THURSDAY, OCTOBER 4
STARTING OUT WITH OLIVE
Chloe and I brought Saffi with us to Olive’s house where she would be spend the day, with the four other dogs, while we went to Cork. It was early morning when we arrived. Saffi was outside, we thought happily, while Chloe and I waited in the living room, looking through the glass walls at a gorgeous stormy view of the sea and a small island. The house is so close to the cliff it felt like we were on a ship, the water all that was below us.
Saffi spied us through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and before we could say her name, she found us inside, tail wagging wildly. She wanted to stay with us, not with the dogs outside, which made us happy and also a bit guilty for leaving for the day.
On the hour and a half drive to Cork, Olive talked as much as Fiona had when we first arrived in Ireland. Luckily, Olive was equally interesting. She covered everything from her thoughts about feminism to the Irish education system. She told us about a girl raped by Irish soccer players who weren’t punished, her opinion of Brexit, what she thought of Kavanaugh, the Irish medical system, poverty in the country, the consequences of the crash of 2008, and the current economic state of the Republic. Used to silence in the morning, I was tired by the time we arrived at the hospital where Olive, like her husband, works.
THE UNIVERSITY OF CORK
It was drizzling but warm as we walked through the lush green and landscaped paths between stately grey stone classroom and administration buildings on the University of Cork campus. Students were rushing to class. There were far more students than we saw on the Trinity Campus in Dublin, still it felt smaller and cosier. The students appeared more relaxed both in dress and demeanor. We stopped at the campus art gallery, but it hadn’t opened yet unfortunately for us because there was an Ann Albers show and I’ve never seen her work. It didn’t take long to reach the end of the campus, and exit onto Western Avenue, the main artery through Cork.
CRAWFORD ART MUSEUM
On our way to the Crawford Art Museum, we passed small streets, coffee shops, pubs, the courthouse and lots of solicitors’ offices. We stopped briefly to look inside a cathedral with beautiful life-sized angles at the end of each row of pews.
The exhibition, Nudes in Irish Art, covered two floors of the Crawford Art Museum. The exhibition, of paintings with some sculpture, was arranged with different art periods side by side. The art itself wasn’t incredibly strong, particularly the contemporary work. Try, as the curators clearly had, to show as many naked male bodies as female bodies, they fell sadly short of parity, and depictions of women were glaringly more sexualized than those of the male nudes. No commentary contextualized the work, which was too bad given a subject matter that could have tackled “the male gaze” and ideas surrounding the depiction of women by male artists.
One painting from the 1800s particularly stood out. It was a skillfully rendered portrait of a pubescent girl, naked from the waist up, sitting on a wooden chair and looking out at the viewer (or artist) with fear and discomfort, her shoulders curved forward trying to hide her small breasts. Her green eyes looked off in different directions as if she had a wall-eye, creating an eerie aura. The painting’s description said the mother had forced her daughter to pose for the artists.
OUT OF ART AND INTO CORK
We whizzed through the considerable and excellent permanent collection ready to get outside and find some food. A quick stop in the tourist office provided us with a map, and a run into the mall, a duffle bag.
THE CITY OF CORK
The 18th C. covered food market, the English Market, is down narrow, quaint streets, somewhat hidden from the the main shopping area. Inside the market we found meats, cheeses, fresh fruits and veggies, prepared foods, clothes, boots, a tea shop, little boutiques and specialty shops.
That first day when Fiona picked us up in Cork, our bus arrived on the other side of the River Lee from the shopping area and University. We decided to see what it looked like over there by Popes Quay and Ballymacthomas, away from the department stores near the English Market. It is hilly on this side of the water, and less explored though we did bump into the famous Butter Museum, a tourist destination.
The buildings, painted in pinks and blues and yellows, create a lively quality to this lovely city that cuddles the River Lee. It is postcard pretty.
Chloe photographed as we wandered around the quiet streets of Ballymacthomas. Many buildings along here were shabby, quite in contrast to those along the water, and we saw signs of poverty. Crossing back to the other side of the River Lee again, we followed smaller streets parallel to Western Avenue, passing grassy fields, stone homes, University buildings and playing fields on our way back to the hospital to meet Olive.
A day in Cork was not enough to understand the people who live in this mid-sized city. Like Dublin, there was music on the streets, but more traditional than alternative music. We felt the effects of our remote lives in West Cork. Moving into Fiona’s life had taken us away from the city, and a lifestyle we are accustomed to. The weeks of isolation made us almost skittish around crowds, even small crowds. When a woman eating lunch next to us struck up a conversation, we were caught off guard, like rusty machines.
AND BACK TO SAFFI
On the drive home, we learned more about Olive, about her family of nine and her husbands family of seven. Chloe and I are envious of the large families. Of course we are as just two. But we like it this way, too.
Saffi was as happy to see us as we were to see her. We returned to Fiona’s to make carrot ginger soup and watch Nottinghill on Netflix.
