSORS. In his carry on.
So they stopped him.
They let him continue. I wish to reiterate, they did not confiscate the scissors. They let him keep them, and when we stopped at the gate he pulled out the scissors and a protractor.
This moment does two things: it explains our marriage complications, and it illustrates that DIA was not interested in profiling.
He pulled out the protractor and we all just stood staring at him. Blink, blink.
Let's go to Ireland! Nothing can go wrong.
Heathrow Is Not An Airport, It Is A Mall. That's all that needs to be said about that.
Passports and Customs and Plane Rides
It turns out that newbie travelers are a pain in the butt. We were that pain. Best story is of going through customs from Heathrow to Dublin. There are not people checking your passport once you've talked to a person. Why they check everything twice I have no idea. But you first go to the person, and say "vacation" and they squint at your photo, stamp your passport and send you on your way. This after you've cleared security. But then, before you embark on the plane, there is another check point. Another opportunity for something to go wrong. You've gone through security, you've said "vacation" to the person and received your passport stamp, and here you are cued at a kiosk. You must put your passport in the laser guide photo down, and it will read your photo to prove you are you. It's like a chute, with gates that open once the camera you're looking into recognizes you as the photo on your passport you have placed under the laser. Simultaneously, your feet should match the painted footprints on the ground and you must look at the camera. Nothing can possibly go wrong with this set up.
Clearly, it was Jim this happened to. He kept putting his passport in the laser and multitasking the camera and feet, only to have the doors not open. I reminded him to take off his glasses, as they had told us to do that previously. Which he did, and the camera took a photo of his hand in front of his face, removing his glasses. He just stood there vexed, and I had to tap the security person. "He's stuck, can you help?" Because he wasn't going to call attention to himself at all , he was just going to stay in that passport chute like a dog trapped in a crate and wait for someone to notice. He was following the signs as directed, and nothing was working.
Cabbies and Tour Guides
Our airport cabby was fabulous. He was friendly and he liked talking with us. He asked where we were from, and when he heard "Colorado", this happened:
"Colorado? Is it like in the movies with John Wayne? All rocks and mountains? Ah, Kansas, Utah, Nevada, Montana,you are near them, right? It sounds beautiful there."
One of our cabbies asked how our visit was going. We told him we liked The Barge, by the hotel. He said "Oh ya, that's a good place. They have waitresses there." Confused by this odd statement, he obliged us by continuing: "Most our pubs are carveries, you know. That's how I prefer it, I like to see my food. I don't know what they're doing back there in the kitchen. And I don't have time to wait for a waitress." I found this information kinda hilarious, because a "carvery" is like a buffet. It's not cooked in front of you, it came out of a kitchen, so there is still some mystery. Also, at lunch time, the carveries are busy and you still have to wait for your turn to have your meat carved. It is less about convenience, clearly, than it is about wanting things to Be The Way They Are Supposed To Be, and I respect that.
Our tour guide on the "Paddywagon" asked where we were all from. When he received no answers of "Great Britain", he felt free to hate Cromwell and refer to the British as the "Overlords".
The young man giving the Trinity College tour was an alumni and delightful, I was hoping he would be my son in law. Alas, neither of my children would speak to him, so I had to be content with awkwardly tipping him at the end of the tour. He told a great story of a much hated professor that was "murdered" in the faculty housing by students. They threw rocks at his window, he got a gun, then they got guns, it was a gunfight. "Murdered" is not the term I would use so much, but maybe it's a cultural thing. I enjoyed the idea that someone shot at students who were harassing them.
Uber exists in Dublin, but I have no idea how it works. We ended up trying to download "MyTaxi", which the hotel recommended, but five people is a rough number and a minimal number of cabs are minivans. There are taxi stands, like bus stops, but you still have to flag a cab. Unlike a bus stop, just standing there looking like you need a ride does not work. At least with a cabby there is a person you can talk to. The tram relies on your ability to read a clearly marked map. And you rely on the doors to open at your stop...that may not have happened and we had to ride one stop down, disembark, cross the tracks and get on the other train. I will say this, it's easy to switch directions.
Dublin Is Divided by a River
Dublin is divided by north and south by the river Liffy. However, there are no mountains, so determining which side of the river you are on is a crap shoot. A guide tried to tell us about the moss growing on one side, and I started having Houston flashbacks. The map is unhelpful as you cannot see the river. I'm pretty sure we had an "ish" idea at the end of the fourth or fifth day, but we were cabbing outside of our comfort zone. The Jameson distillery is not in a great neighborhood, and I had no interest in being there after dark, walking the alleyways, hoping I had turned the proper direction toward the tram. Our Trinity college tour guide was from the South Side but assured us that did not mean he was rich. So I guess South is rich? Whichever side Jameson is on is the side I vote for "Not Rich".
The Hilton Charlemont and Bar
Usually, I am a snob about hotel bars. I don't like them. But this place came to the rescue our second night when we were in need of food after 10 pm, and discovered The Barge only served until 10. The Hilton bar served until 10.30. They were nice, the French waiter was cute and by the time we left six days later, we had spent enough money in that bar alone to support a family. When we surveyed the totals at check out, Jim said "They're going to have to let a waiter go now that we're leaving."
PUBS
The Barge 42 Sraid Charlemont, Saint Kevin's, Dublin 2
Lucky for us, there was a very "American" pub, with food menus and wait staff next to the hotel called The Barge. Now, just because it was next to the hotel-literally across the street at an intersection- don't go thinking it was an easy walk. Jim was almost killed twice by bicyclists, because in Dublin bicyclists have their own lanes and signals. And just because your little walking man signal says "Walk", that does not mean their bicycle man signal says "Stop". They both say "Go" at the same time, and it's on you to look right for traffic and left and right for bikes. This trip was full of adventures because Jim followed the signs. The sign said "Walk" so he did, without looking for a bicycle. When he as almost smashed, I said "You have to look," and he said "The sign said I could walk." This was not the first time we had these issues with signs in Dublin.We should have known, based on his face not matching his passport, that there would be issues. So,you cannot walk across the street, that's jaywalking. You must walk to the corner. I can see the bar on the other side of the street but I cannot walk to there. I must turn left, walk across that street, turn right, walk across that street, turn right again and cross that street. Three light stops to cross a street, three separate lights: one for people, one for bikes and one for cars. Keep in mind none of these cars are driving on the proper side of the road, either, and the bikes can come from either direction.
v
v
>>>here
Immediately we loved it. Three stories, stone, bars on ground, second landing and upstairs. Clearly wait staff and a kitchen for those of us who are used to such things. We found a table upstairs and parked ourselves. This is where we discovered Appleman's Cider. It followed us throughout Dublin.
This photo is from the canal side, facing away from the hotel. It's on a corner. The hotel is on the opposite corner. Clearly they painted it after the top photo, as it was black and white when we visited.
Weary travelers grateful we were not killed by cars or bikes crossing the street for a pint.
Appleman's Cider!
Leave it to us to find a pub just like home. We arrived early for our Haunted Walking Tour, and stumbled into the nearest pub: Brogan's Bar, 75 Dame ST, Temple Bar, Dublin.
Everyone here is old like us. The art on the walls are old Guinness cartoons reminding us that "Guinness is Strength". Our first venture out from the hotel and we were told "This is the Temple Bar District". Yet, a few days later, on the other side of the river, we walked a cobble stone street with pubs on both sides. One of them the famous "Temple Bar". So....not sure which was real, but we were at both.
Everyone here was our age, friendly and comfortable. We did not have a lot of time, so only one pint before the tour. There was no sign of any food, ever. If this place had a carvery they packed it all up after lunch. We texted our Iron Works friends, laughing at our ability to find The Same Bar We Have At Home in Dublin. Of course we did.
King St S, Dublin, Ireland
Sinnotts Our landmarks were the Molly Malone statue, and the tram drop off at St. Stephen's Green. This pub was by the tram station. We happened in on the day of the Wales/Ireland rugby match. We were there about noon and it was already filling up a few hours before the game. Turns out we had chosen a Wales pub, so everyone was decked out in Wales red (Ireland was green). They were all loud and happily shouting at one another, the complete opposite of any sports bar I've seen in the US. The TV's were blaring and we only stayed for two drinks. A nice young man at the table next to us offered to take our photo. When we left, we gave him our table and he thanked us, saying "It's fine, we're here for the next twelve hours." Dude, that's commitment.
20 Lower Bridge Street, Dublin 8, Co
The Brazen Head, Established 1198. The oldest pub in Dublin. The entrance is like an open air pub that feels like the Renaissance fair, but as you walk back there are these windowless rooms, some with bars, all with heavy wooden tables. Our room was like a library, there were book shelves with both books and the requisite displays of Guinness and Jameson bottles. But the walls were all covered in patches. Again, I was impressed by the commitment of these people.
Harp with a Harp. Harp had never had a Harp.
Trying to get photos to save on my phone. Is that what I look like? Man, I am 80 years old and blind. My Constant State.
Harper had fish n chips, she was the self assigned fish n chips connoisseur on the trip. Karie and I split a wedge of friend brie with a side of cranberry sauce that was freaking to die for. I have no idea how they fried this thing, but it was light and crispy and thick and magnificent.
A Brief Interlude Regarding Bathroom Etiquette: Wash Your Hands When You're Done. Eww.
Haunted Walking Tour Dublin and Landmarks
I was hesitant about this. We did a "Haunted Walking Tour" of St. Augustine that was less haunted than history and way too much walking. But hell, you gotta book something. We left Brogan's and crossed the street (which means walked a block to a light, crossed, walked back a block to the meeting place). We met a couple who had arrived at the same time that we did, from Arkansas. Also, two guys from LA, and three women from...not sure I caught it. All Americans. We bonded, got the 411 on other tours. The women told us the Cliffs of Moher were a must, but the wind was so strong they said they could jump and were lifted off of the ground. "And we are not small people," she exclaimed with delight.
So the tour was....just like St. Augustine. Less haunted than history and a lot of walking. We started in one place and ended in another two hours later, which is unnerving when you have no idea which side of the river you are on where is our hotel where is west?
But, stories of the ghost of Johnathan Swift giving coins to the poor and Darky Kelly's murder and the discovery of bodies under her floorboards notwithstanding, we got to see our first castle. Dublin Castle. Just right there, in the middle of town. Because they don't knock these things down to build parking lots and malls, they leave them. Castles are everywhere in this country.
Dublin Castle. In the city. And heads on spikes stories, always a great feature.
Dublin Castle spikes. Heads on Spikes is always a great story for a Haunted Tour. According to the guide, the floating heads are only visible to those from Great Britain, due to their guilt.
We passed the Smock Alley (photo won't load) where Genoa performed in 2016, and found out that the roof had collapsed in 1700 something. Roofs collapse a lot here. The Irish fire architects or don't pay them pretty regularly, so.... the theatre collapse was during a rehearsal, so it was fine, only actors were killed. The place is haunted by "a boy dressed as a girl". They were rehearsing Shakespeare when the roof collapsed.
Along the tour and the story of Johnathan Swift giving coins to the poor in this alley (in which you will receive coins upon waking should you pass out in the same alley), a young man lurched past the tour and yelled "Bullshit! It's all Bullshit" at the poor guide, who was just doing his job. He laughed and said "Yep, it is," and kept going. I would encounter this same young man later on the Paddywagon tour. He sat behind me and critiqued the driver all day. Twelve hours listening to him convinced me it was the same kid.
Many of the tours meet at the Molly Malone statue by the St. Andrews Church Tourist Center. The first thing you notice about Molly are her boobs. They're everywhere. The song says she was the prettiest fishseller on Fishy Fishy Way...well, Fishamble Street. She "may" have been a prostitute as well, we're told. If she was not, then why is her statue mostly breasts? I'd say ya, that rack suggests she was for hire. She became our landmark, from which we would meet and navigate, and as such we walked past her several times. Every time there was a tour group, I would watch them grope her grapes. I started to wonder if the tour guides were telling tourists that rubbing her rutabagas was good luck. How else do you explain a group of school aged children all delightfully touching her ta-tas? And the brass on her bosoms is definitely more worn, so this is a time honored tradition?
Darky Kelly's Pub (photo google)
Our less haunted more historic tour guide gave us a long tale of Darky Kelly. Darky was a prostitute who collected taxes on Fishamble way, and was quite dishonest about it. She led a sketchy prostitute/tax collector/madame life until she made enough to retire and get a residence to herself. At that point, she embarked on an affair with an affluent local, who may have been the sheriff or constable or such, and got pregnant. Following all scripts, legends and romance novels of the 18th century of rich men and low women, he of course turned on her, accused her of witchcraft and she was, according to legend, then burned at the stake at St. Audoen's church. Now, according to Wikipedia, she was hanged for murder and the baby was used by the affluent father in a satanic ritual. Neither story is nice. Both stories do involve a nice reversal ending worthy of Stephen King; when they searched her residence after her death, they found dead guys under the floorboards. Seems like Darky was a bit of a serial murderer.
In the end, Molly got a statue on main street near the tourists. Darky got a pub on Fishamble street. History has judged them and chosen who they are.
St. Audoen's Church High St, The Liberties, Dublin 8, Ireland
These are the gates of the church, where Darky Kelly was allegedly burned at the stake. It is also where desperate mothers left their infants for the monks to find homes, and where the lepers were kept for mass. Neat.
A Hell Fire Club exists in the woods outside of Dublin. It was a place for a group of well to do young men to worship Satan and perform witchcrafty sacrificey things. Our Tour Guide said Ghost Hunters or some such outfit investigated it. This was the first we heard of it, and they do tours, but only on Fridays and we wouldn't be back from the Cliffs of Moher in time to make it. Next time, though...
Some Other Church---churches are like castles in this country--there was a monk who ran an after hours type rave arrangement in the catacombs. Again, 1700 ish. I feel like Dublin history arrested in 1700 ish and the music arrested in 1978. Anywhoo, he only ran the after hours gig during the summer, and locked up for the winter. One season, he locked up and when he returned to open the following spring, he was met by a distinctly deathly stench. Turns out, a police officer who had been reported missing the previous season, had gotten so drunk he'd passed out behind a piece of furniture. The monk missed him when he locked up so...the rats had a winter feast! Ya, he haunts the place, clearly.
YET ANOTHER CHURCH the stonemason discovered he wasn't being paid what he was told, or he was fired, half way through the build. So he went to the woods and liberated stones from the Hell Fire Club and worked them into the church walls. After he was finished--why did he finish if he was not being paid or had been fired? Anyway, he finished and then told them what he'd done. I like this guy. To this day there are priests who will not enter the church grounds.
MUSIC
No matter the bar, pub, tour bus or cab or market place,all the music was either 1978 third string disco, or Cat Stevens and Bob Dylan. In the cab returning from The Brazen Head I listened to "9 to 5" on the radio.We did love the duo at the hotel bar, who mixed in Irish songs and added "Country Roads" to their repertoire. Everyone in the bar, local staff and visitors from all over the world, sang along. Because John Denver is universal. I had no idea.
Their TV stations have the same disease, all the American shows are Murder She Wrote and Columbo, although we did discover Everybody Loves Raymond.
Trinity College Book of Kells Architecture in General
So the Irish have endeared themselves to me in many ways, and one is their blatant disregard for safety.
The Trinity College cafeteria building has collapsed twice. Twice. Because nobody hired a real architect and /or paid an architect until after the second collapse. The buildings in the quad don't match, because the architect built three of them, they fired him, and someone else finished.
I thought the Book of Kells was going to be the New Testament behind glass. Yawn. Turns out it's art. Well worth it. And the Trinity library...holy crap. Church like, beautiful, stunning, awe inspiring. (aaaannnnd the photos won't load) The books are not sorted by title or author, but by size due to the arches of the library. Fascinating. Poor architecture design?
THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY
I chose a bus tour online. I do not regret it, I just wish I would have known more about Dublin. We took a Paddywagon tour to the Cliffs of Moher. When I booked it, Jim and I started joking about the Princess Bride. I looked it up for fun, and it turns out we were right. It's where they filmed the Cliffs of Insanity
.
So en route, the bus stops at a few small villages. The first stop: The Barack Obama Station. Apparently, Obama visited Limerick, where his great grandfather lived, and he stopped at this place for a pint. He drank it at ten a.m., much to the delight of the locals, who then enshrined the empty pint in a museum upstairs at the Barack Obama Station. I thought it would be like a Colorado rest area, but in fact it was a Circle K. HILARIOUS. It's just been renamed "Barack Obama Station", and there is a photo of Obama and the locals with a photo of his great grandfather. And I loved hearing the name "Barack" with the accent, he could have said it all day.
Bunratty Castle
THE CLIFFS OF MOHER
"Many people a year die here," said the guide. With all of the rain, the cliff edges---clearly marked with a stone wall--are unstable. Yet people die getting selfies when the ground gives way under them while trying for that "perfect selfie". Tragic, he said. Natural selection, I said.
We stopped in town called Doolin after the cliffs, and experienced another carvery and pint. These tours are a nice idea, but when you've got buses, plural, pulling into these villages you need to allow more than 45 minutes for lunch. We spent twenty of it in line, awaiting our carvery roast beef and potatoes or Guinness beef stew. It was good, but frankly Jim's Guinness beef stew is much better. First off, he's not making a batch big enough to feed a thousand tourists. I loved the scenery, the views of the Atlantic, the quiet pace. There were several B&B's along the way and I wondered about doing that. It would mean I'd have to drive. Never mind.
The town I loved the most was Kinvara. They were hiring to work at the local castle Dunguaire, I thought about staying.
If you wish to see photos, you'll have to facebook stalk me. They're labeled, but won't transfer here. True Bummer.
SHOPPING ish
Across from the Dr. Marten store on Grafton, is the Bailey Bar. It looks like a lovely, quiet coffee cafe, but inside is yet another attempt at a 50's diner, which everyone apparently thinks we want. But the difference is that there is rugby on the giant TV's and they serve beer. Specifically Appleman's cider, my new favorite. We enjoyed the time there, deciding our next move. After lunch, it was determined that we needed to go see the Bog People- our tour guide had mentioned them the day before. Apparently. the Celts around 300 BC would preserve their cheese in the bogs. When they were excavated, how ever many years later, bodies were also discovered with the cheese. At first they thought maybe it was a graveyard, but all the Bog Dudes were murdered. They are almost perfectly preserved, hair and fingernails. Some were bound, all were bludgeoned with an axe or some other object. They were all also from the upper class, due to the hair gel---right? Can you even believe that was preserved? These were not peasants, they were landowners. Maybe they were sacrifices? But who sacrifices the nobles? Fascinating.
Anyway, we decided to separate so Karie and the girls could head toward the Bog Dudes while we paid the bill. Genoa sent an address for the Irish Museum Archaeology to Jim's phone and it was a six minute walk. Jim looked down at his phone and started walking. This was a trait throughout our trip, he was led by google maps and is very obedient to signs. See above "Almost killed by a bicyclist because the sign said he could walk."
Ten minutes later, I say "This is wrong. There is no way this is the right direction." He insists that the map is pointing this way, but we're in a residential area. I'm done playing with google at this point so I ask a cabbie. I like to talk to people, I trust people, not machines. The cabbie indicated that we were, in fact, pretty lost. I said "We're done, let's take a cab." During all of this, Karie and the girls were at the museum looking at the Bog Dudes and resending the address, trying to understand how the hell we got lost when they walked right up to it with the same directions. When we arrived at the museum, I looked at the entrance and said "Jim, we walked right past it. Google didn't tell you that we were in front of it?"
Lesson here, kids. Look up.
300 BC and his Conan O'Brien hair is intact!
St Patrick's Day Parade
Only a few photos and none of the video would load. Those are on Facebook.
The morning of the parade, the only coffee shop open was Starbucks. We'd managed to avoid it for five days, but had no choice. The food was better than the American Starbucks, which was a nice surprise as I had heartburn the entire visit due to the boiling of meats and potatoes and consumption of Appleman's daily. They asked Harper how to spell her name after she repeated it twice, and wrote on her cup "Arbru". That's not English or Gaelic. We looked it up.
We openly acknowledged we came on this weekend to people watch, not to indulge. But one thing we did want to do was at least glimpse the second largest parade in the world. We then stood on the street for two hours waiting for the parade.
It was worth it.
This was not corporations with trucks filled with employees pulling a paper mache beer behind them. This was art. These were moving sculptures, puppets, bagpipes and bands, all without corporate sponsorship or an agenda. They were simply celebrating their Celtic heritage.
Wow.
We left the parade and went back to The Barge for lunch, as there was no way we were getting a table anywhere on Grafton street. The tram was only running between Charlemont and St. Stephens Green, all trams were abbreviated for the holiday,and we didn't want to schlep to the other side of Dublin. It was nice, kinda quiet for St. Patrick's, largely because our hotel was on the "wrong" side of Dublin. We got some lunch and decided to go to St. Stephens Green. What a gorgeous park, with beautiful and historically important statues.
The Fates
The park was teeming with tourists. We learned early on that most Dubliners flee during St. Patrick's day. But there was a group of about eight boys and one girl, clearly local, traveling in a pack around the park. Eating snacks, drinking sodas, spreading out and calling names, you know:teenagers. Somehow we ended up at their pace and got trapped, it was uncomfortable for a moment. Then the Garda appeared. "Hey, Lads, come here." The replies from the pack were low level "F-yous", and the Garda didn't blink an eye. He stood, waited for them to walk to him and then said "Let's go. You're leaving." Just like that. The Garda had authority and the kids obeyed. I've never seen anything like it.
I learned things! I learned that the Irish took in thousands of German orphans after WWII, and for that, Germany gave them a statue. A Haunted As Hell Statue I would wish to be nowhere near after dark, but a beautiful statue. "The Fates", it's gorgeous but really sad. I wondered about the artist, if he was a German who had lost children during the war, or if he himself was one of those transported to the Emerald Isle after the war. Something. There is something truly devastatingly sad about that statue.
Howth
When Genoa traveled to Dublin in 2016 to perform at the Smock Alley theatre, she took a side trip to the village of Howth. She sent me pictures, and I said I wanted to live there. So, clearly, we had to go.
It is a seaside village that reminded us of Amity in Jaws. I said "Amity, as you know, means friendship." The moment I said those words, we saw a restaurant with a shark over the entrance.
We visited the market right off for food, and discovered quesadillas, cupcakes and noodles. Noodles were the choice, and they were the best noodles I have ever had. I wished we had tried the quesadillas. Our experiences had taught us that there isn't really any Mexican food in Dublin. We're not sure what the guacamole was, but it wasn't guacamole, and the sour cream was yogurt.
Genoa said there was a cute trail behind the market, so we headed up. As I had been shocked by the amount of garbage on the streets of Dublin, I was mortified by the garbage on this trail. Literally, a kitchen sink and a TV were chucked into a small stream between the trail and the golf course. I'm from Colorado, this is not how we treat nature. Is no one looking after this place? Are there no maintenance crews? This is local behavior, not tourists, clearly.
There is a neighborhood on one side and a golf course on the other. Neither seems to be responsible for the walking path and small stream that runs between them.
After Howth, we packed and headed to The Barge for a so long meal and pints. I didn't want to leave. I know it's going to change dramatically, they have a lot of tech coming in and the building boom looks like Denver's a few years ago. Dublin, beware! Do not let commerce or progress bully you out of your culture. Keep those carveries, don't let them go. So much of who Dublin is and how they survive is rooted in tourism, but that will change if more foreigners move in and start dictating the culture. These people are ornery and know who they are, hold on. They've been through much worse, and I'm sure they'll be fine, but at a Coloradan I cringed looking at the crane in the city, watching the progress. They have all kinds of restrictions in place regarding sky scrapers, which is great, but they are clearly building, clearly growing and clearly, growth brings change. Hang on to your carveries, Dublin, your hatred of Cromwell and your decidedly Irish demeanor. And when you decide to clean up your garbage, give me a call.
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