Off to breakfast at Mochaland, scrambled eggs (the only sort), bacon, sausage and tomato and sour dough toast, delicious. And of course the coffee. When we returned to the apartment, Annie and Steve were leaving to have a cooked breakfast at the Lemon Jelly, another café across the lane. We left soon after to catch the Luas (tram system in Dublin), heading for the zoo at Phoenix Park. It was zero degrees, I had on my big black coat, scarf, beanie and gloves. Michael made a small concession to the cold by wearing a jumper and a sleeveless jacket.
The zoo was situated about a kilometre from the entrance to Phoenix Park. The sky was cloudless and the sun was doing it's best to warm the landscape but was well below the tree line. It was freezing, and the path in parts was covered in ice. I almost slipped a couple of times even with my sturdy walkers on. By the time we reached the zoo gates, my gloved fingers were on the road to frost bite.
We bought our tickets (seniors of course) and in we went. There weren't that many folk about as yet even though it was after 10am. We had barely started when a café appeared out of nowhere so we hurried in out of the cold and had a coffee. Finally warmed enough to venture out, we strolled along the path surrounding the savannah wetlands and gazed at giraffes, zebras, hippos and rhinos, all of which seemed oblivious to the icy conditions. We watched sea lions frolicking in their pool, along with lots of little humans who, with their parents, seemed to have suddenly descended on the zoo, probably while we were having our extended coffee break. We peered through viewing station windows to witness the antics of chimpanzees, gorillas and orangutans. We did a tour of the reptile house, saw some huge pythons, lizards of various varieties and a couple of alligators. I quickly stepped past the glass panel that bore the sign 'Tarantula". The word itself was horrifying enough, let alone actually clapping eyes on the creature.
There were Amur (Siberian) tigers, which apparently are the world's largest cats. We saw snow leopards and of course lions. The zoo's first lions were bought in 1855 (the zoo was opened in 1833)and these bred for the first time in 1857. The tour guide Abie from the Little Museum in Dublin told us that MGM used a lion from the Dublin Zoo as the logo for their films. Thinking it might be a bit of blarney, I used google to find out that it was indeed true. The first lion of seven in all, his name was Slats but he was renamed Leo. Rumour had it that the day after filming, he killed his trainer and two assistants, which, according to further research, was absolutely not true.
We were told when purchasing our tickets that all the birds in the zoo had been quarantined due to an outbreak of Bird Flu in Europe. I'm not a huge fan of birds but I was disappointed to miss out on the penguins. Our last port of call was the elephant enclosure. We had just arrived when one particularly amorous bull elephant made a gutsy effort to win the heart of a lady elephant but she was having none of it. A tantalising show which fizzled out all too quickly. We watched as two young bulls seemed to be play fighting. A baby elephant was trotting close to it's mother, who happened to be the object of the randy bull's unwanted attentions. No wonder she was not in the mood, she was dealing with a toddler. We decided we had seen enough of Dublin Zoo and made our way out. It was after 1pm and the warmest part of the day. As we went through the exit, we passed a lengthy queue of people waiting to get in. Not sure who was the smartest, them for coming when it was warmer, or us for going just as it was about to be over-run by even more little people.
We caught the Luas back to town, a smooth and swift way to get around Dublin. Annie and Steve were out so I flicked on the TV and watched a movie, Parental Guidance, with Bette Midler and Billy Crystal, very silly, funny and quite emotional. Michael read his book. Steve arrived, having left Annie in the mall shopping. They had gone on a tour of Dublin Castle and thoroughly enjoyed it. Then the boys left to go to TP Smiths, a pub on the next corner to drink more guinness. After the movie finished, I went to Jervis shopping centre, got accosted by George from Jericho, hoodwinked into buying the Dead Sea salt scrub, moisturiser, mineral face mask, eye firming cream, with a nail kit thrown in. To be sure, slightly more euros than I should have spent but there was always the chance that this stuff might actually work miracles, as George claimed. I live in hope.
Our last supper together was at The Italian Corner. Our meals were superb, salmon for Anne, pork belly for Steve, pizza for Michael and seafood spaghetti for me. The wine was sublime, the service superior. We had no booking but were given a window table overlooking the Liffey River. Our waitress Gillian was friendly and very accommodating. To the point where, when Anne made a slight face after tasting the white wine she had selected, Gillian suggested that she bring a different sample for Annie to try. This wonderful waitress brought back, not one, but three glasses of different wines. Anne chose one and then the bottle was opened. Gillian said not to worry, the first bottle could easily be sold by the glass from the bar. Michael and I stuck to the Italian theme and shared a bottle of chianti, a smooth drop. We ordered two desserts only, panacotta for Anne and Steve, tiramisu ice cream with biscotti for Michael and I. We left a generous tip for Gillian and co, a wonderful Italian experience for our last night in Dublin. I asked Gillian where we could leave our bag of jumpers and my coat as a donation for the homeless. She said we could leave them with her and she would make sure they were delivered the next day as the drop-in centres were already closed. So I bade farewell to my calf length, black wool coat. Bought for $10 in an Albany op shop, it was in perfect condition. I knew it was to be a short affair and my beloved coat would be passed on at the end of our Irish stint. Still, I felt quietly emotional as we walked back along the bridge over the Liffey. We paused to put our remaining coins into the proffered paper cup of the quintessential homeless young man, squatted against the bridge railing. These young men are dotted all over the city, varying from actively canvassing for funds to just huddling under a hoodie or blanket, seemingly comatose. This boy made no sign of acknowledgement. Perhaps the offering of money is less an act of charity than a transaction between two people, one able, one less able, as simple as that. Sure, there are older folk, and young women as well, desperately seeking spare euros. For me though, it's those young boys, either slumped on the ground with their cup, or cap, in front of them, or staggering along a footpath, so spaced out their eyes are rolled back, eyelids barely open. I felt fear for them, as a mother.
Back to the apartment for the final rounds of canasta, the dregs of liquor and the remains of chocolate. Two weeks have slipped by all too quickly.
No comments:
Post a Comment