British Isles Part V

I'll tell you from the start. My Irish experience makes for less of a story than my Scottish one. It too was nice, and while I suppose adventure is always around the corner, being in the flow has a tendency to interfere with a good night's sleep and by the time I hit Ireland I was ready to do some catching up.
There was still an adventure or two to be had first, though.
After a brief nap at the house of my classmate Treasa (rhymes with NASA), we took off for Cork. Cork is the second largest city of Ireland, home to Treasa's old college and her current friends, and the site for our Halloween festivities. To be fair, I had had a warm up Halloween party in Edinburgh with Harry, but it didn't prepare me for this.
The town was roaring that night, thousands of people out in costume, parties all over the place, and a few too many eggs flying through the air for my tastes (no casualties in our party, save for a bit of liquid shrapnel on Treasa's pant leg). I've never been to in to Halloween parties, but seeing the entire big city abuzz and in costume, like an ordinary day in some strange bizarre alternate universe, made for a pretty great atmosphere.
Treasa was a wood-nymph, her best friend Claire was Sally from Nightmare before Christmas. I had brought along the wire that I used to make myself into Pipi Longstocking at Harry's party, but couldn't be bothered and opted instead for the spare cat-costume we found at our home base in Cork. It wasn't purr-fect, but I knew it would suffmice. We drank, we danced, we took it all in, and it was around 3 when we all returned to the student house where Treasa used to live and made out way to bed. I took my assigned spot on the living room couch and dozed off.
Treasa warned me that there would be folks coming home later. So I didn't think much of it when I awoke to a group of folks introducing themselves to me, until I realized that they were there asking me to leave -- apparently the couch had been double booked, and though I had been arranged for first, the hadn't gotten the memo and were somewhat suspicious that I might've wandered in on my own without any connection to people living in the house. Sleeping loads of people is usually not a big issue in a college town, but with no one in the house away to vouch for me, and no knowledge of the facilities on which to base a recommendation for alternate sleeping arrangements, I didn't have much to work with. It took a few minutes of tense and disputive conversation before we got anywhere, and it was largely due to the brilliance and cool-headedness of John the neighbor that we got the matter sorted out.
By this point I was in no state to fall asleep, so I joined Treasa (now awake again) and Efa (former member of the opposition turned friend) for one of those great ultra-late-night college conversations over a cup of tea, went to bed again an hour or two later, and slept until folks started coming down for breakfast, eventually joining the lazy masses in the kitchen for a slow day of lounging about. Treasa and I left Cork around 4 or 5 that day and I have to say i look quite fondly on the experience, especially all that came after the initial couch difficulties. Treasa's friends were some of the most wonderful people and I felt quite close to and at ease with them by the end, even after less than 24 hours of knowing each other, even after what could've been a relationship-damning late-night couch power-struggle. When I transfered trains in Cork the next day, part of me longed, though I knew I didn't have the mandate, to trot up the hill, join the gang and pour myself another cup of tea in that mad, messy, and loving household that had been Treasa's home for the past two years.

Instead, I switched tracks and boarded the train to Cobh, my intended destination for the day. Treasa was feeling a bit sick and rundown, so I was on my own.
Cobh (an Irish word, meaning, and pronounced the same as 'our' word "cove") is a little seaport village with a grand cathedral overlooking the water. There are several things that make Cobh noteworthy. Firstly, Cobh was the most important port of departure for Irish immigrants to the new world. The first immigrant to be processed at Ellis Island departed from Cobh and today there are identical statues of her and her brothers on either shore of the Atlantic. Secondly, Cobh was the last port of call of the Titanic before she set sail on her fateful journey towards America. But most importantly, Cobh is home to Ireland's one and only carillon, and that is the reason brought me out on this very fine day.
The beautiful Gothic-styled Cathedral of Cobh was built between 1868-1916 (Catholicism was illegal for a long period until the early 1800s in Ireland. Before then only Protestant religion could be practiced in public). The carillon was cast by Taylor Bellfoundries in 1916, which is significant because 1916 is the year that Taylor rediscovered the complex secrets of tuning sets of bells to each other and to themselves, a secret which was first discovered by the Hemony brothers in the 16th century, but which followed them into the grave, leaving 3 centuries of bell-founders in the dark. The carillon was one of the first modernly tuned carillons and one of the earliest pieces from the golden age of Taylor. And the sound? The moment I tapped the middle C I knew I was in for a treat. The tone was smooth and silky, dark, deep, and endlessly resonant. A rare specimen indeed. The clavier was also top-notch, beautifully polished soft wood, smooth and utterly frictionless movement, with a nice medium-heavy weighting. It reminded me in feel of Princeton's carillon 5 years back, before the most recent renovation took away most of its wonderful heft. My hands and feet moved through it like a hot knife through butter.
Adrian Gebruers the carillonneur of Cobh, gave me the usual spectacular cathedral tour, historical tales, and generous allotment of playing time. He told me that his grandfather was one of the postman loading last-minute shipment of overseas mail onto the Titanic, and as such, may very well have been the last person to leave the Titanic "without getting his feet wet". Ah, tip of the Irish.

One last bit of trivia before I wrap up. We all know the shamrock (3-leaf clover) as the symbol of Ireland, but what I only learned recently is that it all started with St. Patrick, the man who brought Christianity to Ireland, using it as a visual aid to explain the 3-in-1 nature of the Trinity. Go fig :)