Ireland (Lonely Planet, 9th Edition) - Fionn Davenport [72]
Talk about going postal. The GPO building (Map; 705 7000; www.anpost.ie; O’Connell St; 8am-8pm Mon-Sat) will forever be linked to the dramatic and tragic events of Easter Week 1916, when Pádraig Pearse, James Connolly and the other leaders of the Easter Rising read their proclamation from the front steps and made the building their headquarters. The building – a neoclassical masterpiece designed by Francis Johnston in 1818 – was burnt out in the subsequent siege, but that wasn’t the end of it. There was bitter fighting in and around the building during the Civil War of 1922; you can still see the pockmarks of the struggle in the Doric columns. Since its reopening in 1929 it has lived through quieter times, but its central role in the history of independent Ireland has made it a prime site for everything from official parades to personal protests.
ST MARY’S PRO-CATHEDRAL
Dublin’s most important Catholic church (Map; 874 5441; Marlborough St; admission free; 8am-6.30pm) is not quite the showcase you might expect. For one, it’s in a cramped street rather than in its intended spot on O’Connell St, where the GPO Building is now located: the city’s Protestants had a fit and insisted that it be built on a less conspicuous side street. And less conspicuous it certainly was, unless you were looking for purveyors of the world’s oldest profession. Then you were smack in the middle of Monto – as Marlborough St was then known – the busiest red-light district in Europe, thanks to the British army stationed here. After independence and the departure of the British, Monto became plain old Marlborough St and the only enduring evidence is in the writings of James Joyce, who referred to the area where he lost his virginity as ‘Nighttown’.
The area mightn’t be the hot spot it used to be, but at least you won’t be distracted while admiring the six Doric columns of the cathedral, built between 1816 and 1825 and modelled on the Temple of Theseus in Athens. The best time to visit is Sunday at 11am for the Latin Mass sung by the Palestrina Choir, the very choir in which Count John McCormack, Ireland’s greatest singing export (sorry, Bono), began his career in 1904.
Finally, a word about the term ‘pro’ in the title. It roughly means ‘unofficial cathedral’, due to the fact that church leaders saw this building as an interim cathedral that would do until funds were found to build a much grander one. Which has never happened, leaving this most Catholic of cities with two incredible but underused Protestant cathedrals and one fairly ordinary Catholic one. Irony, one; piety, nil.
DUBLIN CITY GALLERY – THE HUGH LANE
Whatever reputation Dublin has a repository of world-class art has a lot to do with the simply stunning collection at the Hugh Lane Gallery (Map; 874 1903; www.hughlane.ie; 22 North Parnell Sq; admission free; 10am-6pm Tue-Thu, 10am-5pm Fri & Sat, 11am-5pm Sun), which is not only home to works by some of the brightest stars in the modern and contemporary art world both foreign and domestic, but is also where you’ll find one of the most singular exhibitions to be seen anywhere: the actual studio of one of the 20th century’s truly iconic artists, Francis Bacon.
It’s all contained within the fabulous confines of the 18th-century Charlemont House and a recent modernist extension that has more than doubled the gallery’s capacity. The new building, based in the old National Ballroom, spans three floors and includes 13 bright galleries showing works from the 1950s onwards, a specialist bookshop and chic restaurant in the basement. The gallery’s remit neatly spans the gap between the old masters of the National Gallery and the contemporary works exhibited in the Irish Museum of Modern Art.
All the big names of French Impressionism and early 20th-century Irish art are here. Sculptures by Rodin and Degas, and paintings by Corot, Courbet, Manet and Monet sit alongside works by Irish greats Jack B Yeats, William Leech and Nathaniel Hone.
The gallery’s Francis Bacon Studio was painstakingly moved, in all its shambolic mess, from 7