EPIC and Eason

When we got to our hotel yesterday, we crashed for several hours. And then we toured parts of Dublin in a BigBus, finally ending up at a stop fairly near our hotel. We had lovely Mediterranean salads at Bach 16 along the River Liffey:

We opened our hotel window and enjoyed the sounds of seagulls circling above. But then a party started and we closed the windows.

Today (Saturday, July 27) we made our way to EPIC The Irish Emigration Museum. On the way, we passed this statue of Daniel O'Connell. It makes a good people, angel, and bird perch:

EPIC is really well done, with themed galleries about the various emigrations of the Irish as well as their global influence (as there are many more people of Irish descent living outside of Ireland than there are living there). They use technology to create interesting and interactive displays, like the library where you could tip out the lighted books (those written by Irish writers) and key passages are read aloud. We were surprised to learn that over 35,000 people left during the 2009 recession; another 23,500 left in 2015.

Here is a sculpture showing the different ways the Irish have left Ireland, from sailing ships to steamships to airplanes:

This video had actors portraying real emigrants, from different times and walks of life, talking about why they left Ireland, where they went, and how their lives turned out:

A gallery about Irish food included pub tables painted with standard Irish fare. This table features Irish soda bread, which brought back fond memories of Matt's Aunt Pat, who arrived at family parties in a swirl of her ruana, jewelry, and enthusiasms, bearing a plate of her homemade soda bread, wrapped in saran wrap and tied off with a green, curled ribbon:

Here is a photo of the large-scale poster at the end of the exhibit. These people are holding placards with words from the final paragraph of Colum McCann's essay "No Place Like Home," The New York Times, December 31, 2006:

I presume it’s what it also means to so many immigrants, no matter where we come from — we with our vagrant voices, we whose accent has grown fuller in our absence, we who sometimes think that the only home we have is our names, we who return by staying, we who are both here and there at the same time, we who are happy and unhappy both, we who use these days as our hinterland. 

After we rehydrated, we went round the city on the bus again. This time when we finished the tour, we headed to Eason, "...currently the largest supplier of books, magazines and newspapers in Ireland." Right in front of the store was this plaque commemorating "Aeolus, the offices of the Evening Telegraph (Ulysses, Episode 7)."

And here is Eason itself, to the left of a cool building called The Oval:

We thought Tower Records was long gone, but no, it's just moved to Dublin (on the second floor of Eason):

Same as it ever was:

We had dinner just across the street from Eason, at Bobos Gourmet Burgers, Dublin's Finest Burger Restaurant, because how could we not? I had the Eoin and Matt had the Chafel: