We had an interesting New Year's Eve, attending a formal masquerade ball at Charlesville Castle in the heart of Ireland (www.glimmerball.com).
First we strolled through downtown Dublin, viewing the light displays along Grafton Street (a pedestrian mall near the cultural hub of town), en route to the departure point for the coach. After a 90 minute drive in the dark, finishing with a narrow road through some ancient woods, we arrived outside the walls of the castle. "Yup, that's a castle" i astutely observed. The smell of kerosene torches confirmed that we weren't in Dublin any more.
We quickly determined that the castle was genuine, being rather cold and draughty in areas away from the hearths (soulless corporations like Disney would never allow that!). After checking our coats in the catacombs below, we climbed the stairs toward the grand hall and adjoining parlour rooms.
At least 90% of the guests were decked out in fancy regalia -- we were among the few without costumes or masks. The outfits were fabulous and ornate. All of the costumes fit the theme of the evening (with one notable exception). There were noblemen and gussied-up ladies in beautiful gowns, squires and wenches, wigged lords and mysterious women in red hooded robes. Top-hats and tails, and slinky sequined golden gowns. Feathered masks of black and red were the norm. There were druids and friars and monks, and more than a few pirates and buccaneers (including Captn Jack, and a buxom shameless hussy pirate in red who was my pick for best costume). There were 1920s flappers, and fictional characters from Mary Poppins, Zorro and the Phantom of the Opera who all fit in seamlessly. And then there was one very conspicuous guy wearing... wait for it... a bright red Mr. Incredible suit (complete with fake muscle-padding and flashing insignia). Eesh, he so much did not it get. (But hey, he diverted attention away from the costume-less party-poopers, so there's that).
As great as that sounds, i found it to be rather cold as a social event. Early on, no one was dancing, and there wasn't much mixing -- just a lot of posing. I've never liked poseurs, so i felt a bit out of place, since this was clearly an event designed for poseurs. I found the general attitude of smug superiority to be rather amusing (being entirely smug in my superiority). At $500 per couple, i guess there were a lot of high-falutin self-important people there, many of whom came across as being rather insecure, even desperate. Whatever, i was content to play the role of anthropologist, observing the curious behaviour of the monkey-apes, and their trajectories as they got progressively more liquored-up.
And hooray for the disinhibiting effects of alcohol -- things did indeed warm up as the evening progressed. A subset of the guests exhibited some of that heartfelt down-to-earth friendliness i'd been told about the Irish. One lovely lass struck-up a conversation without any pretense, and upon learning that i was a non-American North American, was delighted to bequeath her native knowledge of the best places to visit in Eire. (The Cliffs of Mohr are a must-see, of course, but i was told of lesser-known unspoiled areas that are at least as impressive).
By midnight the place was rocking. The new year was greeted with a boisterous count-down on the dance floor, followed by bedlam resembling a mosh pit.
Amusingly, the high-light of the event may have been the ride home. In stark contrast to the trip out, the bus was packed to the gills, with singing, laughing, mingling and cavorting. High-spirited would be an understatement, but without anyone getting unruly or out of hand. A bunch of people disembarked at near-by Tullamore, and the din gradually diminished down to silent slumbering. Dublin was still hopping with people and taxis, and it was about 5:30 AM when we finally arrived home.
All in all, it was a novel experience that we enjoyed, but wouldn't necessarily do again anytime soon.
First we strolled through downtown Dublin, viewing the light displays along Grafton Street (a pedestrian mall near the cultural hub of town), en route to the departure point for the coach. After a 90 minute drive in the dark, finishing with a narrow road through some ancient woods, we arrived outside the walls of the castle. "Yup, that's a castle" i astutely observed. The smell of kerosene torches confirmed that we weren't in Dublin any more.
We quickly determined that the castle was genuine, being rather cold and draughty in areas away from the hearths (soulless corporations like Disney would never allow that!). After checking our coats in the catacombs below, we climbed the stairs toward the grand hall and adjoining parlour rooms.
At least 90% of the guests were decked out in fancy regalia -- we were among the few without costumes or masks. The outfits were fabulous and ornate. All of the costumes fit the theme of the evening (with one notable exception). There were noblemen and gussied-up ladies in beautiful gowns, squires and wenches, wigged lords and mysterious women in red hooded robes. Top-hats and tails, and slinky sequined golden gowns. Feathered masks of black and red were the norm. There were druids and friars and monks, and more than a few pirates and buccaneers (including Captn Jack, and a buxom shameless hussy pirate in red who was my pick for best costume). There were 1920s flappers, and fictional characters from Mary Poppins, Zorro and the Phantom of the Opera who all fit in seamlessly. And then there was one very conspicuous guy wearing... wait for it... a bright red Mr. Incredible suit (complete with fake muscle-padding and flashing insignia). Eesh, he so much did not it get. (But hey, he diverted attention away from the costume-less party-poopers, so there's that).
As great as that sounds, i found it to be rather cold as a social event. Early on, no one was dancing, and there wasn't much mixing -- just a lot of posing. I've never liked poseurs, so i felt a bit out of place, since this was clearly an event designed for poseurs. I found the general attitude of smug superiority to be rather amusing (being entirely smug in my superiority). At $500 per couple, i guess there were a lot of high-falutin self-important people there, many of whom came across as being rather insecure, even desperate. Whatever, i was content to play the role of anthropologist, observing the curious behaviour of the monkey-apes, and their trajectories as they got progressively more liquored-up.
And hooray for the disinhibiting effects of alcohol -- things did indeed warm up as the evening progressed. A subset of the guests exhibited some of that heartfelt down-to-earth friendliness i'd been told about the Irish. One lovely lass struck-up a conversation without any pretense, and upon learning that i was a non-American North American, was delighted to bequeath her native knowledge of the best places to visit in Eire. (The Cliffs of Mohr are a must-see, of course, but i was told of lesser-known unspoiled areas that are at least as impressive).
By midnight the place was rocking. The new year was greeted with a boisterous count-down on the dance floor, followed by bedlam resembling a mosh pit.
Amusingly, the high-light of the event may have been the ride home. In stark contrast to the trip out, the bus was packed to the gills, with singing, laughing, mingling and cavorting. High-spirited would be an understatement, but without anyone getting unruly or out of hand. A bunch of people disembarked at near-by Tullamore, and the din gradually diminished down to silent slumbering. Dublin was still hopping with people and taxis, and it was about 5:30 AM when we finally arrived home.
All in all, it was a novel experience that we enjoyed, but wouldn't necessarily do again anytime soon.
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