stress, part 2.

And now, back to our story. And the much-hyped stress. (Beware: lots of cat drama at the end down there. You've been warned.)

After Luxembourg, it was off to Trier by train. I don't remember how I first found out about Trier, but it appealed to me for three reasons: 1), it's in Germany, where we can sorta speak a little of the language; 2), it's the oldest city in Germany (founded in or before 16 BC!!), and 3) they have Roman ruins . Done, done, and done.

As it turns out, Trier is actually quite well known on the tourist circuit, so when we arrived, the main sites were quite crowded. Including this fantastic thing, which was immediately next to our hotel:

Porta Nigra! The largest and best-preserved Roman city gate north of the Alps. Built sometime during the 2nd century AD; converted into a church sometime during the 11th century after the death of its resident monk, St. Simeon; church dismantled by Napoleon during the early 19th century...this thing has has all kinds of crazy interesting history, and it's wicked impressive.

Here's the back side, with a tourist or two. (Fact: the name "Porta Nigra" dates only back to the middle ages, as the sandstone had already blackened by then. The original Latin name is lost.)

Naturally, we had to go inside. 

There are all sorts of intricate carvings inside, dating back to its use as a church.

From each passage, you can see down to the floor below.

Lots of really intricate details.

View from the top into the medieval center of town.

The actual guided tours were being given by these shouty guys wearing full centurion gear. Heh. (You can tell by Fur Hood there on the left that it was cold in Trier.)

Thought this inscription was interesting: both sides are in Latin, but the script is so different.

The main square at Hauptmarkt. The tower on the left is the 14th-century Market Church of St. Gangolf** (which served as both church and watchtower), and the white building on the right is a reconstruction of the Steipe, or city council's banquet hall, originally built in 1483 but destroyed during WWII.

Random little arch over Liebfrauenstrasse, with the cathedral behind.

Cathedral (left, behind) and Liebfrauenkirche (right, front): oldest cathedral and Gothic church in Germany, respectively, dating roughly to the 9th (although some walls portions are older and Roman) and 13th centuries, respectively.

The whole ensemble is pretty massive (here, the front of the cathedral, with Liebfrauenkirche on the right).

Didn't get to go inside the Liebfrauenkirche, but we did get to see the inside of the cathedral. Fairly vast and relatively sparse, save a few baroque details, but it did have this: the chapel of the Holy Robe, supposedly the tunic of Jesus. Visitors can only enter the chapel on one day each year, and even then you don't get to see the robe. Innnnteresting. I do like that on their website, though, they claim right up front that there's no way to prove the robe actually belonged to Jesus. Way to keep it real, kids.

Slightly southeast of the cathedral is the massive, red brick Konstantin Basilica, which was originally built as a throne for the emperor Constantine around the year 310, and incorporated into the Electoral Palace (the pink part) in the 17th century. Today the basilica serves as a protestant church.

A ten-minute walk south of the basilica, along a Roman wall, we found the Kaiserthermen (Imperial Baths), also constructed for Constantine and finished around 314.

They are supposedly the largest baths outside Rome (yeah, you're really not going to beat Caracalla or Diocletian.)

Kaiserthermen.

Best thing about the baths: there were heaps of subterranean tunnels for exploration.

Awesome. We were expecting neither the size nor the underground component of these baths, and it was a delightful surprise.

All this 'sploring made for a busy day, so we elected to have dinner relatively close to our hotel, just off the main square at the Ratskeller. I started with goulash soup, and Mike with onion soup; then I went for one of their Russian dishes (oddly enough, their house specials were mostly Russian), chicken stuffed with cheese, sour cream, and mushrooms, with delicious roasted potatoes; Mike opted for steak with peppercorn sauce and potatoes; and we actually skipped dessert. (Shocking, I know, but sometimes there's only so much you can eat.)

Day two in Trier began with the Easter Sunday service at the cathedral, which I have to say I found a bit impenetrable. Something was lacking for me...maybe it was just the size of the cathedral, or the sheer number of people in attendance that made it all feel very impersonal. Yes, the service was in German, but that wasn't the issue; last year, we attended a service in French that I found really moving, but this year I just didn't have that feeling. It could also have been the Catholic aspect of the service--I have absolutely zero problem with the Catholic tradition and style of worship, but it's just not for me. It's like they have a secret code, with all of the kneeling and bits of music in Latin and call-and-response that everyone else knows and can follow, but not me...it's like if you don't know the secret code, then you don't get to worship. And I can't kneel 'cause my knees are stupid-painful and noisy*, and so I always feel like all of the kneelers around me (especially the devout old people, who, I'm sure, have arthritis and all manner of other things that make it hard for them to kneel, and so why shouldn't I be kneeling, too??) are judging me when I just remain sitting. (And also, it's not part of my own worship tradition, so that makes it weird for me to kneel, too.) Plus, we had somehow gotten the wrong programs and couldn't even follow along with anything in the songbook. It was utterly disappointing. 

[WARNING: cat drama ahead. Just quit now, if you're not into tales of overwhelming guilt. Or cats.] 

And then, things took a turn for the seriously, seriously worse. After church, Mike received a truly desperate couple of text messages from our cat lady regarding the health of my dear Ned. She had actually begun texting us on our first day in Luxembourg, as Ned entirely refused to take his pill in any form from her, but we then exchanged ideas on how to get him to ingest the stupid thing and she went off to try them. Over that day and the next, we continued to receive messages from her that were alternatively reassuring, and then concerning, and she eventually had her biologist husband come with her on day 3 to help give Ned his pill the old-fashioned way: no treats involved, just stick it down his throat. While I was actually really worried about my stubborn little jerk of a cat, I had gone to bed the night before Easter feeling like things were still mostly ok, since he'd actually taken that last pill, but her final text message more or less read, "Ned is hiding in the dark, he won't eat, he can't keep his eyes open, the other two cats are worried about him and also won't eat, you should come home." 

What the...? Ok, then, call off the rest of the trip, we're going home. So we spent the next seven hours in transit, with me nauseous and in tears most of the way, convinced that I had killed my poor cat. In my cat lady's defense, she was relatively new to the profession and didn't really have the confidence to make Ned take his pill, but I also think that her anxiety really amped up Ned's own stress, and it was just a horrible downward spiral. Really, though, the fault lay with me, as I was overconfident that Ned would conduct himself for her as he does for me, and I planned a trip that was entirely too far from home (we should have stayed within a couple of hours!), and I didn't really provide her with adequate back-up methods to try, should the pill-in-treat method not work. The whole situation was terrible, terrible, terrible, and poor Ned remained quiet and mopey and utterly not himself for about two weeks. He lost weight, got all sorts of mats in the fur around his face, and slept most of the time. I cried a lot and felt horribly guilty and assumed that he was probably going to leave us soon, despite the fact that he was back on his meds and the vet could find nothing wrong. I had a nice talk-it-out with my cat lady, who later left us anyway, because we were moving to the other side of the lake (but obviously, the whole stupid pill situation was problematic as well). I felt so guilty about putting her in such a bad situation, and even worse for abandoning my sick cat to indulge my own travel habits...Ned and I were both not right for a while. 

And then I decided that if Ned was going to leave us, I'd try to make his remaining time with us as good as possible, and lo and behold if he didn't start pulling out of whatever funk he was in. I'm not saying my turn for the better made his happen, but...he got steadily better, I felt less sad and guilty, and one day we all woke up and were normal again. It felt like a small miracle. I had no idea how attached I really was to these fuzzy little jerks, and losing one through my own arrogance and carelessness would probably have really messed me up. I'm getting queasy and teary just thinking about all of this stupid drama, and why couldn't it have been Stewie that had to take the pill? That cat loves everything remotely edible and is never quarrelsome...unlike Ned, who comes with his own instruction manual (do not pet on belly, do not pet at all when tail twitches, do not pick up, do not touch feet, must eat special food, etc., etc., etc.). 

So. We still find ourselves without someone to watch our animals when we travel, but I've dug up a few options, and now that Ned takes his pill with tuna (uppity little snob), I am very cautiously optimistic that we may one day be able to travel again. Probably. And someday I will return to Trier to see all of the awesome things (15th-century boat-loading cranes! the river! more baths! Liebfrauenkirche! the Roman artifact museum! et al.) that we missed on that last day...and hopefully in better weather (i.e., without horizontally-blowing wind and snow flurries).

WOW, sorry to ramble on thusly, but that was a pretty rough patch in our household and a much bigger deal than it should have been, by all rights. For me, it was a major part of the last few months and it's a little cathartic to have it all written down. Anyway, moving on.

But first, a rare moment of peace between Ned and Stew, enjoying some sunshine on the vast, vast window sills of the new apartment. 

What we're watching: last night, it was Moonrise Kingdom, which I will admit actually lives up to the hype. Frankly, I loved it. What a weird, quirky little love story with moments of genuine sadness and hilarity. Go, watch it now. You won't be sorry.

My favorite things: this video that Mike found. IT'S HILARIOUS 'CAUSE IT'S TRUE OF CATS EVERYWHERE. (Disclaimer: this has one or two bad words...don't watch with impressionable little ones around.) For even more awesomeness, watch some of zefrank's 'True Facts' videos...especially the anglerfish one. That's the best. (There's some blue humor in several of them, but for the most part, HAH. Good stuff.)

Next up: a quick photo journey through the new digs. 

*Don't believe me? Ask me for a demo sometime. You'll regret it.

**AAAGGHHHH! St. Gandalf is what they obviously meant.

Source

here's the thing about nachos.

I've come to the realization that they are one of my favorite foods in the entire world, and it doesn't matter if they're doused in electric-velveeta-colored, shelf-stable cheese at some sort of sporting event, or if they're some Michelin-starred restaurant's take on them...I LOVE THEM. Clearly, however, the best ones are the ones we make at home. Good nachos, my friends, involve three things: toppings that you love; no skimping on said toppings; and deep, careful layering that creates even topping distribution, while leaving no chip un-topped. Oh yeah, and YOU HAVE TO BAKE THEM IN THE OVEN, because the microwave will make them soggy, people. In our case, this past week, there were two layers of chopped green onions, homemade refried beans, Mike's Tapatio-and-garlic-marinated chopped chicken (cripes, is it tasty!), homemade enchilada sauce, chopped green chile (sadly, from a can), and handfuls of a cheddar/fontina cheese blend. I ate until I hurt, and then, because there were some left and nachos don't reheat so well, I ATE SOME MORE. My favorite things, indeed.

Hey, gang, sorry for being gone for so long. Lately there's been lots of weirdness and stress and shuffling our lives around a bit, but we're back now, and I think things have finally started to settle down. Also, I'm getting a little tired of starting my blog posts with apologies and excuses, so I figured I'd start this one with a brief treatise on one of my favorite things, rather than the usual apologetic blather. (Imagine that here, if you need a fix.) But on to bigger and better things! Or at least, some summing-up from the stuff that's happened since last we talked.

Let's see...in December, thanks to our friend Roshan, we dined at a delightful little Indian/Sri Lankan restaurant and had the most amazing meal, since he knew the owner. (Who asked if it was all right to just bring out dishes for us...we've learned that you always say yes to this offer.) Purely for the purpose of having some sort of record of this feast, here's what we ate, in order of appearance on our table:

• Pappadam and roti with garlic;
• Samosas, Sri Lankan egg rolls, pakora, and battered shrimp, with curry, some sort of red/sweet, and yogurt sauces;
• Carrot (with lime and coriander, YUM!!) and cabbage salads;
• Yellow dal, a lamb dish, two chicken dishes (one was a spicy yellow coconut curry, and was my favorite of the night); a beef dish; rice with peas; sauteed greens; mixed veggies; and spicy shrimp;
• Sorbet for dessert.

Regrettably, I do not remember the details of this meal as well as I might have, had I written this down in December...suffice it to say, it was a meal of epic proportions, and there was not a single thing I didn't like. Or eat way too much of. And the tragedy of it all was that the owner wanted more free time, and shut the restaurant down three weeks later. SIGH. Lucky him, I guess, for having too much business. And lucky us that he now runs a booth at the specialty foods market in the Hauptbahnhof every Tuesday (in my opinion, the only place to find lunch on a Tuesday...!). (But the specific delights of that glorious place are for another post, I suppose, since I have so much catching up to do, here.)

In late December we took a quick trip over to Freiburg, Germany, for a genuine Christmas market, since the ones in Zürich are a little small and sad, although fun to visit for the raclette/fondue/glühwein angle, I suppose. And the decorations.

The Swiss do loooooove their Christmas decorations, which tend to brighten up the winter gloom, at least for a few weeks.

Heh heh...this cow ("Heidi," apparently) resides over one of the smellier fondue restaurants in old-town Zürich, and does not normally wear moving angel wings or a halo. I love how serious and dignified the cow's face is, despite the Christmas market folderol in the square below.

Market in Freiburg, complete with tiny ferris wheel for the kiddies.

They packed a lot of booths into a small amount of space...here's one with the Bavarian cookies that you see at every German market, everywhere.

So very festive, despite the cold, blowing rain. Ahh, central Europe in the winter time...

It's not a travel post without a manhole cover. Here's one of Freiburg's.

Next up was our annual trip back to Denver and Los Alamos for Christmas, and as always, it was awesome: we ate way, way too much Mexican food; I got to sing with my (ridiculously talented) Mom and sisters on Christmas Eve; and we had a fantastic time seeing our families and friends. 

They'll probably hate me for posting these photos, but I don't care. Here's our giant Christmas dinner in Los Alamos, with Mike's dad and stepmom, my brother-in-law Scott and sister Joy, my dad and mom, and sister Grace... 

...brother-in-law Scott (yes, my younger twin sisters both married guys named Scot, HAH!), and Mike. So much food...such a nice evening.

We rang in the New Year with a barbecue at our friends Martin's and Susanne's house (they have an amazing rooftop terrace, complete with actual grass yard, and do not mess around with the smoking and grilling of various meats), then a trip down to the bridge at Bellevue to catch the 20-minute-long fireworks display over the lake. Super crowded, but TOTALLY WORTH IT: it's fun to be in the middle of a crowd that big when the show starts and everyone turns into excited children, chanting "More, more!" Despite the cold, it was a great time, and an awesome spectacle. (Not my video, and ignore the goofy music, but here's a portion of what we saw.*)

In February, it was an unexpected (and quick) trip back to the U.S. for Mike's grandpa's funeral, which was hard, but gave us the opportunity to hear more stories about Grandpa (there's really no question where Mike gets his mischievous streak from--it's an obvious family trait) and to visit with our families just a little more. Oh yeah, and to sneak in a quick weekend in Napa, because Mike was already in San Francisco for work and decided it would be "easier" if I just joined him there, before heading down to NM. (Um, right.) I will say that the 60-plus-degree temperatures and brilliant sunshine were a welcome respite from the weather here...

Did I mention that it snowed a lot here this winter? 'Cause it did. A lot. (And was followed by one of the coldest, grayest, latest springs on record. Guess who's getting a UV lamp next year...?)

...and then there was Napa, where we got to see Dave and Jen and eat a little good food. In particular, the stand-out meals were at a taqueria in Napa (alas, I cannot remember the name! but oh, the super nachos...), and dinner at our hotel, Madrona Manor, was delicious, although poor Dave was under the weather, and so Jen, Mike, and I had to indulge ourselves without him. (I had a couple of tasty fish dishes, but my favorite part was the onion velouté with a soft egg, vinegar, and parmesan...MMMM.)

March brought yet more depressing weather, an apartment search (oh, how we adore thee, Hammerstrasse, but thy price is too high!), kitteh crises, and a trip to Luxembourg and Trier (Germany) for Easter weekend...and because I can, and will, go on and on about all of that, and I'm waiting on a meat delivery (yes, for reals), I will do my best to keep this here post on the shorter side. In just a minute, here, anyway.

What we're watching: 'Safety Not Guaranteed' - a quirky little movie about a (supposed) time traveler and the journalists who investigate him...a little dirty language, but a surprisingly sweet story. Watch it if you're in the mood for something different. 'The Guard,' in which an Irish policeman and an FBI agent team up to stop drug smugglers...lots of cursing and a fair amount of violence, but also a funny and sorta feel-good buddy movie. In a twisted way. 'Cedar Rapids,' in which Andy-from-'The Office' (ok, Ed Helms, but he'll always be Andy) is an insurance salesman who meets the real world while attending his first  conference. With John C. Reilly as the filthy, but ultimately lovable, troublemaker, and some truly hilarious/uncomfortable moments...a reasonably good movie which was undersold when it came out. 'Argo' - yeah, it got the Oscar for a reason. Maybe a bit skewed towards the American-as-hero version of the story, but what a story, and really, really well told.

What I'm reading: boy oh boy, so much. Celebrity sTalker, by Suzy Soro, about the author's encounters with various celebrities. Mostly hilarious and/or appalling. In the same vein (self-deprecating autobiography, I suppose), Bright Lights, Big Ass; Such a Pretty Fat; Bitter is the New Black; and Pretty in Plaid, all four by Jen Lancaster, of whom I am now (obviously) a huge fan. She is hilarious, bitter, condescending, and foul-mouthed, all by turn, but dearly loves her husband and her job and her pets and is a fantastic, fast, addictive read. Good stuff. Took a brief break from the humor authors to read Dorothy Parker: What Fresh Hell is This?, by Marion Meade, about the life and times of the title character (who was a short story and poem writer, theater critic, and founding member of the Algonquin Round Table in early 20th-century New York City). Very, very interesting stuff. Kicked, Bitten, and Scratched, by Amy Sutherland, about her (and the students') experiences at the Exotic Animal Training and Management program of Moorpark Community College in California. Super fascinating look at how professional animal trainers are, themselves, trained. And finally, a radical departure to Monster Hunter International, by Larry Correia (which came highly recommended by my friend Emily, and rightly so). Sometimes, you just need good, silly fiction, and this crazy-violent series about an organization of international monster hunters (working in tandem--and secret, of course--with the US government) fits the bill. Uh, and now I think we're mostly caught up.

Stay tuned...more posts pending! (And if you buy that, I've got some property in Arizona I'd like to talk to you about...)

Thanks for sticking with me, dear readers. Talk to you soon.




*Smiley faces and cubes? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This stuff is pure, out-and-out magic. So great.

ten years, man. TEN YEARS.

That's how long it'd been since Mike and I had been to Dublin before we went there three weekends ago. Dublin holds a very special place in my heart, not only as one of my favorite cities from my college travels in days of yore, but also because Dublin is the place where, just over ten years ago, Mike and I started dating. (And the rest, as they say, is history.*) Also three weekends ago, two of Mike's good friends that he's known since college were there as well. It was essentially an anniversary trip and the chance to see some Denver friends closer to our neck of the woods. How can one resist a setup such as that? We couldn't. Off we went.

We rolled into Dublin mid-morning on Saturday. Mike had found us a really great hotel (two minutes from Trinity College! five from Temple Bar!), and once we'd dropped our bags, off we went to explore. Saturday was gloriously sunny and unseasonably warm, and I hadn't thought about this until we arrived, but it was so nice to be traveling in an English-speaking country for once. Far less confusion and brain pain. And maybe it's the separation of the years talking, but I found Dublin much cleaner than I remember. It also has a very spread-out, open feeling, which I really appreciated. Mike says it's probably because the streets are wider there, although I surmise that it might have been the unexpected sunshine, the musical English being spoken around us, or just my excitement at being in Ireland again. Whatever it was, it was refreshing, and fantastic to be back in a city that we both really enjoy.

This amazing building (ca. 1891) was one minute's walk from our hotel.

Behold! The Oliver St. John Gogarty in Temple Bar. One of the goofy, touristy pubs in this neck of the woods, but at least you can count on finding good music here.

The River Liffey.

One for the collection: manhole cover featuring Irish Gaelic, and the three-tower symbol of the city.

After a quick lunch at the Stage Door Cafe (Mike had Guinness beef pie, I had beans on toast, and we split a bowl of homemade veggie soup [yum!]), we went around the corner to take a quick lap through the tiny, but packed-with-goodness, Temple Bar Saturday food market. While we certainly didn't regret eating where we'd eaten (good food! nice people! delicious Bailey's coffee!), we also felt that we might have missed out on something else fantastic.** 

Cripes, just look at the bread.

Gorgeous little hand-made cheeses.

WANT, WANT, WANT. Too bad I was so full I could barely stand upright to gawk at this. (I should have just gotten one, and hang the consequences.)

A considerate reminder for those of us who sometimes forget that these crazy people drive on the wrong side of the road.

This amazing building now contains a hostel, restaurant, and several other businesses, but it was built as the Dublin Working Boys Home and Harding Technical School (a residence for destitute boys working in the city, away from their families) in 1892.

Seriously gorgeous detail on this thing.

Christ Church Cathedral. The oldest parts of this place date to 1186, or thereabouts.

Christ Church.

Remnants of the Augustinian canons' chapterhouse, in use from 1163 to 1537.

Sadly, the line to get into the cathedral was only a few people long, but they were taking (almost literally) forever to buy tickets, and the cathedral was closing down for some sort of performance, so we decided to come back Sunday between services. And then we continued up the road and stumbled across an interesting little church that looked old and had a bit of an overgrown look (which always intrigues me), and having no other agenda, we went in.

St. Audoen's church, the oldest parts of which date to the late 12th century.

The Portlester chapel, built in 1482 and then un-roofed in 1773 when the congregation had dwindled to the point that the church could no longer afford to maintain its own building. So now you have these dramatic arches and some old grave slabs in this weird little courtyard. 

Inside the church: another old grave slab. Can I reiterate again how nice it is to travel to another English-speaking country? I can actually read things here!

The nave, originally built in about 1190.

The lucky stone! An early Celtic gravestone that was placed in the church around 1309, stolen several times, and always found its way back. Believed to impart luck to anyone who touches it.

Effigies of Earl Portlester and his wife, who paid for the chapel of the same name. And also for this monument, which is not actually their burial place. Dates to 1455. 

Sadly, you can't climb the tower 'cause it contains three of Ireland's oldest bells (from 1423). Once a week, they ring the bells by hand, and no one but the actual bell ringer is allowed up the tower. After a quick swing through their exhibit on the city's medieval guilds and the history of the church, it was off to St. Patrick's cathedral, since I've managed to impart my cathedral obsession to my husband. And also, it was close by. Oddly enough, it, too, was closed (some sort of graduation ceremony), so we had some coffee in the park next door and I took an unreasonable number of pictures of these incredible brick buildings next to the park next door.

I really, really loved these buildings.

Very Industrial Revolution-y.

Apparently, these are the Iveagh Trust buildings, financed by Sir Edward Guinness (yep, from the beer family of the same name) as affordable housing for the city's poor. He also designed and financed the park between these buildings and the cathedral; the Iveagh Baths; and the Iveagh Markets. 

St. Patrick's.

Weird little faces, high up on the side.

St. Patrick's, from the park.

St. Patrick's well was apparently somewhere near here.

It was at this point that we were summoned to meet up with Jensen and Carol Ann, so we made our way back towards Trinity College and rendezvoused at The Hairy Lemon (yes, this is a real place) for a pint or two. We went our separate ways for dinner, and we wound up at The Bull and Castle, right across the street from Christ Church Cathedral. And man, was that a good choice. Mike started with some ridiculously delicious salt-and-pepper shrimp, and then had a silly-expensive, but awesome, filet with whiskey peppercorn sauce and chive mashed potatoes. I had a "goat cheese crouton" (which turned out to be a slab of goat cheese--which is apparently a big thing in Dublin, hooray!--on a thick slice of buttered baguette) on a bit of salad with pine nuts and beets, and then went to a major salad of arugula and spinach (it was an accident! the menu said nothing about spinach!) with marinated red peppers, chicken breast, and lemon vinaigrette.*** By this point in time we were entirely stuffed, but our waiter was charming, and the menu listed "deep fried Mars Bar" as a dessert option, and so it was a done deal. It came with vanilla ice cream, and was full of chewy, caramelly, nougaty goodness.**** Sadly, no pictures exist to commemorate this fine meal, but rest assured that we will return there someday. And then eat their Guinness pie and fish 'n chips, which were gorgeous.

Regrettably, Sunday was cold, gray, and rainy, but at least it started with brunch at Gallaher & Co. I had their Eggs Lesley (poached eggs on brown soda bread toast with red pesto and creme fraiche), and Mike had the Irish breakfast (a couple of remarkable little pork sausages, baked beans, bacon, mushrooms, black pudding [surprisingly good!], a fried tomato, and two fried eggs). The food and coffees were pretty good, but the best part was the the building: it was on the ground floor of that fancy old building near our hotel, and their tiny, retro-modern dining room was pretty great (fancy ceiling, lots of chrome, open shelving, exposed brick, and big windows). 

After brunch, it was over to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells (astounding) and the Old Library (awesome) again, and they did not disappoint. Naturally, no photos are allowed anywhere in there, so you'll just have to click on these here links to see how incredible it all is. (I think the library looks like something directly out of Harry Potter, and I really do not have the words to describe how astonishing the Book of Kells is.) 

At least we could take pictures inside the campus walls.

Then, we had a little time to kill before the cathedrals opened back up to tourists, so we took a quick spin past it another remarkable brick building, the George Street Arcade (built in 1881). Shortly thereafter, we stopped into Peter's Pub for a little warmth, and ended up chatting with the bartender for a bit too long...so we didn't make it back to Christ Church before it closed for the afternoon service. Thankfully, St. Patrick's was open for an extra half hour.

Near George Street: neat.

The George Street Arcade. Also neat.

Super fancy brick work.

St. Patrick's.

"This stone was found 15th June 1901 six feet below the surface on the traditional site of St. Patrick's Well..." This thing dates (roughly) to the 10th century.

 Another 10th-century grave slab. So remarkable.

Some of the regimental flags hanging in the cathedral's North Transept, which contains a collection of monuments to Irish citizens who died in the service of the British Army. The oldest flags here are 150 years old, although some are as recent as WWII, and there are also giant monuments to Irish soldiers who died in Britain's wars in China and Burma.

Ornate stone staircase in the North Transept.

The choir, which served as the chapel for the "Most Illustrious Order of the Knights of Saint Patrick"...hence the banners, helmets, and swords (1783-1869).

Thought this was interesting: Jonathan Swift had his servant buried in the cathedral--an honor which is usually reserved for far more prominent members of society (knights, priests, nobility, etc.).

Jonathan Swift's grave. He served as Dean of St. Patrick's from 1713 until his death in 1745, during which time he published Gulliver's Travels. Also on Swift's watch, the combined choirs of St. Patrick's and Christ Church held the first ever performance of Handel's Messiah here in 1742.

After St. Patrick's it was dinner at The Hairy Lemon, which was fine, but sadly, despite their delicious-sounding menu, not fantastic. Mike's fish and chips were decent, and my Irish stew was just fine...although our starters of onion rings and some garlic bread topped with Irish cheddar were outstanding. (Go for the bar food, I guess is the moral of the story here.) 

Monday morning we started with breakfast of a slice of delicious, tart lemon cake that we'd picked up at a small craft market over the weekend, then it was off to the airport. I'll leave you with a few photos from our delightful hotel.

Bye-bye, funky hotel. Lobby decor: that purple chaise thing on the left is at least seven feet tall.

This is the first thing you see, upon entering the place: a conversation circle of these chairs...

...which are almost as tall as Mike. LOVE.

And that was Dublin. Yup, I still love Ireland. Excited to go back sometime, hopefully soon.

What I'm reading: finished Sweet Honey, Bitter Lemons, and all I can say is, Sicily, I am coming to you one day! And oh, how we'll eat. I quite enjoy Matthew Fort's writing, although at times he verged on pretentiousness (honestly, who quotes Theocritus...?). I will admit, though, it's occasionally fun to have to look up big words, and his descriptions of food are downright enticing. Plus, recipes! Recipes at the end of each chapter! I'm positive I can't get most of those ingredients here, but it's still fun to contemplate cooking something Sicilian. I do wish Mr. Fort had gone with a little more cultural tourism, but who can blame him for being more-or-less strictly a food tourist, in that country? Not me. I'm clearly in no position to judge, here. 

Next up, I am taking a break from my electronic books to read an actual paperback (gasp!), which was loaned to me by our good friend Steve. Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia, by Michael Korda, comes highly recommended. It's pretty fat, though, so don't expect a report of any substance for a good, long while.

My favorite things: over-the-knee sweater socks. Keeping my wimpy legs warm since 2011. It's only a matter of time until I snag them beyond repair, but until then, these things will continue to rule.

Next up for the blog: um...who can say? You'll be the first to know, when I figure it out myself.

*And also a miracle, 'cause how anyone could survive moi for ten years is truly a mystery. (Mike, you rule.)

**I truly envy cows, with their whole multiple-stomach thing. Could definitely have used a second stomach for a second lunch, as there were so many little booths cooking up such delicious-looking foods.

***I felt like a failure, eating nothing but salads, but my stupid stomach was on strike again, and I wasn't as hungry as I would like to have been. Sigh. They had such a lovely menu.

****Score two for deep-fried desserts: deep-fried Twinkies (which I tried at an Irish festival in Denver, oddly enough), are also spectacular.