Body Worlds

About ten years ago, an exhibition called Body Worlds visited The Vancouver Science Centre. Since we were members and living close by, I decided to take our two older boys to see the German plastinated bodies while my husband visited the less risqué exhibits with the younger children. We were about a third the way through the show when No. 2 realized that the bodies, which had been stripped of skin and posed in various stances, were real. I saw his expression evolve from one of interest to revulsion to near panic. We had to get out quick.

Fast forward a decade and I once again had the chance to see the plastination technique developed by Dr. Gunther von Hagens here at the new wing of Memorial University’s medical school. Dr. Shakti Chandra, who mounted the exhibit, had the opportunity to work with Dr. von Hagens and somehow bring the body parts to Canada. Must have been some interesting customs paperwork.

I found the show quite informative, and the med-school students who answered questions were well-informed and engaging. One told me the name for the mitral valve of the heart originated from the latin mitre. Apparently somebody back in the day thought the valve looked like the mitre, you know the bishop’s hat we try to emulate while folding napkins?

Most interesting however were the feet showing all the tendons and nerves. For almost four years I have suffered from plantar fasciitis and Achilles tendonitis in my left heel. It was great to actually see how all the tendons and nerves in the heel are attached to the bottom of the foot. I have my handy-dandy Gray’s Anatomy fact-filled colouring book, but there’s nothing like the real thing to show me exactly where I’ve done damage.

All in all Dr. Chandra’s exhibit was educational, but afterwards I was not in the mood for turkey soup. 

Liverpool: Peter Pan, the Beatles and Paddy’s Wigwam

Last October when we were in Dublin we decided to hop on a flight to Liverpool. For $30 Cdn Ryanair whisked us over the English Channel, and I was still sucking my take-off mint when they announced our arrival at Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport. Forty minutes after take-off we were standing under the first tribute to Liverpool’s most famous sons, the Beatles.  The airport's motto: Above Us Only Sky.

The Beatles are saints in Liverpool. A yellow submarine greeted us in the airport parking lot. The bus into town passed by hotels graced with larger-than-life statues of the famous four looking down on our bus just like Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. The Beatles Story at Albert Dock and The Cavern where the Beatles played their first gig feature prominently on the tourist maps and Beatles souvenirs are for sale alongside rosary beads in the Catholic cathedral gift shop.

Metropolitan Cathedral of Christ the King, or Paddy’s Wigwam as it is better known, was one of the reasons I wanted to go to Liverpool. Last time we were here we didn’t have time to check it out. It’s a wild place –the most unorthodox cathedral I've ever seen, more reminiscent of a sports stadium than a church. No sooner was it completed in 1967 that the round concrete monolith with a crowned spire started leaking. They patched up the roof and almost 50 years later, the church is still going strong with 2000 seats and no one less than 25 m from the altar, Below ground, next to, rather than under the cathedral, Lutyens Crypt is also worth checking out - advertised as the crypt of a cathedral that was never built (liverpoolmetrocathedral.org.uk)

Another reason I wanted to revisit Liverpool was to see their Peter Pan statue. Many people know the 1925 Peter Pan statue in Bowring Park is a replica of a statue in Kensington Gardens in London, England commissioned by JM Barrie.

But did you know that sculptor Sir George Frampton made six copies on three continents? It is my goal to visit all seven (see list below).

1912: London, England: Kensington Gardens

1924: Brussels, Belgium: Egmont Park

1925: St. John`s, NL: Bowring Park

1926: Camden, New Jersey: Johnson Park

1927: Perth, Australia: Queens Gardens

1928: Liverpool, England: Sefton Park

As you can see from the list, Liverpool was the final statue, made three years after Bowring Park’s. It sits next to a Victorian Palm House in beautiful Sefton Park, a double decker bus ride away from Liverpool’s Lime Street Station.

Other things to check out in Liverpool are the canals, the BBC store for Dr. Who paraphernalia and the huge multi-arch Chinese gate on Nelson Street that invites you to Chinatown.  All through the main parts of town, signs indicate which way to walk to various attractions and how many minutes it takes to walk to them. Most helpful.

Liverpudlians are friendly, but good luck with their Lancashire “scouse” accent that plum smacks you in the face as soon as your plane touches down. Luckily for me, my husband was born just down the road in the coal-mining town of Leigh so I had a leg up on our travelling companions who remained gobsmacked every time a Liverpudlian opened his mouth. Check out http://learn-english.wonderhowto.com/how-to/speak-with-liverpudlian-scouse-accent-424288/ to see how you’d get on in this Merseyside town.

Stay tuned for Susan's next Body Parts Blog

Dublin Calls

WestJet, Dublin and the Raleigh-car ride to Kinsale

Last fall my husband and I booked WestJet’s last flights of 2014 to Dublin with our friends Heather and Chris. $175 Cdn, one way, taxes in. How could we not? Especially when we enjoyed a rejuvenating ten adult days twacking around Dublin and driving our tiny rent-a-car to the south coast past lazy herds of sheep; the Knockmealdown Mountains on one side; Comeragh Mountains on the other. We raved so much about our trip that Child No. 2 and his girlfriend flew across the drink last night on one of WestJet’s first Dublin flights of 2015 (May 1 - October 24). They had to pay a little more. $500 return, I believe. Still too cheap to pass up. Thinking of them over living it up with our pasty-skinned neighbours to the east, I offer you more tales of our trip last fall. 



“You’re the best travel companion,” slurs out my husband as he quaffs his pint of Guinness and reaches for mine (Remember ‘Confessions of a Non-beer Drinker in Wales’?). It’s 11 in the morning and we have been in Dublin about five hours. After two quick hours sleep in The Jury’s Inn on the Liffey, we cross the Ha’ Penny Bridge to Trinity College with its Book of Kells and The Buttery cafeteria right inside the main gates. We grab a bite and walk the length of the city, past Dublin Castle to what the men have been dreaming about, the Guinness Factory tour.



The Guinness tour is all bells and whistles filled with widget technology and Harry Potteresque paintings that talk to visitors as they walk by. I, the dutiful wife, have been on my share of brewery tours for a non-beer drinker: Samuel Adams in Boston; Avery Brewing Company in Boulder, Colorado; Die Halve Maan in Bruges. I know what to expect on a vacation sans enfants. A giddy husband with a silly grin.

Seven storeys of Guinness history and trivia in a building shaped like a giant pint glass. The froth at the top of the glass is the glass-encased Gravity Bar with its panoramic views of the Dubs. I see Phoenix Park where I hit the wall during the Dublin Marathon 12 years ago. Steeples of St. Patrick’s and Christ Church Cathedrals. The Liffey snaking its way to the sea.

We had tons of fun in Dublin, but the day came for us to check out of our hotel and see a bit of the countryside; a kind Irishman asked where we were heading.

“Castlemartyr,” we told him.

“Ach, ye’ll be enjoying that. Then where ye’ll be off to?”

“Cork”

“Cark? Cark?” He spit the words at us. “What I`m telling ya is; You’re going to Kinsale.”

It is for that reason and that reason only that we sailed through Cork down Nascar-like windy cow paths lined on both sides with stone walls overgrown with greenery. Unexpected herds of cows had me saying the Our Father as my husband maintained the 80 clicks an hour speed limit to the seaside port of Kinsale.

As soon as we got the first view, we understood why the man had been so adamant. Colourful bars and restaurants dot the waterfront guarded by two British built to protect the harbour against – I would never have guessed – the Irish and the Spanish. You can definitely feel the Spanish presence in Kinsale, although I thought more French Riviera, except without the casino and exorbitant hotel and restaurant bills. The Kinsale jazz festival was in town (it coincides with the Cork Jazz Festival in October), and live music spilled out of pubs smelling of garlic and curry.



Kinsale has no shortage of B and Bs, but it is such a popular destination, you’re advised to book a year in advance. We had done no such thing, but the Irish Gods were smiling upon us, and on the very last night of the season, we scored two lovely rooms near Fitzgerald Castle. Home of Scampy, the one-eyed dog, the Old Presbytery offered complimentary afternoon tea with siesta-inducing cheesecakes as well as a full breakfast buffet or a la carte breakfast at no extra charge.


During our foray beyond Dublin we also called into Kilkenny with its surrounding walls and medieval castle reminded me of Chester on the border of Wales. Butterslip Lane, The Hibernian Hotel and Smithwick’s Brewery.


All well worth a visit. Cobh (pronounced Cove) was another highlight of our trip to the south coast. With its steep cliffs and large harbour, Cobh has a less than fortuitous maritime history. It was the final port of call for RMS Titanic and the Lusitania was torpedoed by a German sub in 1915 and more than 1,200 died. We twacked along West Beach and up to the towering St. Colman’s Cathedral.




If you happen to be in southern Ireland in August consider signing up for Cobh’s Escape from Spike Island jail-break triathlon. Like the Escape to Alcatraz Triathlon, you take a ferry to Spike Island and swim from the former prison back to Titanic Pier before tackling the bike and run portions of the race.
In a shop the man heard we were from Newfoundland and said: “Ach, ye’ve come on WestJet, have ye?”

Why yes, we had. And we recommend you do too.

Susan Flanagan is a journalist who learned from her husband that it was the Guinness family who built the Lion’s Gate Bridge in Vancouver to link the main part of city to North Van where they owned property. She recommends an evening meal at the Hairy Lemon on King Street South near St. Stephen’s Green in Dublin. And no trip to southern Ireland is complete without a tour of the sprawling Jameson Irish Whiskey distillery in Midleton, just east of Cork.