Now that I'm home, with Jeeves having welcomed me last evening in his special way,
I have a bit of time, if not energy, to reflect on the adventure I had. Certainly, I was lucky in the weather (thought it actually did rain every day, a bit), and in the people I met. Furthermore, it seemed that every time I crossed paths with Joyce, things were even better than I'd hoped and imagined.
Moreover, there were some surprises. This laundry sign in Sandycove, for example, was great fun, though it did make me miss the puppy a bit.
I also came to appreciate and enjoy this process of writing for you, my unseen readers. I had and still have no real idea who is reading this, though the Blogger application suggests to me that you're to be found all over the globe and that there are about 100 or so of you. As the trip went on, I found myself looking forward to the end of the day when I'd be able to sit and write and edit. The last three nights, I was at it until the one or two in the morning, but I found that the experience gave me more energy than it took away. I thank you, and I hope that you'll read more from me in the future. I've discovered that I like blogging, and, in the fall, I'll be writing more. Look for Loebinthekitchen.blogspot.com in a week or two.
Finally, I have to close with my last Ulysses experience, one that came at about ten last night, after a walk in the rain, a bus trip, two flights (with several delays), two subway rides, and a couple of trains. I was exhausted and had been on my feet for even longer, I think, than Bloom had been on June 16th in 1904. Like Bloom himself, I came to the end of my journey and found what every wanderer seeks: home.
OK, so there are lots of things that I could highlight in this post about my final day in Dublin. I'll get to the really cool epiphany I had at the Joyce Museum, the wonderful walking tour, the fun on St. Stephen's Green (see photo above), and even the protest rally I stumbled upon, but the headline is the fact at I WON THE TRIVIA CONTEST AFTER THE LITERARY PUB CRAWL! Yes I did! Nobody else stood a chance.
Of course, we'd been to four pubs, and it may be that my competition wasn't all that focused. I, of course, was as sober as a judge, at least as a judge who had been to four pubs.
This is my friend David (most of my friends seem to be named David) and his wife Donna, after my triumph. I didn't even get the question about Bernard Shaw, and I still won.
The rest of the day was fine as well. At the Joyce museum, I actually had an experience very similar to one that Bloom has. In the "Ithaca" chapter, Bloom turns off the light in his house and, all at once, he gets the answer to a riddle that has plagued and confused him for years, since he was a boy: Where was Moses when the lights went out? I'll put in a photo of me and a statue of Molly Malone from the pub crawl so you can think about the riddle.
The answer, of course, is IN THE DARK. Joyce loved jokes like this. What I learned today wasn't the solution to a puzzle, but it was the explanation form a scene that has long confused me. When Bloom finishes telling the story of his day and drifts off to sleep in bed with Molly at the end of the chapter (my favorite), Joyce describes the scene like this:
In what directions did listener and narrator lie? Listener, S. E. by E.; Narrator, N. W. by W.: on the 53rd parallel of latitude, N. and 6th meridian of longitude, W.: at an angle of 45 degrees to the terrestrial equator. In what state of rest or motion? At rest relatively to themselves and to each other. In motion being each and both carried westward, forward and rereward respectively, by the proper perpetual motion of the earth through everchanging tracks of neverchanging space. In what posture? Listener: reclined semilaterally, left, left hand under head, right leg extended in a straight line and resting on left leg, flexed, in the attitude of Gea-Tellus, fulfilled, recumbent, big with seed. Narrator: reclined laterally, left, with right and left legs flexed, the indexfinger and thumb of the right hand resting on the bridge of the nose, in the attitude depicted on a snapshot photograph made by Percy Apjohn, the childman weary, the manchild in the womb. Womb? Weary? He rests. He has travelled. With? Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Jinbad the Jailer and Whinbad the Whaler and Ninbad the Nailer and Finbad the Failer and Binbad the Bailer and Pinbad the Pailer and Minbad the Mailer and Hinbad the Hailer and Rinbad the Railer and Dinbad the Kailer and Vinbad the Quailer and Linbad the Yailer and Xinbad the Phthailer. When? Going to a dark bed there was a square round Sinbad the Sailor roc's auk's egg in the night of the bed of all the auks of the rocs of Darkinbad the Brightdayler. Where? And then there's a big dot on the page, and Bloom is silent. I get that he's falling asleep, but I never understood the "Sinbad" stuff. Like Moses, I was in the dark. Today, I saw these posters on the wall at the museum.
If you can see, Tinbad and Whindbad were characters in a play Joyce knew, and the cast and the poster provided the fragments of words that flutter in Bloom's mind as he falls asleep. Language becomes just sound, which becomes nothing, just sleep. Anyhow, I got very excited, and this stuff was on the wall as I went up the stairs, before the actual exhibits began. Then, James, our tour guide, took four of us on a walk through the city, following the "Laestrygonians" chapter. It was superb.
Some of the key buildings have changed a bit, but he made it work.
After the walk, which concluded with James talking about how Bloom's Judaism was a theme in the book and that the Irish relationship to Judaism was rather complicated, I wandered about and ran smack into a huge protest march
demanding, among other things, that Ireland expel the Israeli ambassador. It was a fascinating juxtaposition of events. There is only so long, evidently, that I can live in the past.
So, my wake up call is in about six hours, so I'd better post, pack, and think of Sinbad the Sailor and Tinbad the Tailor and Jinbad the Jailer and Whinbad the Whaler and Ninbad the Nailer and Finbad the Failer and Binbad the Bailer and Pinbad the Pailer and Minbad the Mailer and Hinbad the Hailer and Rinbad the Railer and Dinbad the Kailer and Vinbad the Quailer and Linbad the Yailer and Xinbad the Phthailer.
Ulysses fans will recognize the title of today's post (minus the question marks) as the first words of the first chapter of the novel, and today was dedicated to the beginning of the book.
There I stood, at the Martello tower in Sandycove, several miles south of Dublin, where Joyce stayed for a few nights and turned his experience into the setting for the scene where Buck Mulligan and Stephen (the author's alter ego) talk at the top of the tower.
The view is spectacular, of course, and it also revealed something I hadn't known before, something I could have learned only by making this journey. From the tower, the setting for the first moments of the book, at 8:00A.M. on June 16, 1904, there's a splendid view of Howth (over my left shoulder), the site of yesterday's visit and the setting being imagined by Molly as the day and the novel come to a close. Even at the beginning, then, of this monster of a novel, the end is quite literally in sight.
Of course, to be absolutely truthful, my day didn't quite follow Joyce's schedule, as you might have noticed from the clothing from the two photos. After Stephen and "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan" talk at the tower's top and then have breakfast below,
in a room where I asked some nice French people (in French) to take my picture,
Mulligan takes a morning swim. Stephen, who avoids water, does not, but he does accompany Mulligan to the beach. So, at about 8:30 this morning (just about when it happens in the book) Robert (my host) and I joined the brave and the crazy at the Forty Foot,
which (fortunately) isn't a 40-foot plunge, but is instead probably named for a regiment that was stationed there.
It was very very cold, but a pilgrimage is pilgrimage.
Mulligan refers to the sea as "our great sweet mother," citing Homer's "epi oinopa ponton" or "wine dark sea." He then changes the color to "snotgreen," and discusses the cold water in ways that many readers of this blog have already mentioned to me. I will make no comment, except to repeat that it was very very cold indeed.
After breakfast, then, I returned to the tower and visited the small and charming museum. Like the Baseball Hall of Fame Museum in Cooperstown, the Joyce Museum at Sandycove had nothing that I didn't want to see, from letters and poems in Joyce's handwriting to the key to the tower that figures so significantly in the chapter and introduces a theme that is key (yeah, I said it) to the rest of the book.
They even had a jar of Plumtree's Potted Meat, a detail Joyce just can't leave alone throughout the novel.
As the sun warmed the waters and less courageous swimmers began to fill the swimming area beneath the tower,
I continued my journey. Later in the day, Robert and I returned to collect a final detail for the chapter. Here's how Joyce finishes things, with Stephen (as Joyce himself did in1904, though not on June 16th) deciding to leave the tower:
I will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.
A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.
Usurper.
And, after we waited for about 10 minutes, here he was, just for me: a seal. I promise that's a seal in the photo. Really. Zoom in.
From there, I made my way a few miles north toward the city to Sandymount Strand, where lots of very healthy Irish people were out jogging with the dual purposes of fitness and photo bombing my selfies. Stephen, in the third chapter of Ulysses, strolls on Sandymount Strand, at one point closing his eyes as he walks. He worries while walking in the dark, though not about stumbling:
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. Basta! I will see if I can see.
My worries, as I did the same (of course I, who cut across traffic, walked with my eyes closed!), were a bit less philosophical.
My fear was that one of those swift Irish runners would steal my cell phone while it was taking pictures of me walking with my eyes closed. Like Stephen, I opened my eyes with some trepidation. The result?
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end.
I'm not sure my iPhone will last quite that long, but I was relieved, as Stephen probably was too, and as you may well be to see the end of this post. Thanks for being my unseen readers.
Today was another great day, and I was able to make even more of Ulysses come alive, at least for me. I was thinking on the train to Howth that a Joyce pilgrimage was a sort of nerdy thing to do, but then someone sat across from me carrying a "Big Bang Theory" shoulder bag with "Ba-Zinga" written on it in huge letters and wearing a Gryffindor scarf, and I felt fine.
The highlight for me was the hike to Howth Head: my search for the spot where Bloom proposed to Molly (in a book, I know, but whatever). The village was beautiful,
and I even made some friends when this couple wanted to see my clapping camera timer app in action. It was windy, so we all three had to clap at once to trigger the shutter.
It would have been nice to stay in the pretty fishing village,
as the hike was certainly difficult. At least I thought it was hard until I kept being passed by eighty year-olds, families with small children, and even a guy with a spaniel puppy that basically had to learn to walk from scratch with every step. The Baily lighthouse (which I just misspelled as the "bialy" lighthouse and which would be awesome) hides from the hiker until the end, revealing itself at last, much as Molly reveals how she feels only at the end of Penelope. As I climbed, looking out over the sea, I could hear her words in my head:
God of heaven theres nothing like nature the wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying theres no God I wouldnt give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning why dont they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whatever they call themselves go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because theyre afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head...
I finished the loop and ate at a lovely fish place my photo friends had recommended. Either I looked tired and the waitress was giving me time to recover or they ignored me for a really long time before giving me a menu. In any case, I was full, tired, and happy as I took the train back to Dublin.
Once I was back in the city, while a lesser man might have put his feet up and rested, I decided to play in traffic. For those of you who don't have the novel memorized, the penultimate chapter is a series of questions and answers that document Bloom and Stephen's walk across the city and Bloom going to sleep. Here's how it starts:
WHAT PARALLEL COURSES DID BLOOM AND STEPHEN FOLLOW RETURNING?
Starting united both at normal walking pace from Beresford place they followed in the order named Lower and Middle Gardiner streets and Mountjoy square, west: then, at reduced pace, each bearing left, Gardiner's place by an inadvertance as far as the farther corner of Temple street, north: then at reduced pace with interruptions of halt, bearing right, Temple street, north, as far as Hardwicke place. Approaching, disparate, at relaxed walking pace they crossed both the circus before George's church diametrically, the chord in any circle being less than the arc which it subtends.
Clearly, I had to do that, with the challenging part being at the end. As you might be able to tell from this photo,
it would indeed be shorter to cut across in front of the church, and cut across I did, as you can see in this very brief YouTube video:
I made it easily. Indeed, I've been a very safe pedestrian in Dublin, since I'm so confused by cars driving on the left that I look every way possible, including up and down, when I cross streets.
My concluding destination was, as it was for Bloom that day, #7 Eccles Street.
Here's the "Ithaca" chapter a few questions in:
What action did Bloom make on their arrival at their destination?
At the housesteps of the 4th of the equidifferent uneven numbers, number 7 Eccles street, he inserted his hand mechanically into the back pocket of his trousers to obtain his latchkey.
Was it there?
It was in the corresponding pocket of the trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.
For me, "Was it there?" had a different answer today as the house was torn down years and years ago. There's a plaque on the wall of the hospital that was built on the site.
On Thursday, I'm planning on visiting the door, which was saved during the demolition.
I finished the day at a pub
with my new old friends, Laura and Robert,
who live in Sandycove, just a few blocks from where Ulysses begins and at whose home I'm spending the night.
It has been a wonderful first day (or first 8 hours in Dublin itself), but I wasn't able to sleep on the plane on Sunday night, so it's possible that this blog, and not my own memory, will have to be definitive. Still, I've made it to 8PM Dublin time, so hooray for me.
This is the lovely view from my lovely room, just a few blocks from where the things in Ulysses happened. By the way, for the rest of this trip, we're just going to act as if the book is a work of non-fiction. Certainly, that's how the nice lady at Sweny was behaving. These things happened.
It's no longer a working pharmacy, but they'll still sell you lemon-scented soap. I do not think the soap will rise into the air and sing, "We're a capital couple, Bloom and I. He brightens the earth, I polish the sky." I didn't ask, though I was tempted, as you can tell from the look on half of my face.
Other highlights today included NOT SLEEPING ON THE PLANE. I've been up for 33 hours.
In addition, I saw a dandy one-man show at the Dublin Writers Museum. Lots of Joyce, Shaw, Swift, and Heaney.
After that, I followed a "Literary Dublin" podcast walking tour which took me over the river a few times,
and I also saw the beautiful reading room at the National Library (a setting for a chapter of Ulysses, but they don't allow cameras) and the very long line to see the Book of Kells at Trinity College. Other highlights, evidently (since I swear I don't recall taking these photos), include a quick visit to the Joyce Centre (a lovely building dedicated to ending words with "r-e,"
a statue of Joyce in the middle of a street (we're both wearing a hat),
and also a statue of Oscar Wilde surprising me by sliding into my left ear.
Tomorrow, it's the pilgrimage to Howth and a night at a Dublin pub (a "Publin?) with a new old friend from college.
I also came to appreciate and enjoy this process of writing for you, my unseen readers. I had and still have no real idea who is reading this, though the Blogger application suggests to me that you're to be found all over the globe and that there are about 100 or so of you. As the trip went on, I found myself looking forward to the end of the day when I'd be able to sit and write and edit. The last three nights, I was at it until the one or two in the morning, but I found that the experience gave me more energy than it took away. I thank you, and I hope that you'll read more from me in the future. I've discovered that I like blogging, and, in the fall, I'll be writing more. Look for Loebinthekitchen.blogspot.com in a week or two.
