DAY ELEVEN
We were on our last day in Dublin, and The Boy and The Girl were beat.
They asked if they could crash in their hotel rooms,
and The Sweet Man and I had no problem with that;
we'd get a chance to hang out together, and the kids could relax.
I suggested that we drop off our rental car early (we weren't driving it in Dublin at all)
and then take a taxi back to town.
The rental car guy said the bus was even easier,
so we figured out the coins at the ticketing kiosk, and hopped aboard.
We were talking about where to get off when we saw:
balloons...
... rainbow flags...
... and little dogs dressed up and being pushed in baby carriages.
"Oh, my gosh! It's a Pride Parade!" I said in excitement.
Some back story:
the Supreme Court had ruled on DOMA and Proposition Eight just a few days before,
and as a longtime supporter of marriage equality, I had been thrilled.
But I had been sad to miss out on the celebrations back home.
Now, it was like they were having the parade
just
for
meeeee!!
We got off the bus, I grabbed a sign, and we got to watching.
There were large groups represented...
...and smaller groups.
There were folks on floats...
... and on foot.
There was also... a chicken?
Hee... I think it was a fast food mascot.
Everyone was happy and smiling,
but then... things took an ugly turn.
No, not what you'd think:
it wasn't someone like those disgusting Westboro Church folks.
Instead, it was because this Labour Party bus...
... stopped in front of these guys:
A scandal about the bailout of the Irish banks had broken when we were there,
and these folks were protesting some aspect of it.
They were picketing in front of a large, official building,
but when they saw the Labour bus they turned on them.
"Shame on you! Shame on you!"
they chanted, flipping the bird, and moving towards the bus.
I stood, bewildered at the sudden fury that had blown up in front of me,
while The Sweet Man
(whose family nickname is "Marlin" after the over-protective Pixar character)...
...started pulling on my sleeve.
"Don't get in between them!" he said,
and we slipped behind the group.
Well.
The thing is, an early (Irish) host had dismissed an area in Ireland as
"A bit fiddly-fi-fi, all shamrocks and leprechauns..."
...and we had been using this delightful phrase ever since.
Seeing a shop like this, all filled with green hats and shamrock charms...
... we would say, "Well, that's certainly 'fiddly-fi-fi'."
But watching the angry protesters reminded me
that things were not all shamrocks and leprechauns in Ireland,
and it wasn't that long ago
that they went through both a war for independence AND a civil war.
So we scooted down the street, and the Labour bus moved on.
There were signs that a party was going on, post-parade...
... but instead we found a quiet cafe.
(Look at the wee Coke! Beer glasses were enormous, but soft drink cans tiny.)
We had a good meal, and then a walk around the city.
It was nice to just walk without an agenda, and if The Sweet Man and I ever go back,
we plan to do more of that.
*** *** *** *** ***
The long flight home.
