At the end of my last post, I said that this next one would be “EPIC.” That is true. In the most literal sense, it was an EPIC day.
This is because we went to EPIC: The Irish Emigration Museum.
The rain was still relatively constant, and getting ourselves out of the wetness and into some dry spots was crucial. We had heard some terrific things about this museum. Family members had been there before and highly recommended it to us; additionally, it was voted “Europe’s Leading Tourist Attraction” at the World Travel Awards in 2019, 2020, and 2021.
Aside from the giant letters out front, the building is rather unassuming. This is because the space the museum occupies was once a warehouse, and it is all underground. Yes, the exhibits are all underground in a space that was once vaults for shipping and customs.
Right as we walked in, we knew we were in for a treat. The curators and creators have crafted a space that is interactive and inviting while also being extremely informative. It is, for lack of a better word, epic.
This museum is about the emigration experience of the Irish people. It takes you through centuries of history and data in a way that is both highly educational but not overbearing. What I mean by this is that they could have easily slapped a bunch of slides, paintings, and models together with an ass load of words providing descriptions. But they didn’t do that.
There is a perfectly balanced usage of models, artwork, and historical documents/accounts that is presented to guests. At no point did I ever feel bogged down by the info I was reading. There is an honest flow and rhythm to the museum that keeps you moving while also keeping you engaged in the room you are in.
This room showcases the various modes of transportation used by the Irish to emigrate to other countries. Seeing the progression through history from wooden ships to jet-engine airplanes highlights just how long the Irish have been traveling around the world.
This is not to say that other people from around the world have not been doing the exact same thing, because they have. The Irish are often regarded as the quintessential example of emigration. There are Irish people everywhere (especially on March 17th, hahah), and this museum highlights their experience.
Walking through the museum, we were presented with a lot of history. Some of it is not easily swallowed because our collective pasts are full of triumphs and tribulations. In the early days, the Irish were forced out of their homeland by, you guessed it, the English, as well as famine and war. It was not always a peaceful emigration or an emigration by choice. A significant portion of the museum’s first few rooms focuses on the collective experience of those who left the country. These people ranged from farmers to families to convicts.
According to my AncestryDNA test, I have 0% Irish ancestry. I am mostly English, German, and various Scandinavian countries. So, since I am not Irish, that leaves me to either be “The Good” or “The Bad.” Let me know in the comments which one you think I am! (Please don’t. I don’t want to moderate all of those potential comments.)
The second half of the museum highlights and pays tribute to the Irish descendants and emigrants who made a name for themselves in various fields around the world. I was drawn more to the film and literature aspects of the exhibit, but there were also plenty of politicians, scientists, and other academically focused individuals featured.
There is an entire room dedicated to the Irish authors and those of Irish descent. I was drawn to the works of Cormac McCarthy, whose book, No Country for Old Men, I read while I was living in Australia, and Bram Stoker’s Dracula. If you click on the second image with me in it, you can see that I am pulling the book off the shelf. This act triggers a recording of a passage from the book. It was enjoyable to walk around and see just how many Irish authors, as well as authors of Irish descent, exist in the world.
After making our way through the entire museum, it was time to go to another museum. If I had told my teenage self that I was going to be walking around Dublin, going from museum to museum, and not just getting pissed drunk because it was Ireland, and that’s what some people do when they visit, he probably would have called me a loser. Thankfully, I am not a teenager, and I know the value of museums and historical buildings.
Also, I doubt teenage me would have enjoyed just drinking anyway. I didn’t party. I rented two movies every Friday from Blockbuster. One for Friday night and one for Saturday night. But my social life from ’99 to ’05 is not on trial here!
Escaping the rain once again, we found ourselves at the National Gallery of Ireland. There were numerous paintings in this place. Some we enjoyed, but for the most part, it was full of things that did not interest us.
I’m going to be honest. Portraits of battles or self-portraits from the 16th century, or similar works, do not interest me. The museum housed many paintings of this type. That is not to say that it is not a beautiful space. Because it is! I think by this time of day, after spending all of those hours on our feet, we were tired and wanted a break from engaging our brains. We had already taken in a lot of info at EPIC, and then to go to another museum was a bit bullish on our part.
My favourite pieces were the ones shown above. The one on the left is a gorgeous infinite loop of wood that truly looks as if it is melting and bending in the hallway.
The painting on the right was part of a rotating exhibit that showcased portraits by young artists. I also really loved the artist’s description of their work. If the image is too small to read the description, here it is:
‘This is a portrait of my youngest brother on our holidays. I wanted to immortalise this moment of him in the pool with the rainbows dancing on his skin, to capture his joy and youthfulness. I enjoyed painting this portrait because I was constantly reminded of all the fun he has on our family holidays and all the fun we have together. It’s my favourite picture of him because it really shows who he is, a boy who has fun everywhere especially tumtha (immersed) underwater.’
Directly across the street is a well-known sculpture of Oscar Wilde. Even at night, it is a well-lit spot to visit. Even if the park is closed, you can quasi-scale the fence to get a solid photo of the sculpture. Which I may or may not have had to do…
After dragging our bodies across town, it was time to do a little bit more walking! This time it would be to dinner. It would be a walk with purpose. With it being New Year’s Eve, there were heaps of people out and about. No amount of rain could keep the people out of the streets, pubs, and restaurants tonight.
We walked by the famous Temple Bar and, like everyone else, we took a photo. We did not, however, try to go inside. The place was bustling, and the people inside looked a bit like sardines in a tin can. Not our scene. We ended up at a spot down the street called The Quays Bar. We didn’t have a booking, but we lucked out and were able to get a place. The service was excellent. The food was exquisite. It was a really lovely way to end our evening.
While we were eating, we decided we wouldn’t make it until midnight. That’s not in our wheelhouse anymore. We would rather sleep than stay up late to watch fireworks. As luck would have it, there would be some fireworks later that night. Just not actual fireworks.
That night, while we were watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, I had an epiphany. *Spoilers if you haven’t seen this movie before* At the end, when Indy is reaching for the Holy Grail, his father is holding onto him but losing his grip. He continually calls him Junior to try to get him to pay attention. Indy is fixated on the Grail. It is only when his dad calls him by his preferred name, Indiana, that he listens. Indy uses the hand that was grasping for the Grail and grabs a firmer hold of his dad, who then lifts him to safety.
It’s a poignant moment because the entire film, Henry (Dad) has been calling Indy “Junior,” and in this moment of clarity and acceptance, he sees his son for who he truly is. It was in that moment that I thought about my life with my partner and our dog, whom I had named Indiana (because we found out that Indy took his name from his beloved childhood dog of the same name). I knew that there was no one else I would rather be with, and I asked her to marry me.
She said yes.
John Kidde Writes 