Inns and Outs of Court, 11/26/08

Wednesday began with a walk around the corner and down the road to the laundry we’d scouted out the day before, when Jo decided that a little laundry doing was in order. The counter clerk wasn’t 100% clear on what we meant by “bulk laundry” or “turnaround time,” but she assured us that if we delivered a duffle of dirty clothes in the a.m.., we’d have clean clothes in the afternoon. When I dropped off the bag, she said, “You’re American, yeah? I suppose you want a cold water wash?” She told me, with an air of amusement, that Americans always request that their clothes be washed in cold water. She no doubt shares her fellow Dubliners’ opinion about Americans liking intentionally chilled tea, air conditioning, and ice cubes in their Coke. (Good question though--why do Americans have such a fondness for the chill factor? There's a topic to consider. But now now.) I said she could use any water temperature that would get the job done, and I exchanged euros for the pink ticket receipt she wrote up for me. “Lovely,” she said.

“Lovely” is an all-purpose adjective here. It can describe the sauce on a chicken breast, the satisfactory end of a negotiation, or an hour without rain. “Grand” can mean lovely, too. In general, if it’s a good thing, Dubliners refer to it as lovely, grand, or brilliant.

Down the block from the laundry on St. Patrick St is St Patrick’s Cathedral—the big Protestant one. I walked down to poke around and was met by a line of vans full of film equipment. Seems that there was movie-making going on and the Cathedral was closed to the public. No hints about what the filming was about. Bummer. So I headed up St. Patrick St and under St Auden’s Gate, an arch built in 1275 as part of the old city wall, adjacent to the aforementioned Christ Church Cathedral, a striking mishmash of about 700 years of architectural modification. Then it was down Winetavern St and across the O’Donovan Rossa Bridge to see the Inns of Court, on the other side of the Liffey.

The Four Courts have the big green rotunda roof that you see in photos of Dublin. It’s the main judicial seat in the city, built in 1785. I like that period of architecture—I want to call it Palladian, but Dad, correct me if I am wrong. I wanted to see inside, but the gates all were closed, so I wandered around to find an entrance. An Irish woman stopped me to ask directions. Hello? I’m wearing my old Reeboks (ugly but allowing me to walk today); I’ve got a map sticking out of my left pocket; I’ve got a camera strap coming out of the other pocket; and I keep stopping to look up at architectural details on old buildings. I mean, do I look like I live here? I think it’s the phenomenon I share with my mother—we attract total strangers into our energy fields without trying. It's happening in Dublin, too.

When I found an entrance, it was a serious-looking security checkpoint, and before I’d actually decided to go in, I was swept along in a little mob of people who moved with great purpose. So I surrendered my stuff to the x-ray machine and went through the security check. Mind you, I didn’t really know what I was there for, other than to see the inside of that rotunda. But they gave me the once-over and let me in. So I went.

Inside the big walls is a courtyard that is a car park. (Tell Uncle Wally I saw a Subaru Forester but thought better of whipping out my camera due to the armed guard 50 ft away from me at the time.) I went into a doorway that had an arrow pointing to it (why not?) and a pleasant man asked me if I were lost. I said I probably was. He said, “There’s nothing much here, love, just offices. You want to see the courts, you go around here, and up there, and here, now, I’ll show you.” So he did.

And I entered the Inns of Court, where dozens of barristers, women and men, with their powdered wigs and flowing black robes, milled about, talking about cases, and walking hurriedly up and down marble hallways. Quite impressive. Me, my Reeboks and my keen sense of direction (!) made our way to the inside of the rotunda and stood looking up at it. Beautiful. I loitered awhile. It was fun. Lawyers take themselves so seriously. I suppose that’s a good thing, in the line of duty. Then I walked out through the security gate and on to the next destination.