110. Shakshuka and Ancient Bogs

St. Stephen’s Green has something all the pubs, churches and music performances don’t. Its quiet emerald park is a peaceful sanctuary of nature. Mature trees. Pools of water reflecting the sky. Like dotting an “ i ” it sits right at the end of Grafton Street, one of the most commercial promenades in the city. And today, the park is also an exclamation point on all of my experiences in Dublin and beyond. 

I make my way to a corner cafe where outside patrons are enjoying breakfast plates that are visually tasty. I go inside to find a single spot at a window bar next to someone who has an even more delicious looking dish. I turn towards the server and say, “I’ll have that. Whatever that is.”  It was Shakshuka, a Middle Eastern dish whose spicy ingredients I couldn’t even pronounce. I turn to the man next to me and thank him for his unsolicited recommendation. “Where are you from?” I ask. He answers Ukraine, but has lived in Florida the last three years. He and his wife were one of the fortunate ones to be chosen by lottery for emigration. And they chose Florida. But he still has friends in Kiev. His name is Yuri, like the Soviet cosmonaut.

“What do you do for work in Florida?”  “I’m a pilot for United Airlines and am on a layover. This is my favorite Cafe in Dublin. Across the street is my second favorite with its Sebastian cheese cake.”  I look through the window to see its unique name - the “Beanhive” Cafe. It’s the perfect match between the world of cappuccinos and stone structures on the Dingle Peninsula. A wonderful play on the English language. My trip comes full circle, here on the edge of St. Stephen’s Green.

After breakfast my intention is to visit the National Museum of Ireland - an archeological goldmine, literally. I haven’t really gone to any museums, but this one merits a look. I won’t bore you with a tour here, but suffice it to say the Museum shows the profound influence of Irish monks penetrating deep into mainland Europe as far as St. Gallen in Switzerland. 

And closer to home it shows centuries old preserved bog bodies found in Ireland. These are not replicas. Wood, metal and human remains do not decompose in bogs. Because bogs have up to a 98% water content there’s no oxygen to speed the process. And the presence of sphagnum moss acts as an antibacterial that prevents decay. Simply put, the centuries old human skin, hands and face look exactly like tanned leather, cured and preserved. Egyptian mummies would be jealous. It looks so natural. But enough. You didn’t ask for details. And no photos post breakfast.

The most amazing thing I saw was about five inches long. It was a miniature boat with oars, all made of a delicate thin sheet of gold. And yes, it was also found in the safekeeping of a bog. Next to the stone age tools, with bronze and copper work following that, humans always strove to transform the earthen materials around them. First, stone was crafted into practical tools, then metals into useful products, and precious ore was fashioned into soulful imaginations. In gold it was as if the sun itself penetrated the earth with radiance and color. This progress of attempting to always improve our surrounding continues today, except now we need to “transform ourselves” with the same creativity and imagination that we have applied to material natural resources in the past.

The boat reminded me of Irish legend and history, specifically St. Brendan’s boat venturing West. And St. Columbanus and St. Gall’s boat to mainland Europe and ultimately the Alps. Reminds me of the monks rowing out to Skellig Michael. And also the seafaring Vikings themselves, too often remembered only for destruction, but they initiated Northern trading into Europe and beyond, laying the network for continental commerce.

On leaving the Archeology Museum, I ask an attendant for a lunch recommendation. “Yes, around the corner you’ll find The Duke, a great pub.” So I walk around the block and am surprised that on this, my last day, I rediscover The Duke that I frequented on my first night in Dublin. My literary pub crawl started here over three weeks ago. I sit outside and order clam chowder from Leon, who is from Brazil. Oddly enough, this morning at my hotel reception desk I checked out with Gustavo . . . also from Brazil. How’d he get here. First to Portugal because of the same language. Then since he’s in the EU it’s a hop, skip and a jump to the Republic of Ireland. 

But for me, after the chowder, it’s a walk, tram, and a walk again until I get to my hotel.

I never did get back to the Beanhive to check out Yuri’s cheesecake recommendation. Maybe Ireland wants me to come back . . . and taste some more.

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