Of Gaol, Sessions, and Oliver Plunkett

As I said at this time last time, blogging is not my strong suit, but I’m sure that we’ll carry on bravely nonetheless.

I believe I left off at orientation, which was lengthy, tedious, and chilly, as orientations are wont to be. Still, there are some awesome individuals hailing from both sides of the Atlantic studying at this university, and I loved getting to meet a good many of them. Following, there was a social of sorts at yet another pub (who'd 'a thunk?), where the kind people of UCC tried to make us poor Americans feel at home.

This is a thing.

The next morning (Saturday) the University Studies Abroad Consortium, better known as “USAC” (and pronounced phonetically) held a scavenger hunt for its members. Our destinations were various businesses, pubs (always pubs), and monuments around Cork city, most of which we had located during the past few days during our sightseeing walkabouts. I am extremely proud to say that my team won, if only by a fraction. Our prizes were money cards to be used at Tesco, a grocery store of sorts, and we immediately rushed over there to stock up on foodstuffs. Free food is always a good thing. We also took a stroll around Cork’s famous English Market, an indoor farmers’ and artisans’ market of sorts that I can’t wait to go back to. Heck, the Queen Mother herself visited there last year to buy some fish (or so this picture would submit):

She is just the cutest. Look at that hat.

Another location in which to live when I am rich

The afternoon was spent hiking up to the Sundays Well district on the North slope just across the river from my apartment. Besides beautiful houses and brilliant private gardens, Sundays Well also houses the old Cork Gaol, which brought me back to the warm, dry days that I spent interning at the Old Idaho Penitentiary this summer.

But pretty, executions and all notwithstanding

Gimme that bag, Mary Sullivan

The Cork Gaol is rather a different story. Its dreary, dark halls are full of creepy mannequins arranged in poses most grotesque and a soundtrack of echoing footsteps, clinking irons, and bloodcurdling screams (NOT cute) that repeats throughout the tour.  

Still, as far as historical prison tours go, this one was appropriately macabre. Four stars.

All that dank and morbidity made us altogether quite famished, so we went to dinner at a wonderful pubs called The Oliver Plunkett.

(A historical interlude, if you’re into that sort of thing: Oliver Plunkett was Archbishop of Armagh (which is, of course, is Ireland) during the regime of Charles II, throughout which, if you remember from eighth grade history class, England was in possession of Ireland, as usual, and was doing its best to bring to heel the Catholic church, as also usual. As part of the Popish plot, a most nefarious undertaking propagated by Titus Oates, Jesuits were to be blamed for a (fictitious) plot to assassinate the king. Plunkett and a number of other prominent Catholic figures were duly executed by a lame-duck Charles who, despite his rumored identity as a Catholic, had to preserve his throne in order to save himself from death. Plunkett, completely innocent of any infamous scandalous treasonous plot-making, is therefore one of Ireland’s notable saints and martyrs. His head is preserved as a relic in Drogheda’s cathedral. Take a look at his Wikipedia page should you want to read more about Saint Oliver, firstly because he was a very remarkable person and secondly because his head is pictured therein.)

Where were we?

Sooooo, we went for fish and chips at the Oliver Plunkett, which just happened to be hosting the best traditional Irish band that I have ever had the pleasure of hearing- and I’ve been lucky enough to hear some splendid ones over the past twenty years. We gained a new friend from UCC on the way downtown, and it was an evening well spent eating (surprisingly highbrow) fish and chips, getting to know our new acquaintance, and trying not to let my feet get the better of me and go tapping away all by their lonesome because the band was just. That. Good.

Should anyone ever be in Cork, I would behest at you (is behest a verb? I dunno. Is now) to seek out the Lee Sessions and hear them do their thang, because those brothas can PLAY.

Looking forward to continued adventures with good history, good food, good drink, good music, and good company.

Until we next meet~

K.B.