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On the plane to Ireland for my cousin's wedding. We were bored and tired. We wasted half a memory card making
miserable faces and taking pictures of ourselves.
Reminders everywhere in our rental car about where and how to drive.
The groom's father was an ex-baker, and he made an exact cake-replica of their little VW van.
The original VW van, Henry.
Me knocking on the door to 7 Eccles Street. That's right, Joyce fans.
"Holy crap, you're right... god IS a shout in the street!!"
Soph in the Guiness factory. The vibe of the place is so bizarre, like this dark modern epic
about man's triumph over despair. It's all dimly lit and cavernous, with obtuse sayings peppered throughout...
A special area lauding the heroism of the barrel coopers.
For you craic-whores.
Gravity Bar at the top of the Guiness factory, with a panoramic view of the city through windows decorated with Joyce quotes.
Not one of the Irish people I met on my trip had read his work.
Dinner. Yum.
The fire department had to get him down an hour later.
The Liffey!! You can't tell but it is filled with trash.
My father's father's brother's daughter, also the mother of the bride. I adore this outfit, right up to the fuchsia
feathers fluttering on her chapeau.
All the Irish ladies wear feathered hats and tailored suits to their functions these days...
The look is apparently inspired by Camilla Parker Bowles at her wedding to Prince Charles last April.
Hee.
The bride arrived in the General Lee.
 The boys got cuban cigars, the girls got hazelnut truffles. Soph and I switched our favors,
but everyone at our table kept trying to tell us we had it wrong.
St. Patty's Day Parade... No wait. Oops.
Salt hill, near Galway.
We drove near a town called Connemara where they still speak Irish exclusively.
You can't tell but I'm flipping off the camera European-style. We were cranky and eating terribly because of our lack of funds,
and we didn't want to pay more money for something we could go online to find out about. We wound up sneaking in.
You also can't tell, but the car park sign is pointing at an American dude with an enormous belly. He was with his enormous wife and
two enormous friends. They had southern accents and were loudly demanding their money back when we snuck in, because they could not
physically squeeze themselves
up the narrow winding staircase to the top of the castle.
Newgrange, a megalithic passage tomb. They stuff you and fifteen other strangers into a dark stone hole then turn the lights out
and invoke ancient people.
In this photo I'm happy to be outside and breathing fresh air again, rather than dead-people dust.
Huge rabbit sculptures scattered temporarily all over Dublin. People either love them or hate them.
Very Donnie Darko.
Strangely-named hand-dryer in a Dublin airport bathroom.
I suppose it would be worse if the hubris was unlimited...
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