-

I have a problem with mixing up beauty and goodness. I am fully aware of how bad this is.

I mean, I’ve seen Snow White, guys. I get that the evil queen can be both hot and, well, evil.

But I still have trouble getting my head around that fact. I just can’t get past the fact that something can look one way, and be totally different. (For the record, the converse is not true for me: I don’t assume that everyone and everything ugly is evil. Even though I’ve had some I’m-wearing-sweatpants-today-and-I’m-in-a-rotten-mood moments that would affirm that idea.)

Sometimes beautiful things belie their horrible true selves. That’s the case with Robben Island. I know that awful things happened there. The relics remain: the narrow cell where Nelson Mandela spent the better part of two decades, the limestone quarry where he and other prisoners slowly went half blind as they worked in the searing sun.

But, in spite of all of that? It’s still incredibly beautiful. And that’s a hard thing to reconcile.

We headed out to Robben Island on a sunny and windy afternoon, leaving from the station at the Cape Town waterfront.

-

The ferry ride takes a half hour or so, and ours was brutal. The captain was either a novice, a sadist, or possibly unconscious. We sped through the water at a dizzying pace, cutting across huge swells that sent our ship rocking. I tried looking at the horizon (which I’ve heard is a great way to fight motion sickness – wink-wink) but the swells were so big, I couldn’t actually keep the horizon in sight. It kept dipping above and below the window as we rocked.

Here we are, fresh faced and happy, at the start of the journey.

-

And then we arrived. Somewhat green and shaking, but intact. It seems absurd to complain, though, when one is about to tour a former prison.

Robben island is slightly more than 7km from Cape Town (about 4 1/2 miles) and the waters are shark-infested, with rough waves crashing against a rocky shore – so swimming to the mainland would be incredibly difficult. This made the island an ideal place to put people you didn’t want to deal with.

-

-

It is named not for any individual, but rather for the Dutch word for “seal”. For centuries, long before Mandela or his political brethren were locked away on the island, it was used as a prison by Dutch settlers, and later it housed a leper colony.

And later still, a leper graveyard.

-

Starting from the 1960s and up until 1991, thousands of political prisoners were held at Robben Island, many without trial.

The first half of our tour took us around the island by bus, where a thin, handsome-to-the-point-where-I-couldn’t-talk-to-him guide named Thanbo gave us some background on the island and its more famous political prisoners. He alternated between points of seriousness and joking – which was delightful and confusing. When an infant on the tour started to cry, he joked, “It’s okay. We’ve all been there before, even if we don’t remember it.” Then he’d launch straight back into the atrocities of apartheid.

-

We stopped by this enclosure – a solitary, freestanding cell that sat opposite a long row of cages. We stared, horrified, trying to figure out what they were for. Thanbo explained that the smaller cages housed the many guard dogs that were used on the island. But the small, freestanding cell was where Robert Sobukwe was held in solitary confinement – having no contact with other prisoners – for nearly a decade.

On the left, Sobukwe’s cell, and on the right, the rows and rows of cages where the guard dogs were held. (Apologies for the crappy photo. It was taken from the bus.)

-

Sobukwe was a political activist and an outspoken opponent of apartheid. He established the Pan Africanist Congress (a South African liberation organization) and was its first president. Sobukwe was charming, educated, and an excellent orator – so naturally authorities saw him as a threat.

During apartheid, non-whites were required to carry passes – essentially identification cards – which dictated where they could and couldn’t go. These passes were kind of like passports – allowing blacks, Asians, and multi-racial individuals into “white” South Africa. The passes limited where someone could and couldn’t go, and you had to have the pass with you at all times.

In 1960, there was a nationwide protest against the Pass Laws, and Sobukwe led a march to a local police station, in defiance of the laws. He willfully showed the officer his pass (which did not give him permission to be in the area he was presently in). He was arrested, and sentenced to three years in prison (normally, the sentence for such an offense was only 6 months).

After he served his sentence, he was sent to Robben Island. He hadn’t been convicted of any further crime, but he was imprisoned on the island through an amendment that allowed police to hold political dissidents without due process for up to three months. When the three months were up, another clause was added – called the Sobukwe Clause – which allowed the Minister of Justice to extend a prisoners’ term annually. Through this perversion of justice, Sobukwe was held at Robben Island for six years. He served almost a decade in prison for supposedly being in an area where he wasn’t allowed.

Can we take a moment to talk about how messed up that is? I mean, hell, when a clause is named after you to KEEP YOU IN PRISON, that’s a pretty serious sign of unjust oppression.

You can read more about Sobukwe here (his story is fascinating and heart-breaking). He died in 1978 from lung cancer. He had a great deal of difficulty receiving medical care, as he was still under house arrest. The government restricted his movements to the point that hospital visits were nearly impossible.

We left Sobukwe’s solitary cell and drove to the limestone quarry. Hard labor wasn’t abolished until the 80s; Mandela and other political prisoners had to work there for hours each day, crushing rocks. This lead to long term health problems (many of them had damaged vision as a result of working in the bright sun, and the dust that was constantly irritating their eyes. It effected their respiratory systems as well).

 -

Notice this small pile of rocks that sits in the quarry – Mandela and his fellow political prisoners place a rock there every time they return to Robben Island. It started the first time Mandela returned there.

-

Our bus tour lasted about 45 minutes. We stopped briefly to take in the views of Cape Town from the island. Like I said, it’s beautiful.

-

It becomes very easy, for a moment, to forget where you are. You start to think of it as just a sun-drenched island, the sort of place where you bend your knee and snuggle up to your sweetie for a photo.

-

But beauty and goodness aren’t the same thing. We were about to be reminded of that yet again.

After our bus tour, and a brief break, it was time to see the inside of the prison.

The barbed wire fence is still up around the perimeter.

-

-

Even on Robben Island, segregation was prevalent. No white prisoners were held on the island. Black prisoners were fed a different diet than their Asian or mixed-race counterparts. It’s all just so … blatant.

Notice that black prisoners received less quantities of basically everything, and no jam or syrup.

-

Political prisoners were kept separate from the convicts (because when they were incarcerated together, the political prisoners began to educate and recruit the convicts to join their cause. A fact that I kind of love).

Our prison tour began here, in a large communal cell.

-

This small, thin mat was resting on the ground. Our guide explained that when Mandela was first sent to Robben Island, this was what he had to sleep on.

-

Regrettably, I didn’t catch our guide’s name. He was a former prisoner at Robben Island – as are all the guides for this portion of the tour. Judging by his age, he couldn’t have been more than 20 or so when he was first incarcerated. His crime was that he had been part of an anti-apartheid organization. A undercover government agent had trained with him in Botswana, and later bumped into him – by chance – in South Africa, and turned him in.

It was the sort of miserable luck that made us all cringe. He didn’t, though. I suppose he’d come to terms with it.

By the time our guide had arrived, in 1981, mats like the one above were no longer used, and working in the limestone quarry had been abolished. Things were not great by any means, but they had improved. They now had the support of the Red Cross, and had cots to sleep on. They had access to books (though it was limited, so they would spend hours transcribing important ones so they could read passages whenever they liked), television, and even video games.

Our guide explained that there was a schism between the younger generation of prisoners and the older ones (“Were they our parents, or our colleagues?”). The elders often complained that the young ones were too noisy, spent too much time on silly diversions.

They all agreed on chess, though. The games brought both generations together, but apparently cheating was rampant on both sides (another fact that I love).

It was here, at Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela wrote portions of his book, The Long Road to Freedom. Several attempts were made to smuggle the book out, and it was confiscated a number of times. Fortunately, there were duplicate copies of the book; our guide explained that one was even hidden in this courtyard.

-

The middle window was Mandela’s.

-

Mandela’s presence looms large over Robben Island. To an American, at least, he’s the most notable political prisoner to be incarcerated there. His story – and his eventual rise to become the first black president of South Africa – is tragic and inspirational.

Mandela’s prison cell at Robben Island.

-

But our visit to the island reminded me that Mandela wasn’t alone in his suffering, or his triumphs. Our guide may have arrived at the island when conditions were far better for inmates, but his tale was still a heartbreaking one. His anecdotes painted a picture of young men trying to still enjoy life within prison walls, under the gaze of their older, hardened counterparts. He told us of the pranks they played on guards, the frustration of trying to get soap to lather while taking a saltwater shower, and the hours upon hours they spent transcribing books.

He put such a personal face on the experience that I felt like I knew him; and still, I couldn’t bring myself to ask his name. I just listened and nodded feebly, and wondered if he was still haunted by this place.

How could he not be?

-

These questions went unasked, unanswered. Our tour concluded, and we walked outside, to a sky so blue, it didn’t quite look real.

We left that beautiful and horrible place, and went back to Cape Town, with its touristy shops and vibrant waterfront. But Robben Island stayed with us long after we left.

-

I suspect that’s true for everyone who’s been there.

—————

The Essentials on Robben Island:

• Verdict: Absolutely. It’s a crime (no pun intended)  to visit Cape Town and not see this place.
  -
• How to Get There: Your ticket includes a return-trip ferry ride which leaves from the Cape Town Waterfront. Getting to the waterfront itself is very easy (if you can’t walk from your hotel, see if they offer a free shuttle, or take a cab – they’re very reasonable in CT).
  - 
• Ideal for: history lovers, political scholars, activists, and anyone who is socially conscious
  -
• Insider tips: The ferry ride over can be very rocky, and the sun and wind are aggressive – we chose to sit inside for the ride there and back. The first half of the tour is by bus, and the second half requires a little bit of walking – but it’s fairly relaxed, so even if you are nursing a bad knee (which one of our group was), you should be able to manage. The entire tour – including the trip to and from CT – is about 3 hours. Be sure to reserve and print your tickets ahead of time. They do sell out, and are non-refundable.
  - 
• Nearby food: There is a small snack shop on the island, and you will have some time after the tour to pop in there, and see the gift shop. But I’d suggest having lunch or breakfast before you go. There are plenty of places on the waterfront.
  - 
• Good for kids: There were some children on our tour. The wee ones slept through most of it, and the older ones looked bored stiff. Use your discretion, but note that anyone under the age of 12 might find this place excruciating.

-

I love the internet.

I suppose that’s not the most revelatory statement I’ve ever made. It’s probably up there with “I like cupcakes” and ” OMG TRAVEL IS NEAT-O.”

But cupcakes existed long before I did, and travel has been around since the day that a caveman went for a long walk and thought, “Grog grunga tok.” Which, in this little vignette I’ve created, roughly translates to: “OMG TRAVEL IS NEAT-O.”

But the internet? It hasn’t been around all that long. I clearly remember a time before it. I won’t call it the Dark Ages, mostly because that phrase is already used to describe the cultural and economic deterioration that supposedly occurred in Europe following the decline of the Roman Empire (source: THE INTERNET!) But things before its existence were indeed less enlightened than they are now.

I’ve heard the claim that technology has stolen our humanity. It’s made us cold and isolated. I think the opposite is true. We now have the power to connect with one people across town or across the globe.

Some days, I simply have to marvel at it.

Like last week. I posted about the Little Museum of Dublin, and included an anecdote about the music stand they have on display – one that JFK used as a lectern on the first and only trip he made to Ireland.

-

I thought that the stand was borrowed from a local music shop. That was not the case.

The day after the post went up (and after a bit of back and forth on Twitter), I received an email from a gentleman named Mark, whose father had owned the music stand. He gave me the whole (correct) story behind it. His letter was so beautifully written, I asked if I could print it on the blog. He agreed.

My father Colonel John Brennock was a musician with the Army School of Music, a conductor of the Army Band and ultimately Director of the School.  In the late 1940s or early 1950s he bought for himself the music stand from an antique dealer in Dublin’s Fishamble Street (the same street, incidentally, where Handel’s Messiah was first performed in 17something).  He cycled home to the Army Barracks where he lived in Rathmines, about two miles away, with the music stand balanced somehow on the bike.

In early 1963, as Assistant Director of the Army School of Music, he was involved in the preparations for the JFK visit.  In discussions with all State agencies involved (police, army, parliament, Government, etc) on the logistics of the visit it emerged that there was no podium in the Dail chamber from which JFK could speak.  My father said he had something that might suit, the Office of Public Works (which manages State Buildings) came to have a look and took it away.

I remember vaguely the fuss when JFK was assassinated.  I was three years old.  I remember a few months later a car pulling up outside our suburban house with the music stand strapped to the roof.  I didn’t understand what it was about then, but there was great excitement, people came in to have a look.  The Office of Public Works had kindly put a plaque on the stand saying it was used by JFK when addressing the Houses of the Oireachtas, and that it had been loaned by my father.  I used to play with the stand as a kid – as you may have seen you can rotate the top part to raise and lower its height and I did this for years.  I used to drive my Matchbox model cars along the ledge where JFK rested his script and his hands.  When I bought my first house my Dad shocked me one day by saying:  “You know that music stand you always liked?  Do you want to take it for your house?” I did.

Then someone told Trevor White (Hugh Grant to you) that I had this item at home.  He was setting up the Little Museum of Dublin and he called and asked could he have it on loan.  I initially decided against – I love having it – but he is very persuasive (like Mr Grant really).  I agreed to loan it for five years.

I miss it terribly.  It is for me a connection with history and politics around which I have spent much of my working life, and also with my Dad.  I am happy to hear that people get a kick out of seeing it – though I do shudder at the thought of people balancing their cameras on it and touching it and messing with it, just as I did as a child.  It will be returning to my home at some future point.

Remember how I told you every object in the Little Museum was rife with history? How it felt like these were treasures from someone’s home? Indeed, they were. Each one had a story to tell.

And so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m feeling a bit indebted to the Internet this week. It connected me to Mark, so that he could tell me the music stand’s story, which I now have the privilege of relaying to you.

Naturally, I replied to him and apologized profusely for using his family treasure as a tripod. And I thanked him for sharing a bit of his family’s and his town’s narrative with me.

Oh, and I learned that the dishy tour guide is the founder of the museum. The good news is that his equally-dishy wife has a great sense of humor. On a related note, I’m learning if it is humanly possible to die from embarrassment. Fortunately, the internet says no. That sort of thing is highly unlikely. 

I’m just going to go ahead and trust it on that one. After all, it so rarely leads me astray.

The entrance to Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin.

-

I was talking recently with some friends, and they were telling me about a new phenomenon in the processing of coffee beans. The fad involved coffee cherries that are passed through the digestive track of a civet cat (mammals native to the islands of Java and Sumatra). The cats can’t process the beans themselves, so those are excreted whole, and then gathered by coffee connoisseurs, who claim that the fermentation process that occurred inside the animals digestive track makes the beans taste better. The result, they maintain, is a superior cup of coffee.

In short, people are using coffee beans that cats have pooped out.

If you are anything like me, hearing this news on an early and crisp January morning is more than enough to cause you to bid adieu to mankind as a whole, return your bed, and weep for the future of our species. Because, and I can’t believe I really need to say this, WE SHOULD NOT BE INGESTING THINGS WE FIND IN CAT POOP.

It also makes me wonder if maybe we’ve all gone a little bit soft. If, for many of us, life has gotten just a little too good, a little too easy, that we can devote our time to such excesses.

For those of us living in a world of pooped-out coffee, My Super Sweet 16, and vajazzling (if you are at work, do yourself a huge favor and DO NOT CLICK ON THAT LINK), I feel like reality checks are necessary every now and then.

My most recent one came courtesy of Kilmainham Jail (or Gaol, as we often saw it spelled), in Dublin.

Going to Kilmainham was Rand’s idea, and since he had such limited free time in Ireland, I jumped at the suggestion. Besides, he so rarely leads me astray. When I listen to him, I end up eating cake for dinner and buying a new pair of shoes. He’s really great like that.

Kilmainham fit perfectly into the narrative of Ireland we’d been composing throughout our trip. I’ve mentioned the Easter Rising at length, and the jail had a rather important role in that, too, which I’ll get to later. But Kilmainham existed long before the Easter Rising of 1916.

We happened to go on a sunny day.

-

When Kilmainham was first built, back in the late 1700s, it was a cutting-edge sort of facility.

Note: in the 18th century, “cutting edge” did not mean “nice”.

-

Prior to then, jails were much different. Everyone was held in one big, dank room – men, women, and even children. Yeah, that’s right - children. If parents were imprisoned and their kids had nowhere to go, they’d be incarcerated as well.

Conditions were terrible. Torture, corruption, vermin, illness, prostitution, gambling, drinking, and disease were rampant.

So, basically, a lot like Vegas. Except with slightly more torture and a lot more children. And less neon.

Food wasn’t necessarily a given, and in order to be fed, or receive blankets, or any measure of human treatment, you had to bribe the guards. (Wow. The Vegas analogy is still holding up.)

Good heavens.

In the late 1700s, a wealthy gentleman by the name of John Howard was appointed High Sheriff of Bedfordshire. Supervision of the local jail fell to him, and Howard was shocked by what he had encountered therein. People were living in absolute squalor, and many succumbed to “prison fever” – a nasty form of typhus that spread quickly through the unsanity conditions of the jails.

Howard set about informing the public of the horrifying conditions prisoners were exposed to. He made many recommendations – that people get their own cells and be provided with food, clean water, and sanitary conditions; that staff be moral and upstanding citizens -role models for the incarcerated. Howard even used his own sizeable fortune to institute such changes.

He was an upstanding guy, and genuinely tried to – and eventually succeeded – in making prison conditions better. So it’s rather heartbreaking to learn that Howard himself would perish from typhus (contracted from one of his many visits to jails), but not before he had suggested some rather notable changes to the prison system.

Kilmainham was a slight improvement on “the noisome dungeons” that had preceded it. It was called “The New Gaol”, to differentiate it from the one it had replaced (an earlier incarnation of the penitentiary had been situated just a few hundred yards away, and was one of the squalor-filled pits that had so horrified Howard). But the new Kilmainham was not the one that Howard would have envisioned. Built 6 years after his death, he likely would have been horrified by it.

-

It was not a pleasant place.

Prisoners continued to be held in terrible conditions. They spent much of their time in the freezing cold, as the chill air was believed to purify a corrupt spirit. The walls of the newly-built Kilmainham were made of lime, meaning that they retained moisture but not heat. There was open window in each of the cells (with no glass pane) that would let a freezing wind blow through.

It was too high to look out of, too small to provide much light. So its only function, really, was to make the cells frigid and miserable.

-

Even in the mid-afternoon on a bright day, you can see how dark it was.

-

Each prisoner was given a single candle for light and warmth, which was supposed to have lasted them for two weeks.

This part of the prison – now referred to as the west wing, and well over 200 years old – is still standing. Our tour took us through it, and even on the sunny, not-terribly-cold day that we were there, we were all shivering.

Even with a large group of people, clustered together, we were cold.

-

And keep in mind, today the windows have panes and there’s track lighting along the ceiling. One can only imagine how cold and dark it would have been back then.

-

-

In the late 1700s and early 1800s, there was no such thing as probation or community service (or starlets using the excuse that they were severely depressed or dehydrated when they drove their car into the side of a Wendy’s). Minor infractions would land you in prison, regardless of your age (stealing a loaf of old bread would land you in jail for a month. Digging in the trash outside a bakery or shop could get you a week’s incarceration). The youngest person believed to have been held at Kilmainham was 7 years old.

The jail soon became overcrowded. Adding to the issue was the famine and starvation that plagued Ireland during the time. Many people, upon hearing that you might be able to get a meager ration of food inside prison, would commit minor infractions in order to get themselves arrested (the logic was that inside Kilmainham, you had a chance at survival. Outside of the jail, you didn’t).

Cells that had been designed for one person now held as many as five or six (the smell, one can safely assume, must have been intense. This was before the days of toothbrushing. Or deodorant. Or even moist towelettes).

It was hard for me to capture the dimensions of the cells, but they’re about the size of a generous home closet – about 60 square feet or so.

It’s hard to get a sense of scale, but the cells were about 6 feet across and probably 8 or ten feet deep. The gentleman at right is on the taller side – around 6’2″, I’d guess. Notice how close the doors are to one another.

-

This corridor led to the Stonebreaker’s Yard, where the executions took place.

-

And, as was fairly common in the 18th century, the ladies had it worse than the men. Male prisoners often were less cramped, and were given beds to sleep on. Women had to resort to sleeping on piles of hay. And once the cells became too crowded, they had to sleep on piles of hay in the hallways.

Imagine, being in prison and not even having a cell to share with five other people.

After a few decades, it became apparent that Kilmainham’s tactics had failed. Freezing prisoners and cramping them together was evidently not the path to social rehabilitation. (If it was, then everyone lining up outside for Black Friday deals would be a friggin saint. And judging by how many people accosted each other outside a Victoria’s Secret last year in a quest for discounted frilly panties, THEY ARE NOT.)

In the mid 1800s, the east wing of the prison was built, this time incorporating Howard’s reforms and tenants, none of which involved limestone (thankfully). As our tour took us to this newer part of the jail, I could actually see everyone relax a little bit. Compared to the old wing, it was like a Hilton.

Notice that it was warm enough for people to finally remove their jackets.

-

Okay, so it still wasn’t exactly roomy.

So I guess it was more like a Hilton in Manhattan or something.

-

The new design added another 96 cells to the prison – and this time, each one really did house only one inmate. Conditions weren’t ideal, but they were significantly brighter and more spacious.

My wee, 5’8″ husband illustrates the size of the cell. Don’t let the high ceiling fool you; it’s barely big enough for a twin bed.

-

In addition to being a clear aesthetic improvement, the new, panopticon design was practical, too – guards could now clearly see all of the cells, and could move easily between the floors and sides of the prison using catwalks and central staircases.

-

Our lovely and knowledgeable tour guide discusses the vastly improved east wing.

-

There was even warm food delivered up from the kitchen through a manhole in the ground.

-

So what became of the old, freezing west wing? Well, it remained in use. It became the women’s wing of the prison. Oy.

As I noted earlier, Kilmainham played a significant role in Ireland’s quest for independence. Remember the Easter Rising? (If not, I wrote about it extensively here.) It was when several Irish Republican leaders signed a proclamation and declared their independence from Britain. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been a widespread, coordinated effort. It led to several weeks of fighting in the streets, and resulted in several hundred dead civilians. Many of the Irish Nationalists who took part in the Rising were arrested and sent to Kilmainham; the leaders were executed.

At the time of their arrest, those who had led the uprising were not held in high regard by many of their countrymen. Talks for Irish homerule had been going well, and people felt that the Rising had jeopardized all of that. According to our guide, many of those who had been arrested were literally spat upon by their compatriots. But in a year, public sentiment would shift, and much of it was because of the treatment of the Nationalist prisoners once they reached Kilmainham.

These two cells belong to Eamon DeValera (who escaped execution on the grounds that he was actually an American citizen), and Edward Daly (who was executed).

-

Among those killed was Joseph Plunkett. His (and his wife’s) tragic fate at Kilmainham helped turn the tide of public sentiment in favor of the Easter Risers.

Before his arrest, Plunkett became engaged to a woman named Grace Gifford. Gifford’s sister, Muriel, was married to Thomas MacDonagh, a friend of Plunkett’s and a fellow Nationalist. It was through Muriel that Plunkett and Gifford met and fell in love.

Gifford was unaware of the plans for the Easter Rising. Afterwards, Plunkett was arrested, and when Gifford learned that he was to be sentenced to death (along with Thomas Mac Donagh, her sister Muriel’s husband), she went to the prison to find her fiancé and request that they be allowed to marry.

-

The ceremony was performed in this tiny chapel inside Kilmainham. Plunkett was let out of the cell for the ceremony, but had to immediately return to it afterwards. He and Gifford were never even given any time alone together. The next morning, he was executed, one day after his friend Thomas MacDonagh.

Spot where Plunkett, MacDonagh, and the rest of the Easter Risers (with the exception of Connolly) were executed.

-

The Gifford sisters both became widows within 24 hours of each other.

James Connolly was another of the Easter Rising leaders who was executed at Kilmainham. He had been severely injured during the Rising, and in the time since, he wounds had become gangrenous. He was so ill at the time of his execution, that he could not stand for the firing squad. So instead, he was tied to a chair (being too weak to sit upright) and shot.

Spot of James Connolly’s execution.

-

As the news of stories like these spread, public opinion towards the Easter Risers began to change. The leaders were hailed as martyrs. The remaining prisoners were given a heroes’ welcome upon their release. Rather than quash Ireland’s fight for independence, the incidents that transpired at the jail had given it new life.

The jail was decommissioned in 1924, two years after the birth of the Irish free state. Kilmainham fell into disrepair over the next few decades, and there was much talk of demolishing the structure. In response to this, a grassroots organization was born with the goal of rebuilding and preserving the jail. They succeeded in their efforts, and by 1971, the prison had reopened as a museum, and a reminder of the many long struggles in Ireland’s past.

Our tour took us through the old and new wings of the prison, and the courtyards where the executions took place. With each step, all I could think was of the past sufferings of the prisoners there, and how easy many of us have it. How we live in a world full of warm beds and well-lit rooms. How so many of us can curl up next to our love ones at night, watching their chests move gently up and down with each breath. How damn lucky we are to live lives that are full of good health, and comfort, and many, many joys.

And, if we are so inclined, a little cat poop coffee, too.

————–

The Essentials on Kilmainham Gaol

• Verdict: Yes. This was absolutely haunting and fascinating, and was one of my favorite historical sites of our entire trip to Ireland.
  -
• How to Get There: We took a cab from Temple Bar, and then took public transportation back (the staff was helpful in directing us where to go). The jail’s official website also has some great logistical information about how to get there. Note that if you are going to take a bus in Dublin, waiting at the stop isn’t sufficient enough – you actually have to hail the bus. So get ready to wave like a lunatic.
  -
• Ideal for: History fans, social reformers, and anyone with a morbid fascination for how bad things used to be (and how easy we have it now).
  -
• Insider tips: The tour is about 90 minutes long, and though most of it is indoors, the jail is quite chilly. Wear comfortable shoes (you’ll be on your feet), and warm clothes. Give yourself some time beforehand to look at the exhibition of artifacts at the museum and use the facilities before your tour begins (you won’t have a chance once it’s started). Oh, and doing a little reading up on the Easter Rising wouldn’t hurt, either. It puts the entire place is context.
  - 
• Nearby food: There’s a small cafe inside the museum that serves snacks, but Kilmainham is on the edge of town, so there isn’t too much else within walking distance. Fear not, though – it’s a very short bus ride back into town.
  - 
• Good for kids: No. While teenagers will likely be fascinated by the old cells and the tales of the conditions therein, I wouldn’t bring anyone under the age of 12, as the tour is long, chilly, and the dark subject matter might be traumatic. The grounds are not stroller friendly by any means.

-

I was recently talking to someone close to me about marriage.

She told me about Buddhism, and her husband, and their shared views on infidelity – and how the damage it does is like throwing a stone in a pond. The stone causes a splash on impact, but it also causes ripples to form, which extend outward, eventually touching every aspect of your life.

In short, if you want a happy life, and a happy marriage, don’t cause ripples in your pond.

I really liked the analogy. Seriously, can you think of a more poetic way of saying “don’t go around banging random peeps”?

And with that in mind, I would like to start 2013 with a confession of sorts.

Oh, relax. It’s not that interesting.

The confession is this: I spent well over an hour at the Little Museum of Dublin, and a good part of that was because the tour guide was a total dish. He looked like a mid-nineties-era Hugh Grant. You know, Hugh Grant before he made a rash of terrible decisions which involved cheating on Elizabeth Hurley with a prostitute and making Two Weeks Notice. Both of which, I’m sure you’ll agree, are unforgivable.

Now, I’m sure a few of you are thinking, “Well, spending an hour in a museum certainly isn’t that big a deal. I’ve spent far longer than that in museums, even when my tour guide resembled Jabba the Hut.”

And that is an entirely fair point. But thing about The Little Museum of Dublin is that, as the name states, it is little. It occupies two rooms, neither of which is particularly large.

-

That’s right: I spent an hour in a museum the size of someone’s basement. Yeah.

Did I mention that the tour guide looked like Hugh Grant? Nineties-era Hugh Grant. SENSE AND SENSIBILITY HUGH GRANT. He of the nervous blinking and the bumbling-yet-charming insecurity and the floppy hair. THAT IS WHAT THE TOUR GUIDE LOOKED LIKE. Right down to the floppy hair.

I tried to capture said hair repeatedly on film, but there was a gaggle of swooning septugenarian women around him at all times. (Parenthetically, if you want confirmation that you have chosen the right man, look to the opinions of grey-haired old ladies. They tend to have excellent taste, and a particular fondness for my husband. He has to fight them off with a stick. It’s part of the reason we avoid cruises. And the state of Florida.)

This is as near as I could get to capturing his dishy-ness.

-

Plus, he was Irish.

I mean, just because I’m no longer looking to buy doesn’t mean I can’t window shop, right?

Even in this dark, grainy shot, you can clearly see that he suffered from a terminal case of excessive handsomeness.

-

And so I listened, intently, to every word.

Come to think of it, we all did. The room was packed (mostly with women).

You know, it JUST occurred to me that this is creepy behavior on my part. Very creepy.

-

I suspect we would have stood there quietly while he read a phone book, pausing only to run his hand through his hair every now and then. Which is why I have trouble writing about the Little Museum of Dublin objectively.

I mean, I loved it. I thought it was absolutely delightful and unique. But I’m not entirely sure other people would. Rand, I suspect, would get less of a kick out of it than I did. And I think it’s pretty safe to say that if you hated Four Weddings and a Funeral, you probably wouldn’t like it at all.

The museum is an intimate look at Ireland – specifically Dublin – over the last century or so (the website notes that it collects “art, photographs, … objects and ephemera relating to … life in Dublin between the years 1900 and 2000.”) It’s prideful, and I mean that in the most positive sense – it is full of things that Dubliners are – and should be – proud of.

The walls are packed.

-

Some things are easily decipherable. It’s easy to see not only what they are, but how they relate to Dublin. The newspaper announcing Eamon DeValera’s death. An autographed copy of a U2 album. A photo of Samuel Beckett.

-

-

But without a guide, it would be a struggle for any foreigner to appreciate the significance of the collection. There are no placards, no velvet ropes, no audio guides. That’s part of the beauty of it. It feels like you are in someone’s home, and indeed, many of the objects in the museum are personal items donated by Dubliners.

-

And the history they carry is not insignificant. Nor does it merely pertain to just Dublin. This music stand was in the middle of the room, unassuming and unprotected. Numerous people ran their hands across it, and I figured it was designed or manufactured locally.

-

I even used it as a tripod for my camera, in order to get a few still shots. A recollection that is making me wince even as I type this because … oh, dear. That was no ordinary music stand. John F. Kennedy used it as a podium when he addressed the Irish Parliament in June, 1963.

Yeah.

The story was that Kennedy had requested a podium, but since the Irish politicians of the day were not in the habit of speaking from lecterns, one was not available. There was a bit of a panic, and finally someone managed to procure a music stand (borrowed from a nearby music shop borrowed from a local family; I had the privilege of learning about the stand’s origins from its current owner – a wonderful story in and of itself). It suited Kennedy just fine.

In this video of Kennedy’s speech to the parliament, you can actually see someone setting up the stand on the right.

The museum also has a note from the president, promising to be back in the spring. He was assassinated just four months later. Incidentally, the music stand was not returned to its owner until after the president had died.

It was just one of dozens of everyday objects whose significance was not discernible without our handsome guide. Considering that, it seems a bit more understandable that I was able to spend so long in the museum, rapt with attention. Everything was tied to the city of Dublin and its people. Every object held some history.

Yes, he was charming, but so is the entire city.

I had lots more to see that night, and so I finally left. I stood on the steps of the museum, trying to figure out what to do next, when my dashing guide appeared in the doorway, to get a bit of air himself. He ran his hand through his floppy hair, and flashed me a smile.

Good heavens, did he expect that to work?

“I AM NOT ONE OF YOUR GREY-HAIRED GROUPIES!” I wanted to shout. But instead I smiled meekly, my pond unrippled (or whatever the hell that analogy was that I started off with) and returned to my map.

I spent the rest of the evening wandering from museum to museum. Dublin, I’ve found, is an easy town to love. But at no place was the city’s rich and interesting past recounted with such a delicate and personal touch as it was in the Little Museum. If you visit, you may find that your heart, like mine, will quicken its pace. You may end up dizzy and swooning, just a little bit. And at some point, you’ll realize, it has absolutely nothing to do with the tour guide.

But, man, was he fun to look at.

—————

The Essentials on The Little Museum of Dublin:

• Verdict: Yes. I left with a much better understanding of Dublin – and a huge fondness for the city. The tours run often, and it’s easy to pick up halfway through (there are, after all, only two rooms to the place).
  - 
• How to Get There: I walked from my hotel, which was a bit of a hike, but entirely manageable. The museum is right along St. Stephen’s Green, and only a short walk from Trinity College.
  - 
• Ideal for: Locals, tourists, and pop culture fanatics (the museum takes a long look at the music, film, and arts of Dublin).
  -
• Insider tips: The museum is small, but admission reflects this, and is only 5 Euros – well worth it. It’s open late on Thursdays – until 8pm (I rather liked visiting later in the day, since it felt like I was in someone’s cozy home for the evening). If you have mobility restrictions, contact them beforehand, and they can arrange seating for you. Otherwise, wear comfy shoes. Also, I’d strongly suggest having some prior knowledge of Ireland’s history – it will help put a lot of things into context.
  - 
• Nearby food: There are plenty of options in Temple Bar, which is about a 15-minute walk from here (both Crackbird and Skinflint are located there). There’s also a restaurant nearby called Fire, which I didn’t visit, but seems to be fairly well reviewed. And if you are desperate, there are jelly beans on one of the shelves of the museum. I assume it was okay to eat them, because everyone was (it was not just me. I swear).
  -
• Good for kids: Tough to say. The museum is certainly willing to be kid-friendly, I’m just not sure how much wee tourists would enjoy this place. They might find the tour and the political and cultural touchstones to be a bit boring. But older children and tweens with some knowledge of the country might enjoy it.

For once, they don’t charge you for the view.

-
I’m a bargain-hunter. I’d like to think of this as one of my better qualities, instead of, as my husband puts it, “an acute kind of madness.” And granted, sometimes I do strange things to avoid spending money. Not unethical things, mind you. I’ve never shoplifted or stolen anything (okay, FINE, there was that one time), but I will go to ridiculous lengths to save a buck.

For example, for many years, I would buy this fruit salad from the grocery store that had melon chunks in it. There were other variations with berries, but I always went for the one with huge portions of melon. One day Rand told me that he didn’t really like the melon-chunked fruit salad.

“Oh, me neither,” I said.

“Wait, you don’t like it, either? Then why do you keep buying it?”

“It’s always on sale.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“But IT’S ON SALE.”

Yeah. I’m well aware of the fact that if I didn’t buy the fruit salad in the first place, I’d have saved more money overall. But the point was to have fruit salad and save money, too. Even if I didn’t like the damn fruit salad.

This sort of rationale leads to all sorts of problems when we travel. I will go to museums that I don’t really want to see, just because they are free. Or I’ll intentionally get off at the wrong bus stop because the Ride Free Zone is about to end, and I don’t want to pay the increased fare.

I am a gal who finds getting lost preferable to spending $2.25. Obviously, my judgement isn’t great. But believe me when I tell you that this next tip is a good one. And it makes the bargain hunter that I am at heart glow with pride.

If you visit San Francisco (which is already a pretty darn expensive city on its own), and you manage to get down to Golden Gate Park, I suggest you visit the DeYoung Museum.

The museum itself is fairly nice, and general admission is only $10, which is far better than a lot of museums in major U.S. cities. But what really won me over was the Hamon Observation Tower, which is accessible from inside the DeYoung. You don’t need a museum ticket to visit the tower. It’s free.

Yup, free.

And don’t worry – this isn’t some melon-chunked fruit salad. This is actually something you’d want to see. From the top of the tower, you can enjoy some amazing views of the city.

Check it out:

-

Okay, fine. That’s a photo of mostly trees, which probably isn’t very convincing. But wait – it gets better.

Waaaaay in the distance, on the right, you can even see the top of the pillars of the Golden Gate Bridge.

-

You can get a great lay of the land from up there – and get a view of the grass-covered top of the California Academy of Sciences, which is just across the street.

-

There are 360 degree views, even though some of them are, as I noted, simply of trees.

And maybe a few houses, too.

-

Still, it’s pretty fantastic. There are even little benches to sit on. It’s the sort of thing that could bring even a huge bargain-hunter and her financially-reckless husband together in happiness.

“OMG. Squirrel!”

-

And did I mention it’s free? It totally is.

…

Wasn’t it amazing? I know. I love it, too. I have a weak spot for Cary Grant. Actually, I have several weak spots for Cary Grant, and they’re all located around my knees, or thereabouts.

And in that movie, he kind of reminds me of Rand.

Oh, STOP rolling your eyes. I need none of that nonsense. A girl in love is entitled to see things how she wants. If I want to think that cake is reasonable breakfast food and that I can pull off skinny jeans and that my husband is Cary Grant-like, I can. A little self-delusion never hurt anyone. Without it, Madonna would have never tried acting and JLo would have never tried singing. THINK ABOUT THOSE GEMS OF ARTISTIC MERIT, why don’t you, before you knock it.

There’s one line in particular that Cary Grant’s wife’s character says to him that really gets me. (It’s around minute 14 of this video if you want to watch it.)

“It’s just that I love you so much, and I put all those candles on your cake, when you’re really only nine years old.”

I say that line – or some approximation of it – to Rand all the damn time. They are less romantic, usually.

“I know you run a company,” I’ll tell him, “but I don’t think you should be left alone around an open flame.”

“For the love of all that is holy, USE A FORK,” I’ve shouted, plenty of times.

Or, “Tell me on what planet that would be a good idea.”

He is my beloved. But sometimes, he is nine years old.

Like when I took him to the California Academy of Sciences. He was a little kid. If you haven’t been, I recommend the place. It’s a bit out of the way, but worth it (plus, you can get lost on the MUNI, and that’s always fun). It’s adjacent to the de Young Museum, so if you are really ambitious, you can try visiting both. If you do endeavor to do that, start early and snack often (Did we try this? Yes. Because we are insane and childless).

The ticket for the Academy of Sciences is expensive – around $30 or so, but I argue that it’s worth it. You get a ticket to a science museum, an aquarium, and a planetarium all at once.

It’s not unlike going to the movies and also getting to visit an aquarium and a science museum for the price of your ticket. (Have I mentioned I suck at analogies? I do. Also, movie tickets are too expensive).

Plus, the look on Rand’s face was delightful. We started with reptiles. The kid loves reptiles.

-

And he marveled at the geckos, because that’s what 9-year-old boys do. (You know, I realize that at some point I’m going to make out with him, and this analogy is going to get really pervy and gross. My apologies.)

-

More snakes. This one was friggin adorable. It has puppy-dog eyes. (Can snakes have puppy-dog eyes? Because this one did.)

“Who’s a good boy? YOU ARE. You’re a good boy!”

-

And lizards! Yay, lizards!

-

We moved on to amphibians, where we found the pièce de résistance. The thing Rand loves more than anything. Including brownies and possibly me.

Froggies!

-

That’s right: the guy loves frogs. From Kermit to … well, I can’t think of another famous frog. Huh. From Kermit and back again to Kermit, he absolutely adores them.

-

And not just the poisonous ones. He also thought this trio of tree frogs was terrific.

The first one croaked “Bud”, the second one croaked “Weis” and the third one croaked “SCREW YOU I’M NOT A CORPORATE SHILL.” Which, I admit, was surprising.

-

-

Then it was time for some enchantment under the sea, and I’m not talking about the dance where Marty McFly’s parents fell in love …

-

The kid was pretty blown away.

-

We saw anemones (or as I like to call them, sea tribbles)!

Sadly, they’ve been hunted to near extinction for use as toupees by bald Andy Warhol impersonators.

-

And jellyfish!

Apparently pee doesn’t actually neutralize their sting. That was just a rumor made up by drunk crayfish.

-

These fish are known as “the zebras of the sea.” (Okay, fine. I just made that up. But don’t they look like they’re on the prairie?)

-

Glow-in-the-dark shrimp!

-

These little guys were so cute, I named them (they are all named Herb. What? I can’t be bothered to give each of them a different name – it’s not like you can tell them apart).

-

And my husband found the one animal he loves almost as much as frogs:

-

No, wait. That’s not it. He doesn’t love me nearly as much as frogs. Let’s try again.

-

Yup! Turtles! The list of things Rand loves goes frogs, turtles, the Green Bay Packers, and, finally, me. I’m cool with that, because I am well aware of how much he likes those other things.

When I finally managed to tear him away from all the new little friends he had made, we walked up the ramp to the rain forest exhibit.

We did not realize it was full of butterflies.

-

Butterflies, I won’t hesitate to remind you, are basically moths with brighter colors. And you all know how much I hate moths.

-

-

After a while, though, I started to think they were sort of pretty, and that’s when I knew we had to go. Butterflies wait until you are distracted by their beauty, and then they strike (along with a few hundred thousand of their brethren). The swarm on you and eat your eyes. It’s horrifying. There aren’t any records of these attacks because the pro-butterfly lobby is incredibly powerful and has a deal with the liberal media. But I swear, it happens.

Rand watches some tourists get eaten alive by a hoard of butterflies. I can still hear their screams.

-

From there, we headed back down to the natural history (a.k.a., “dead things”) section of the museum.

There were dinosaurs …

-

And the remains of a pair of actual zebras (the non-sea variety) …

-

There were lions …

-

And whatever these guys are.

I call them supermodel deer, because they are skinnier and fancier than regular deer.

-

Obviously none of these animals were living (well, I’m guessing. I didn’t check the T-Rex’s pulse), so we assumed that this guy wasn’t either:

-

But apparently the albino alligator, named Claude, is alive and well. He’s a popular attraction at the Academy, and he’s been there for 17 years. Since alligators can be very sedentary, it’s hard to tell that he’s not a sculpture (it’s fun to listen to people ridiculing other folks for thinking he’s real – this happened several times during our visit).

There were loads more exhibits, and an earthquake simulator that we had to skip, because although my husband may be a kid at heart, he has the back of an old and broken man.

We had a blast. It turns out I don’t mind being married to a guy who’s secretly nine-years-old at heart. He’s adventurous and curious, and really excited about the world around him.

-

Besides, it’s not like I’m the pinnacle of maturity. For those of you needing proof, look no further than the touristy photo we took in front of a blue screen:

Yup. I’m being attacked by butterflies. Someone working the photo booth knows what’s up.

-

I told Rand to look horrified. He refused to comply. I guess he’s too old for that sort of thing.

—————

The Essentials on the California Academy of Sciences:

• Verdict: Yes. This place is pricey, but well worth it. You basically get three tickets in one: an aquarium, a natural history museum, and a planetarium.
  -
• How to get there: You’ll either need to drive or take public transportation (be warned: I’ve had a doozy of a time getting here in the past.) It’s a good ways away from downtown, in the Presidio Golden Gate Park.
  -
•  Ideal for: Science nerds, reptile/fish/amphibian lovers, and families.
  -
• Insider tips: Give yourself plenty of time to check out everything – this place is HUGE. If you want to seen a planetarium show, be sure to get the tickets as soon as you arrive (they are included in your price of admission, but tickets for individual showtimes go fast). You can try visiting the de Young Museum, too, if you are feeling ambitious (it’s well within walking distance, but a lot to take on in one day). If the weather is nice, give yourself time to walk around the gardens out front. They are lovely.
  -
• Nearby food: We ate at the cafeteria at the de Young, just across the street, and it was completely fantastic. Note: it gets incredibly crowded during lunchtime.
  -
• Good for kids: Yup. And kids at heart, too.

-

At that intersection, you will find weird issues about food. And weird issues about mothers. Crippling guilt makes an appearance, too. And weirdly, the mafia can be found there.

I say this not to generalize, or to further emphasize a stereotype. I say this not because I think every Jew or Italian is a criminal (the occupants of my household do not even jaywalk). Instead, I say it because there is truth to it: Look back at the history of the mob in this country, and you will find Jews and Italians.

It is a weird commonality that my husband and I have. It might also be why we both really like watching Godfather II.

Recently, we explored this shared history at the Mob Museum, which opened not long ago in downtown Vegas. The building is lovely. The museum is housed in an old courthouse – the same one that Senator Estes Kefauver used to hold the hearings which first brought organized crime to light in our country.

The old courthouse, which now houses the museum.

-

-

The museum does not toe-around the fact that mobsters played an integral role in making Vegas what it is today. The mafia started to arise in the U.S. during prohibition. Groups of criminals made money through bootlegging. When that source of income dried up (forgive my pun), they cast their eyes to the American Southwest, which was already growing.

The end of Prohibition was a problem for a lot of criminals who made their money bootlegging.

-

A flask hidden inside a walking stick.

-

Mobsters did not bring gambling to Vegas – it was already legal there. But they did capitalize on it. Most famously, Bugsy Siegel took over construction of the Flamingo from developers who were financially underwater. But he spent too much of the mob’s money in the process, and even after the casino became profitable, he was assassinated.

Remember how Moe Greene gets it in the eye? That’s pretty much how Bugsy went (Greene, it turns out, was largely based on Siegel). But Bugsy’s death was actually far gorier. The photos of the scene, which line one wall on the museum, are horrifying.

That’s the thing about the history of the mob: the truth is often more grisly than fiction.

They continued to control Vegas for years – with the exception of a brief stint in the 1960s when Howard Hughes stepped in and bought up much of their casinos and hotels. But he sold them a few decades later, once again giving the mob control of Vegas. They retained ownership until the 80s, when the FBI began cracking down and eliminating organized crime from the strip.

Now I think Disney owns most of Vegas, but I’m not quite sure.

Cheerier items from Vegas’ past.

-

Pretty sure I saw Don Draper wearing the jacket at left on an episode of Mad Men this season.

-

Given the town’s sordid history, the Mob Museum has plenty of material to work with. It’s an odd place, though. Parts of it are incredibly graphic; crime scene photos line the walls, alongside highly-detailed accounts of murder and torture (there were lots of tales of eyeballs popping out. Whoever curated the place has a thing about that).

And alongside all of that violent imagery are photos of celebrities, and opportunities for kitsch and silliness.

This is my “this is kind of messed up” face.

-

I cackled like at mad woman when this quote appeared on the screen: “An aroused citizenry is irresistible.”

-

At times, it feels like an attempt to make a snuff film family-friendly – and it doesn’t quite work. The bright neon lights of the strip cast a lot of shadows. The truth can’t be washed away by a few interactive displays.

-

I kinda felt like this one was in particularly bad taste.

-

We didn’t have a bad time during our visit, but it didn’t seem worth the steep admission price. A narrative about the town’s history came out, but it was a bit clunky and confusing. Parts of it felt too bright and almost schmaltzy, other parts too dark and violent.

My husband was left largely nonplussed by the whole experience.

-

But while the execution of the museum is not perfect, it doesn’t for a second shy away from the real founding fathers of Vegas. It doesn’t ignore the fact that a group of mobsters – a criminal syndicate of Jews and Italians – were responsible for making the town what it now is. And that alone was kind of remarkable, even if the museum wasn’t.

—————

The Essentials on The Mob Museum, Las Vegas:

• Verdict: It depends. If you have a passion for Vegas’ history, and are at all interested in the history of organized crime, this might be worth a visit. But if you are strapped for time, this isn’t necessarily a must-see.
  -
• How to Get There: We took our rental car (it’s a short drive from the strip to downtown Vegas), but most cabbies should know where it is, too.
  -
• Ideal for: folks with strong stomachs (some of those photos are gruesome), lovers of kitsch, and anyone who’s interested in Sin City’s history.
  -
• Insider Tips: Shop around – you might find a cheaper rate on the $18 admission price by buying tickets elsewhere; wear comfortable shoes, too – the museum is designed to have you walk through all three floors; give yourself a good chunk of time as well – at least a solid hour.
  -
• Nearby Food: the Bar + Bistro at the Arts Factory has delicious, reasonably priced small plates and terrific cocktails. We thoroughly enjoyed it, but note that it’s a solid mile and a half away from the museum (so you’ll have to take your car, or hope it isn’t too hot to walk through downtown).
  -
• Good for Kids: while we did see a few tweens roaming around, I think the glamorized violence and actual photos of crime scenes and murders are best left to the adults.

-

I hope Bill and I become friends.

He looks sort of like a grown-up version of the kid from Up. He has the raspy, mumbling accent of a lifelong west coaster. Where every word lazily drips out of his mouth and spreads itself out on a sunny patch of grass.

“You are never going to look at signs the same way,” Bill says to us, and I want to shout out my disagreement, just so that the two of us can have a moment.

But “YOU ARE FULL OF SHIT, BILL.” never gets past my throat. I can’t disagree with him. I am never going to look at signs the same way. We’ve only been in his company for five minutes, but already, I know this is true.

My new BFF Bill.

-

It is a scorching May day in Las Vegas. At 2pm, the sun is directly overhead. We are at the Neon Boneyard – a sort of retirement home for old casino and hotel signs. This is where they go to spend their final years.

I’m here at the suggestion of Gray Cargill, a fellow travel-blogger who has been my cultural attache to the foreign land that is Vegas. She is the Cheshire Cat to my Alice, the Rufus to my Bill and Ted.

Gray warned me that I might not be able to get tickets to the Boneyard – they book up weeks in advance, and she herself had never managed to book a visit. But Rand and I went online a few days before our trip and – miraculously – were able to get in. We now stood with a group of folks in the searing heat, hanging on to everything that our tour guide Bill was saying.

A resting place for the relics of Vegas’ past.

-

-

There are hundreds of signs here – some donated, some rescued (while the museum receives many of the signs free of charge, disassembling and moving them costs a small fortune). They span from the 1930s to present day. In the Boneyard, they are not electrified, but dismantled and strewn about (it is but one of several locations and attractions make up the Neon Museum; restored, functional signs can be seen at the Fremont Street Gallery).

It feels like we are walking through a deconstructed carnival. I half expect a terrifying clown to pop out from between two giant metal letters, but thankfully, one never does.

There is, however, a somewhat creepy giant Duck.

-

Despite his laid-back demeanor, Bill speaks quickly and passionately. He herds us through the Boneyard, snapping us to attention when someone starts to fall behind.

-

-

He explains that every neon glass tube we see has been bent by hand. The sign makers are unappreciated Chihulys. Their incandescent masterpieces sit in this dusty lot, illuminated only by the Nevada sun. Bulbs break. Paint fades.

The signs are aging showgirls. Look closely, and you can see what they once were.

And now she makes her living on her back, poor thing.

-

Bill points out that not all the pieces here are neon. He describes the work that went into one, the thousands of bulbs that line another. He talks about the casinos and hotels on which they hung. We get an abbreviated history of Vegas, told in metal and glass.

-

-

We hear about the grit, the glamour, and the crime. It seems more fitting to learn about it here, in this distant and dirty lot. The strip feels worlds away.

We try to take shelter from the sun by hiding in the shadows of some of the larger signs. It doesn’t quite work. I regret not taking a parasol. But those are increasingly hard to come by since the end of the Victorian age.

-

Though the tour has us walking in the hot sun for nearly an hour, it does not seem to drag on. Bill manages to be exhaustive but not exhausting. He is passionate about the signs. He is passionate about his work and the tours he gives.

Afterwards, he offers to take photos of visitors, but I am too shy to ask him to take one with me (or to give him the friendship bracelet I’ve painstakingly weaved).

But a nice woman in our group captures this image of me and Rand:

-

The tour now over, we walk across the asphalt to our car. Vegas feels different now. Richer, sadder, and more substantial than I ever gave it credit for. I have Gray to thank for that. And Bill. And the dusty signs that sit fading in the hot sun in the Neon Boneyard.

—————

The Essentials on the Neon Boneyard

• Verdict: Yes, yes, yes. This was one of the most amazing attractions I’ve seen in a long time, and the best thing I’ve seen in Vegas to date.
  - 
• How to Get There: It’s a little tricky. The Boneyard is located at 810 Las Vegas Blvd North, a good ways from the strip. We drove there, and gave ourselves about 20 minutes of travel time. A lot of cabbies are unfamiliar with where it is, so it might be worth it to print out a detailed map.
  -
• Ideal for: Artists, photographers, history lovers, and anyone who appreciates the strange, the unique, the kitschy.
  -
• Insider Tips: Plan ahead – tours book up weeks in advance. Right now the only way to see the Boneyard is to purchase tickets online ahead of time (but this policy should change sometime this year, and you’ll be able to buy tickets on-site at the new vistors’ center). Try to book your trip earlier in the day or later in the afternoon when the sun is less intense. Consider bringing an umbrella (seriously) and some water because there is absolutely NO shade (if you forget water, fear not: you can buy some at the start of your tour, and partake in some free sunscreen). Close-toed shoes are required due to broken glass and metal.
  - 
• Nearby Food: Lotus of Siam was on our way, so we popped in there for lunch (if you do this, give yourself plenty of time as there’s often a line)
  -
• Good for Kids: the broken glass and heat would make this a difficult place for very small ones (and you can’t touch anything, despite the overwhelming temptation to do so). Older kids and teenagers will enjoy it more, provided they can handle stories of Vegas’ sordid history.

I am terrified that one day, I will be either 1.) abducted by aliens or 2.) frozen in some sort of cryogenic state and thawed out thousands of years in the future.

This is not the terrifying part. No. The terrifying part is when I am asked (by either aliens or mankind’s tentacle-y descendants) about the world in which I lived, and I have NOT A SINGLE ANSWER TO GIVE THEM.

I mean, I have no idea how things work. Like, not even remotely. I don’t really know where computers come from (elves, maybe?) or how they operate (wires have something to do with it, I think. And then you push electricity through the wires and – voila! – INTERNET.)

I know that paper comes from wood. (Please don’t ask me any follow up questions on that one.) And the first time I saw brussel sprouts still growing on a stalk, I may have wept a little, because it so rattled my understanding of things.

I would be of no use to aliens or to whatever creatures will appear on this earth after man’s reign is over. I cannot explain this world. But dude, the Deutsches Museum? It totally can.

The museum is located in Munich, and is basically the German equivalent of the Smithsonian. It’s the largest museum in Munich, and the largest museum of technology and science in the world. It’s located on an island:

Note the entrance on the very far end. I approached nowhere NEAR it.

-

This is probably good, because it means that the people who work there can easily survive a zombie apocalypse by blowing up that bridge, and they’d have loads of useful tools and items with which to start a new civilization.

In fact, they’d have the museum’s entire collection – of more than 100,000 objects – at their disposal. The collection is not restricted to any range of topics, or any time period. It spans from Stone Age to present day; from mechanical looms to astronomy. And while that sounds rather awesome, as a visitor with the attention spat of gnat, it’s somewhat horrifying. I was actually relieved to see that large portions of the museum were closed for renovations.

After all, when reviewing one’s own ignorance, there’s a limit to how much a gal can take.

Here’s a quick rundown of some of the exhibits I visited, the limited knowledge I had beforehand, and what I learned while at the museum.

-

Maritime Exhibit

Everything I know about boats can be summed up thusly: like poop and rubber duckies, they float.

The most notable piece in the exhibit is The Maria, an enormous deep-sea fishing boat. She sailed from 1880 to 1950, before coming to rest at the Museum.

-

Her side has been cut open so you can see what life was like below deck.

-

-

She smelled of old wood and salt, and I really wanted to grab a knife and stab it into the sail, tearing my way down to the deck while screaming, “HEY YOU GUYS!”, but Rand keeps insisting I not do anything to get myself deported.

At this point, I’ll have you know that I was feeling rather cocky – I totally get boats. I was ready for my alien abduction. I’d tell them all about boats. I’d come off as a genius, provided no one asked me about density and water displacement and buoyancy.

And so, in order to knock myself down a peg, I headed to aeronautics section.

—————

Aeronautics Exhibit

Other than one piece of sage advice that I repeat time and again on my blog (“NEVER go to the lavatory without shoes on.”), I know squat about planes.

Despite how much time I spend in them, I still have many unanswered questions. How do they fly? Why are snacks on European flights so much better than the ones in the U.S.?

And why is it that on nearly every flight we take, I am always seated directly behind a farter? (Though in all fairness, I’m sure the people sitting behind me think this, too).

Given the mystery that I find normally surrounds planes, I was mesmerized by this cross section of one:

I mean, it's like dissecting a unicorn.

-

-

The aeronautics section covered everything from early flight – like this reproduction of the Wright brothers’ plane – to giant airbuses and beyond.

-

And what’s this? A space laboratory?

-

WAIT, EUROPE HAS A SPACE AGENCY? SOMEONE CALL THE PENTAGON.

What’s that? They already know? Okay, nevermind. Turns out the European Space Agency actually worked with NASA on lots of projects. The Spacelab on display at the museum integrated into the cargo bay of NASA’s space shuttle Columbia, and orbited the earth for nine days on a mission back in 1993.

Just so we’re clear, this means you can walk around on something THAT WAS IN SPACE. Yes, this is worth geeking out over.

-

Bonus: it included a mannequin in a bad toupee.

-

The flash on my camera illustrates just how bad:

-

I continued to wander around, not knowing what most of the things I spotted were. It didn’t help that many of the signs were solely in German (as one would expect at the Deutsches Museum).

And then, weirdly, I saw one thing I recognized:

-

It’s a Fokker plane – or a replica of one, at least – like the one the Red Baron flew. My exact words upon seeing it were, “HOLY CRAP, IT’S A FOKKER.” Which earned me quite a few dirty looks, because it is hard to scream “FOKKER” and not sound like you are yelling something inappropriate.

—————

Paper Exhibit

-

The museum covers the entire spectrum of human technology, so it’s safe to assume that some things are going to be more interesting than others, right? But this hardly seems fair. Other parts of the museum get giant sailboats and spacelabs. The paper section gets old tissue boxes.

No, I am not kidding.

They get old tissue boxes.

 -

—————

Metals Exhibit

Dude, Magneto would totally have a field day in this part of the museum. It started with examples of early metal work, like this suit of armor:

-

And went on to talk about the origins of blacksmithing, and how we cast metal in present day.

-

This enormous hand is actually a recreation of one on the famed Bavaria statue in Munich:

-

—————

Et Cetera, Et Cetera

Perhaps it was the effect of the jet-lag, or the fact that I was famished, but there were huge portions of the museum that struck me as random. There was a glass-blowing exhibition (full of lovely little creations that I would have gladly bought were I not convinced they’d be reduced to skin-slicing shards in my suitcase) adjacent to a recreation of a Mexican cave in which Stone-Age paintings were found.

Archive photo shows measurements being taken for the recreation of the cave.

-

There was an early Apple computer …

-

And a bunch of building toys and old Legos …

-

A huge start chart took up one wall …

-

And a collection of bugs took up another:

-

There were giant mechanical looms, used to weave huge reams of fabric. Perfect if you’ve ever wondered where Cosby sweaters come from:

I wanted to wrap myself up in this fabric and run through the museum screaming about pudding pops.

-

There was even a windmill.

-

Together, the museum’s collection looks random and strange. But it’s merely a very thorough history of mankind’s innovations. We’ve moved from cave paintings to exploring space. Every invention and step in between – from pottery to glass-blowing to shoes to printing presses – helped to make that possible.

And while I seem to take that for granted (traveling in planes while barely understanding the physics of it; wearing a watch whose mechanisms I could never decipher; eating food from places I’ve never visited), it’s nice to know the Deutsches Museum doesn’t.

—————

The Essentials on the Deutsches Museum:

• Verdict: Yes; the museum is daunting and dizzying, but still worth a visit, especially on a rainy day.
  - 
• How to Get There: Take the S-Bahn train and get off at Isartor (from there, it’s a short walk); the #16 and #18 trams will get you there as well.
  -
• Ideal for: Rainy days; engineers; science nerds; anthropology geeks.
  - 
• Insider tips: Wear comfy shoes, and don’t try to see everything. The museum is HUGE. Holidays are a bit different in Germany than in the states, so be sure to check the site for operating hours. If you decide to take in a planetarium show, be warned: it is only in Germany. Oh, and leave time to visit the amazing gift shop.
  - 
• Nearby food: There are little cafes throughout the museum.
  -
• Good for Kids: Yup! There’s lots for kids to see and do at the Deutsches Museum – including the Kinderreich (Kid’s Kingdom) for 3-8 year olds, as well as tours just for little ones.

You are never gonna believe what this is.

-

Rand and I walked through the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan, holding hands. It was early winter, and he was neglecting his work in order to enjoy the art.

This happens approximately never, so I was making good use of the time by squeezing his hand really tightly.

“Ouch.”

Love hurts, babe. Get used to it.

We strolled through the galleries, and in one room, encountered a field of silver candies. I stared, taking it in. I love works that fill up in an entire room. It reminded me a little bit of the Ai Wei Wei installation I saw at the Tate a while back. When I first saw that piece in London, I had an overwhelming temptation to jump in (which would have been awesome, but not worth the lifetime ban).

-

I felt that temptation again in New York. How much fun would it be to pluck one of the silver candies from the pile, unwrap it, and start noshing?

And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone doing just that.

I stood, mouth agape, wondering if my eyes had deceived me. And then it happened again. And again. People kept walking up and grabbing candies. I looked at the security guard near by. I expected him to go full-River-Tam on the people touching the art, but he did not. Instead, he merely smiled, and seemed to nod.

He was encouraging them to EAT the installation. WTF, MoMA? Had the world gone mad?

I grabbed Rand’s arm. Perhaps a bit too tightly.

“Ouch.”

“What the HELL is going on?” I hissed. “People are eating the exhibits.”

“Yeah,” he said, gesturing to a sign on the wall. “They’re supposed to.”

The field of candies installation was by Felix Gonzalez-Torres. The piece, “Untitled”  (Placebo), was created by Gonzalez-Torres after his long-time partner died from complications due to AIDS. Many of his works are similarly interactive – he often uses everyday objects (frequently candies) that are removed by some means. Over the course of an installation, the piece will slowly become smaller and smaller and eventually disappears.

Viewers can literally take a piece of the art with them. In the process of enjoying the work – of savoring and ingesting it, of making it a part of themselves – they destroy it. It’s a profound statement to the ephemeral nature of art. It is a powerful commentary on the relationship between a viewer and a piece of work.

-

But more importantly IT IS AN ENTIRE FIELD OF CANDIES THAT YOU CAN EAT. Which obviously makes it the best exhibit I’ve seen, ever.

-

Sweets and my sweet.

-

There was only one problem, really. The candies weren’t terribly good. They were all pineapple flavored. Every last one of them. It’s like giving a child a bag full of black jelly beans (which I happen to like, but we’ve established that I’m bonkers). You almost got it right, but not quite.

An entire field of candies that I was allowed to eat, but had no desire to. It was actually painful to think about.

“Ouch,” I may have mumbled under my breath.

“What was that?” Rand asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied. And I took his hand again, and we continued on our way.

—————

Note: “Untitled” (Placebo) is currently on display at the MoMA but I’m not sure for how much longer it will last (in every sense).