Killarney, Ireland

Annie Moore

Cobh, Cork, Ireland

Eager Brittany Spaniel

Gearahg's Bar

August 29, 2007-Exodus

 I’m beginning to understand Irish history. It’s one of struggle, failure, and flight. We were in Cobh today. Its name has changed over the years from Cove to Queenstown to the Irish spelling of Cobh, but its purpose has been the way out of Ireland. In the Cobh Heritage Center we were enveloped in the Irish emigrant experience. It was a poignant melding of the same feelings elicited by touring Ellis Island in New York Harbor and the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC.

Six million people left Ireland between 1815-1970 with three million leaving from Cobh. But the flight started as early as 1750.Their population bled into “coffin boats,” ships so unreliable that families held “American wakes” for the dearly departing. In the early days the crossing took 4-6 weeks. When Ellis Island opened it was only a 12-14 day journey.

What drove the people to leave? The potato famine is notorious. During times of plenty the Irish had large families. But once again primogeniture raised its ugly head. Only the eldest son inherited the land. Over the years younger sons left the farm for monasteries or to make their way in the world. Their brightest hope was Canada or the U.S.

When famine hit, the farms had been split over so many generations they were too small to sustain the landholders. The blight in 1845 was so bad that people in the U.S. collected $150,000 and sent supplies to Cork. Most of the foodstuff was corn, which was unfamiliar to the Irish. They learned fast and it isn’t unusual to see cornfields waving on hillsides of the Emerald Isle.

Let’s not leave the convicts out of this. The Queen was the first convict ship to sail for Australia in 1791. Prisoners were held in “hulks” in Cove harbor until a transport was available. In 1801, 180 sailed to Australia on the good ship Atlas. After seven months at sea 70 were dead. Between 1791-1853, 39,000 Irish were transported Down Under.

The dismal history of Cobh continues with the Titanic. Cobh was its last port of call in 1912 before heading to its destruction five days later. The Lusitania sailed from Cobh in 1915 and was torpedoed by Germany off the coast of Kinsale where we were yesterday. The Cobh cemetery holds 1198 of its victims.

Hope

In the 1920’s, after WWI, emigration picked up but stopped in 1939 due to WWII. The launch of the QEII in the 1980’s rekindled the ocean liner business here. Today the Crystal Symphony ship stood proudly at the wharf as hoards of Americans streamed down its gangplanks in search of a piece of their history. What connection could I have to Ireland? My father left Poland between the wars. He joined his mother, sister, and brother on a Cunard ship. Perhaps this was his last sight of Europe before the Statue of Liberty welcomed them. He was only 14-years old but he was with his mother. There’s a statue of Annie Moore in the harbor. She was a 15-year old who sailed to America with two younger brothers. They were the first to be processed on Ellis Island in 1892. I hope their life turned out as well as my Dad’s.

This grim history made me think about three things. I would not die young as many of the poor emigrants did. I’m too old now. I also decided that this would be a poor choice of a debarkation point given the Horowitz family boating history of mishaps. And happily the Irish are enjoying a flourishing economy and some of those from families who fled are returning.

Things do come to those who wait. Cobh is what we were looking for yesterday. It’s on an island that lends itself to hillside houses painted in bright hues ranging from yellow to persimmon to grape and red. It’s akin to what being in San Francisco in the early 1900’s would have been. The Joseph Kennedy Park (he was born in Cobh) overlooks the water and hills beyond. We enjoyed a picnic lunch as we sat on benches near the gazebo. A lovely, though soaking wet, Brittany Spaniel brought a plastic pop bottle it had found over to Karen and dropped it at her feet. She picked it up and was soon engaged in an endless game of fetch. Another spaniel joined in and when we set about eating our cheese and bread, the dogs sat hopefully by. They were very well trained and I’m sure had a person in their lives because they just stared and didn’t try to grab our food. They tired watching and ended up frolicking in the sea getting mired in kelp that washed up on the beach.

Oatmeal Anyone?

Macroom was between us and Killarney and the only place Fodor’s and Rick Steves thought worth mentioning on the route. We saw some of our first thatched roofs as we drove. Macroom is known for its oatmeal but we couldn’t find any of the original type in the stores. With that failure behind us we retired to Gearagh’s Bar for a midday pint. David has a liking for Guinness and was disappointed that he didn’t have any last night when we were all too tired and went to our rooms early. Gearagh’s exterior was purple. The interior was dark and narrow rising to four levels. Its “décor” and construction made it seem like a perfect hideaway for the Keebler elves. Tables were carved from chunks of tree rounds, Branches formed handrails and the wooden appointments were ornately carved. The ceiling was a continuous jungle themed mural. David wants me to be sure to mention the bawdy intricate and detailed sign featuring offerings at a whorehouse The overall feeling was that of being in a lecherous Leprechaun’s lair. I didn’t feel up to having a drink then so Karen gave me one of the “cherry surprises” she’d bought. It’s a chocolate covered cherry filled with Jamieson instead of the cream we’re used to. The surprise isn’t the Jamieson; it’s the pit in the cherry. Luckily I was forewarned.

We’re at the Dromhall Hotel in Killarney and it’s a delight. The place is a palace compared to the castles where we’ve slept. They actually have desk clerks who speak English and know what’s going on. Last night we were in Kinsale, the culinary capital of Ireland and had bad Chinese food. We did better here. The clerk recommended we eat at Danny Mann, a pub/restaurant offering Irish music. The duo livened up the evening with Irish and American songs familiar and not. David and I left the Ciminis to finish the set since I was asleep on my feet. I’m not getting to nap in the car like I do on tour buses. I’m the navigator and have to be alert to spot what signs there are. We have two extra sets of eyes and with that we go astray.

Tomorrow we go on an all day bus tour of the Ring of Kerry. It’s supposed to be spectacular but maybe I can cat nap.

Toby

Douglas, Ireland-Day Two

Romancing the Stone

At English Market-Cork

Ron at Ballinspittle Overlook

August 28, 2007- Irish Hospitality?

The electric shower was one of the best we had as far as water pressure and ease of temperature control goes. It’s really a modern set up. But the stall was so tight my elbows kept hitting the sides. The opening into the stall was so small that David didn’t think he could get his belly out.

We were offered an Irish breakfast but all opted out of the ham and bacon part. Our host and hostess (Liam and wife) were odd. I think they tried to be gracious and helpful. When we finally found the B & B yesterday Liam had put an orange construction cone in a parking space reserving it for us. He never introduced himself to us and we wouldn’t have known his name but David introduced us to him. We never learned her name. Liam told us that there was WiFi and gave us the code but he’d never used it and couldn’t help when it didn’t work. He said his daughter used it when she was here. I would think that would be something he’d want to know so he could help his guests.

The laundry was another thing. It did get done but we gave it to them in two separate bags and emphasized that we wanted it kept separate. It came back all in one lump in plastic trash bag. We poured it out on a bed and played laundry toss-and-grab until we each had our own…maybe.

Lot of Blarney

We headed out for the tourist trap of Blarney, which is only six miles away. We had to go through Cork and noticed a Star of David on a building. It was the synagogue. There was no name but it was on the right street. We had a list of synagogues in Ireland.

Blarney turned out to be a delightful village with a requisite square. There’s a reason so many tourists go there. The castle built in 1210 is interesting and fairly well preserved. There is no roof or any floors but the walls are mostly intact. I’d debated whether to climb or not to climb. The other three all knew I would. They also knew I’d kiss the stone, sort of. We got there early enough to miss the tour buses so the climb of 147 tiny tower steps went quickly. Karen stayed behind. The kissing is a production line. The man who helps the kissers straddles the wall next to the stone. I sat on a rubber shower mat with my back to the wall. The straddler grabbed me and pushed me back telling me to grab onto the two iron poles as I grabbed for his shirt. I was upside down and face to face with a stone wall. Then he lowered me even further and ordered me to, “Kiss it!” I finally determined that The Stone was the smooth one but didn’t want to press my lips to what is rumored to have been spit on and worse. I opted for an Eskimo version of a kiss. I rubbed my nose on it. I did cheat and make a kissing sound so he’d know to pull me upright. I should now have the gift of gab unless by using my nose I turn into a “nosey parker. “ The kissing ritual is so efficient and automated that they have two cameras that are tripped as you go down and as you kiss. As I stood up another man handed me a ticket with a number on it. That was to claim my picture that was called up on the computer in the gift shop. Of course I bought mine.

The grounds are spectacular and we took the time to walk down the paths and through the groves of trees to a stately stone mansion that’s open for touring in the summer. Summer must be over here. It was closed.

The hoards of tour buses had arrived as we were leaving and were thrilled to be going against traffic. We shopped across from the castle at the Blarney Woolen Mill store. I found nothing I wanted since I don’t like to wear wool next to my skin and the prices of woolen outerwear were prohibitive.

Cork

We rolled into Cork in time for a late lunch at the Farmgate Café overlooking the elaborate English Market. There are 140 stands in the market. One stand has forty varieties of bread. We bought enough food for a modest rolling larder and won’t fear being stranded. One find was baby figs. They look like small nuts in a shell, but what looks like a shell is really the pale outer skin of an immature fig. They melted in my mouth.

The rest of the day we tooled around looking for the coastline. We wanted to sit on a bench and watch the waves roll in. On the map the town of Kinsale looked as if it was seaside but it was only on an inlet. We kept on to Ballinspittle because we liked the name of it. Every time we rounded a bend we thought it would open to a seascape. What we came upon were cows that had a better view of the ocean than we did and a trailer park. Karen couldn’t believe no one had offered these people money for developing the land into resorts. We finally found an outcropping at the end of a road and held our breath as Ron maneuvered and hung over the steep cliff to get the best pictures. There were no waves to lull us and there were no benches on which to sit. There was a golf club built out on the promontory with the best view. We learned that it once had been a public space with safe areas for children to ride bikes. Someone did sell out,

We spoke to Talia tonight. She LOVES kindergarten and LOVES riding the bus. She particularly likes the part of the day that is “free choice.”  The transition is made.

We’ll take a leisurely drive to Killarney tomorrow. It’s not far so we can explore as we want.

Toby

Douglas, Ireland, County Cork

Kilkenny Humor?

Kilkenny Castle

Kyteler's Inn

August 27, 2007- Kilkenny

The road gods giveth and the road gods taketh away. We were right on in our directions to Kilkenny. Getting to the castle was another issue. There seemed to be a diversion on the road we needed so we asked a construction worker how to get to it. He wasn’t from there and didn’t know but directed us to the right. At the next corner we asked another worker who told us to follow the diversion signs. After a while we weren’t sure we were on the right track. We’d slowed to a crawl when a man in a house opened his second floor window and took a look out. I called up to him and he told us to take a left when we came to a light at the main intersection. We dutifully followed the garish orange signs until we got back to the exact same spot where we’d asked the first worker. We turned left and there was the castle.

We made a good choice. Kilkenny is situated on the banks of the River Nore. As you approach the town the first sight is the river cascading past the castle with the spires of St. Mary’s and the Black Abbey in the distance. Kilkenny Castle was originally built as a wood structure in 1170, but it burned down. Those old wood castles have a way of doing that. In 1216 a stone structure was begun. In 1967 some restoration was begun with the bulk being completed in the 1990’s. Five million pounds were spent on attention to such detail as finding the original French fabric weavers who made the wall coverings and having them replicate their work.

Lunch was in Kyteler’s Inn as much for its sordid history as for the food. BTW beef served here is featured as “Irish beef” since the trouble with mad cow disease. The story is that in the early 1300’s the inn was owned by Dame Alice Kyteler who went through four husbands “quicker than you can say poison.” She was convicted of sacrificing animals to a demon she called “Art.” Alice was imprisoned for a short time but because of connections and a quick whit she managed to talk her way out. She fled to England leaving her maid, Petronilla, behind. The maid became Ireland’s first heretic to burn at the stake.

We strolled the crowded narrow streets and admired the high fashion in the stores. The Irish don’t hurt for style. We were on our way to the Black Abbey, built in 1225. It was typical of Gothic stone architecture and was well re-stored including the many stained glass windows. The black capes of the Dominican order that founded it gave the abbey its name.

Cork It

Oh yes, you may remember that today was supposed to be Waterford. We decided to skip it. We’d all seen crystal being made before and none of us was into acquiring more. But we did need to drive to Waterford to get to Cork, our next stop. David put down his window to ask a man for directions. The man motioned us to pull into the lot where his car was parked. He gave us the directions, but when David repeated them back incorrectly, the man told us to just follow him. He led us to our turn and we were off.

Ah, but where was our B & B?  We had a printout with a picture of it from the tour company saying it was the Riverview B & B in Bandon, west of Cork City. However, our voucher and itinerary said it was in Douglas southeast of Cork. We pulled into a gas station and I prevailed upon the manager to let us use the station’s phone. The Riverview B & B in Douglas did have our reservation. When we finally arrived in Douglas we stopped at another gas station but they wouldn’t let us use their phone. David remembered a ploy used on one of our favorite TV shows, The Amazing Race. There couples race around the world for $1 million. When they need a phone they ask to borrow a cell phone and offer to pay. We found a wildly pierced teen-ager who agreed to help us out even before we offered him money. The owner of the B & B told us we were only 300 yards down the road. I told him to go outside and wave. We could see him.

He’s a nice enough guy but his wife is a bit “balmy” as they say here. She’s the one cooking breakfast so we’d better be nice to her. David asked her about laundry service and she kept asking him if he was sure she should order it for tomorrow. Short of pulling out our dirty skivvies he didn’t know what else to do. He’s so desperate he bought Irish undies today.

Not to worry. If they don’t like us they can just electrocute us. We have an electric shower. A switch on the wall activates the water heating. When in the shower we’re to push a button to start the water flowing. I’ll be sure to use the rubber shower mat.

We hope to get to Blarney Castle tomorrow but none of us wants to kiss the stone. Who knows where our path will take us.

Toby

Kilkea, Ireland

Powerscourt Castle

In Pet Cemetery-Powerscourt

Kilkea Castle

August 26, 2007-Lost

Our 5-year old granddaughter, Talia, starts kindergarten tomorrow. What a milestone! Our 16-year old, Alex, will be a junior in high school and little Rylee is still little, thank goodness. We’ll have to touch base with them to see how it went.

We’re not buying a Toyota Avensis. That’s the comparable, in size anyway, to the Camry. It’s our Avis rental in Ireland & it’s a far cry from what we’ve come to expect from Toyota. The trunk is even smaller than the VW Jetta we had in Wales. That’s not a good thing as Karen collects treasures from the shops here. I’ve found little to buy. A lot of what Karen gets is for holidays and birthdays.

We’re not the only ones who are lost on the Irish highways and byways. The Irish can’t find their way around either. When we ask how to get somewhere they say, “Hmm, that will be a problem.” Today we were lost in the charming suburbs of Dublin due to a “diversion” (detour) on the road we should have stayed on. We pulled over where we saw people gathered in a front yard. The homeowner was tearfully saying good-bye to her grandchildren. When they left she pulled herself together, confessed that the Irish can’t make sense out of the signage either, and proceeded to give us detailed directions using landmarks instead of street names or highway numbers. It worked.

Found

We arrived at Powerscourt House and Gardens in time to enjoy the grounds at leisure. The interior of the house burned in the 1970’s and the renovation leaves much to be desired. We skipped the house and strolled the gardens. Karen, an avid and knowledgeable gardener was in heaven. It was beautifully and artistically laid out with Japanese, Italian, & English walled gardens, ponds, fountains, and plenty of green vistas. In the distance was Sugarloaf Mountain a part of the Wicklow chain. I took lots of pictures of individual roses they were so gorgeous. Then David took a picture of me in a tree and was sure to include my knee brace. It was a nice touch.

Fodor’s mentioned a restaurant in the neighboring town of Enniskerry. Poppies Country Cooking had a small-town coziness and offered homemade shepherd’s pie, beef and Guinness pie, and yummy looking quiche. I had potato leek soup and the most dense dark scone. The scone could have been used as a paperweight or a weapon. It did best floating in the soup. While we were there a woman walked in wearing shorts. Karen remembered that they were called sun drawers here.

We passed a sign for Victoria’s Magic Garden and no one was too interested in turning around to see what it was about. How narrow were the roads? Glad you want to know. They were so narrow that when a car came towards us David pulled as far as he could to the left and stopped. He felt like a wimp until other cars approaching us pulled over first. But when we sailed by a naked woman posing for a photographer on a haystack in a field David became quite skilled at making a 3-point turn on the narrow country lane. We slowed to a crawl and got a dirty look from the photographer. When we turned around again to resume our journey we once again slowed but she’d gotten dressed.

Castledermot

We were on the wrong side of the Wicklow Mountains from Castledermot, the town nearest our next castle-stay. We had to get through the Wicklow Pass, which sounds more ominous than it was. Compared to the Rockies the mountains here are foothills. The pass was pretty and we stopped at an overlook to gaze at the ruins of a monastery, watch children frolic in a mountain pool, and watch two dogs hump as their owner franticly tried to separate them. I climbed over the rocks and got a picture of the monastery, the kids, and the dogs, but couldn’t get positioned fast enough for the humping part.

We arrived in Kilkea and are staying at Kilkea Castle built in 1180. It’s really cool to approach down a long tree-lined alley and cross a bridge over what was a moat before entering the reception area through a medieval door. The rooms are nicer than Ruthin but they sold off most of the grounds for a golf course. The castle is in a pretty setting and we enjoyed drinks overlooking the garden before dinner. Karen introduced me to Jamieson and Diet Coke. I don’t think the Irish approve but it’s drinkable. It has the taste of Coke and the kick of whiskey.

That brings me to dinner. I’m sure you’re familiar with Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First” routine. Karen asked the porter for a recommendation for dinner since the menu at the castle runs around $70/person. What I heard when I asked her where we were going was “ a Thai.” I started salivating for all those exotic Thai flavors and was debating between pad Thai and Massaman beef when we got in the car and turned towards the next town down the road called Athy. Guess how they pronounce it? Yup, “ah tie.” We had Italian.

I bet you missed my obsessing about laundry; well here it is. David is approaching an underwear crisis. No, he’s there. If we don’t find a laundry in the next town he’s going to buy some. You know how we hate those hand-washed stiff undies.

I hope it’s quieter here than our hotel in Dublin. That town never slept and it all happened under our windows. They were partying for the Irish football match, which they lost, by the way. We heard shouting and singing until our alarm this morning. I travel with earplugs so I was able to turn over and go back to sleep but the others didn’t fare as well

Tomorrow we head to the southern coast and Waterford. There’s more than crystal to see. I’ll let you know.

Toby

Still Dublin

Flower Market-Grafton St.

St. Stephen's Park

August 25, 2007-Hoofing It

Our one-year old granddaughter is lucky. Her name is Rylee. The traditional Irish spelling is Raghallaigh.

Dublinia was an exhibit of the Viking and Medieval history of Dublin using models of how people lived back then. It gave a good overview of what and who were where and when that was. They mentioned another reason why Vikings struck out and invaded new lands. Only the eldest sons inherited. It was the old rule of primogeniture. The landless younger brothers ventured forth to seek their fortunes abroad.

Karen and Ron rode the “hop on” to the Dublin Writer’s Museum. We walked. It was a lot longer than we thought but we got to walk through the neighborhood of sex paraphernalia shops. At the museum an actor performed segments from different Irish authors slipping into character for each. The best quote was Churchill who said, “ If we solve the Irish problem they will find a new one.”

The Ciminis went back to the hotel and we hoofed it to St. Stephen’s Green, a Victorian gem in the city center. It had an idyllic pond where ducks swam blithely along watching the hoards of local teens doing their mating rituals on the grass. The evangelists were out in force trying to sell Jesus. Flower vendors were also abundant. A man was standing alone holding a sign that said “Jesus.” David asked if he’d lost him. The man replied that he hadn’t. David said that if he had lost Jesus he could show him how to find him. Another proselytizer said he had him in his heart. A passerby said that he might find him if he took the sign to the airport.

We went to the hotel desk in search of advice regarding an Indian restaurant. The clerk’s name was Ewelina. Where was she when we were trying to name sheep? Anyway, Ewelina was very competent and Karen wondered why only the Eastern European male help was rude and lazy. Our cab arrived and the driver thought he knew a better restaurant than the one we knew of. He called his office to inquire but had a bad signal on his phone. He asked them to text him the name and number of the restaurant. All this was while he was driving. He accomplished what he set out to do and delivered us at Tulsi’s. It was delicious but the cab ride was three quarters of the cost of our meal. Our ride home was $3 less. Maybe we were taken for a ride. I know the taxi driver didn’t get a kick-back because the manager asked who it was and we didn’t have a name to give him.

Tomorrow we leave Dublin for Castledermot in the county of Kildare. It’s another castle stay. We were warned there would be a huge crowd coming to Dublin for a major Irish football game. It’s like rugby with a round ball. If we figure out which side of the river we need to be on to get to the highway we should be able to get out of here.

Toby

Still Dublin

Flower Market Grafton St.

St. Stephen's Park

August 25, 2007-Hoofing It

Our one-year old granddaughter is lucky. Her name is Rylee. The traditional Irish spelling is Raghallaigh.

Dublinia was an exhibit of the Viking and Medieval history of Dublin using models of how people lived back then. It gave a good overview of what and who were where and when that was. They mentioned another reason why Vikings struck out and invaded new lands. Only the eldest sons inherited. It was the old rule of primogeniture. The landless younger brothers ventured forth to seek their fortunes abroad.

Karen and Ron rode the “hop on” to the Dublin Writer’s Museum. We walked. It was a lot longer than we thought but we got to walk through the neighborhood of sex paraphernalia shops. At the museum an actor performed segments from different Irish authors slipping into character for each. The best quote was Churchill who said, “ If we solve the Irish problem they will find a new one.”

The Ciminis went back to the hotel and we hoofed it to St. Stephen’s Green, a Victorian gem in the city center. It had an idyllic pond where ducks swam blithely along watching the hoards of local teens doing their mating rituals on the grass. The evangelists were out in force trying to sell Jesus. Flower vendors were also abundant. A man was standing alone holding a sign that said “Jesus.” David asked if he’d lost him. The man replied that he hadn’t. David said that if he had lost Jesus he could show him how to find him. Another proselytizer said he had him in his heart. A passerby said that he might find him if he took the sign to the airport.

We went to the hotel desk in search of advice regarding an Indian restaurant. The clerk’s name was Ewelina. Where was she when we were trying to name sheep? Anyway, Ewelina was very competent and Karen wondered why only the Eastern European male help was rude and lazy. Our cab arrived and the driver thought he knew a better restaurant than the one we knew of. He called his office to inquire but had a bad signal on his phone. He asked them to text him the name and number of the restaurant. All this was while he was driving. He accomplished what he set out to do and delivered us at Tulsi’s. It was delicious but the cab ride was three quarters of the cost of our meal. Our ride home was $3 less. Maybe we were taken for a ride. I know the taxi driver didn’t get a kick-back because the manager asked who it was and we didn’t have a name to give him.

Tomorrow we leave Dublin for Castledermot in the county of Kildare. It’s another castle stay. We were warned there would be a huge crowd coming to Dublin for a major Irish football game. It’s like rugby with a round ball. If we figure out which side of the river we need to be on to get to the highway we should be able to get out of here.

Toby

Dublin, Ireland

At Molly Malone Statue

Holy Duck

August 24, 2007-Book Of Kells

We had the luxury of sleeping late this morning. We woke at 8 AM & weren't prepared for humor at breakfast when David read the label on the margarine. It said, "Vegetable Fat Spread." I guess they're not into euphemisms.

We bought a 24- hour pass to a "hop on and off" tour bus that would get us around town and give us an overview of what there was to see and where it was located. Before the first "hop off" I learned that Vikings came to Dublin in 841 CE. (I use Common Era and BCE for Before the Common Era instead of AD & BC. It's a Jewish thing.) They came because of overcrowding and to plunder. Give me a break! Overcrowded where? In Iceland? You could move all our illegals into Iceland today and they wouldn't be noticed. I also learned that according to Celtic myth a shamrock stands for the trinity and leprechauns were cobblers to fairies. Now I won't wear a shamrock and I wonder if the little guys specialized in gay clientele or Tinkerbell. Come to think of it, that might be redundant.

The City Center proved to be architecturally ordinary until we came upon a few Georgian and Gothic lovelies. There were a surprising number of vacant stores.

We got off at Trinity College whose library houses the Book of Kells, an illuminated Christian text handwritten on calfskin by monks in the 9th century. Impressive. On close inspection the occasional calf hair has been spotted. Before we got to the Book of Kells there was an illustration of Ogham, a stylistic Celtic alphabet from the 5th century that was written on vellum. Once again impressive, but... I got to asking David about the dating of Hebraic writings and pre-Hebraic like Phoenicians. Now we're talking thousands of years ago. So in the long view of history the Book of Kells is a toddler.

Historic Time Line

I realized that I’m woefully ignorant of Irish history and that’s why I haven't been able to relate to it. When I studied English history in school, Ireland was invisible. Somehow English literature included the Irish greats (Joyce, Shaw, Brecht, Beckett, Wilde,Yeats) but their leaders were absent. I'm beginning to fill it in. One thousand years ago Ireland was wet. Around 700-900 CE the climate changed and it began to warm. In 431 CE the first bishop was sent to Ireland by the pope. 1845-49 was the Potato Famine causing over two million to emigrate. There was an unsuccessful rebellion, the Easter uprising, against England in 1916. By 1922 they'd gained home rule but didn't leave the Commonwealth and become an independent (80% Catholic) nation until 1947. Northern Ireland (Church of England) was split off and stayed a part of Great Britain. In 1969 The Troubles began and British troops were sent to the North. That didn't end until 1994.

Blasphemy, Beer & Bridges

We bought a Heritage Pass before we came here. It's been great. We get anywhere from 10%-50% off some admissions. We also get a senior discount. Sometimes there's a double dip. At Christ Church, a Gothic Anglican cathedral built in 1172, they couldn't do the math and let us in free. We were almost kicked out when Karen got the giggles this time. Not really. She was very discreet and curled up in hysterics on a bench in an unobtrusive spot. She'd looked into the baptistery and moved on to the next anteroom. As she approached she saw a glint of gold. Expecting to see a gilt statue of a saint, Mary, or Jesus, she was taken aback and didn't recover from the sight of a three-foot high gold duck with wings spread in preparation for flight. What popped out of her mouth was, "Holy duck!"

Fortunately, we got to visit the Guinness Brewery next. It’s an impressive converted warehouse that uses original installations and glass to create an upward motion culminating in the round viewing deck on the 7th floor. That’s everyone’s goal where free tastes are. They're no cheapskates. The free taste is a pint. Established in 1759 the original lease was probably the best in history. It was 45 pounds/year for 9,000 years. That’s no typo. Not quite as good as the purchase of Manhattan.

This is for my granddaughter Alex who has an aversion to bridges. There’s a pedestrian bridge across the river Liffey that she'd be interested in. They call it the “quiver in the river” because when you walk across and get to the middle of it the bridge trembles.

We rode on to our last stop near the dinner theater where we'd made a reservation for tonight. We were early so we stopped at a Burger King for a Coke. To put prices in perspective they charge $6.80 for a Whopper. Our lunch at O’Neill’s Pub wasn't terribly expensive and was excellent. We learned to ask questions of people on the street only if they're dressed in business attire or are police. The rest are foreign workers or tourists who don't know anything. The cops told us to try the O’Neill’s. It was so stereotypical that we thought we’d fallen into a 1940’s movie set. The paneling was dark, the lighting dim, the crowd, loud, and the barkeep overworked. We lined up to order our food and slogged to a table. We had to clear it ourselves but that seemed to be the custom. The only thing missing from the old-time setting was there was no smoking. There’s no smoking indoors at restaurants here. That’s a huge step for Ireland and Great Britain.

The dinner show was called Celtic Storm and that it was. It exceeded our expectations on all levels and we've been to many of these in many countries. The food was phenomenal. We tried colcannon, a soup made from potatoes, leeks, and cabbage. It was luscious. I had a veggie crepe called a “boxtey” (a potato and flour pancake) while David tried Irish stew. The desserts were either Irish crème cheesecake or dense chocolate cake. Both were excellent. The level of the performers and costuming was first rate. I liked it better than Riverdance. They did mention Riverdance during the program and did the original dance that got it all started. It was first performed as a 15- minute act on TV. The music and especially the fiddling had such kinship to our Appalachian sounds and the reels were pure West Virginian. Many songs had a Nashville connection and could have been lifted out of our country genre if they hadn’t been written here  first. One of the songs told about the immigration to America. They sang of leaving one island for another. Ireland for Ellis Island, “isle of hope and tears.”  It’s no wonder there’s a bluegrass zydeco band from New Orleans touring Ireland. They were on a morning TV show today. There was vaudeville shtick and storytelling. They even did an Irish “hand jive” of knee slapping that was daunting. They were so fast it’s a wonder no one got punched in the face. The weak link was the MC’s daughter who reminded me of an American Idol reject. Simon Cowell would have described her as “pitchy.”

During the opening act the table next to ours was extremely noisy. I asked the maitre de if he could speak to them if they stayed as boisterous when the show started. He said that indeed he would. By way of closing the MC welcomed people who were celebrating special occasions. He mentioned a man at that table then introduced the others sitting there. They included his dear friends and his wife. It’s a good thing they quieted down on their own. It could have been embarrassing.

On the way out I stopped to speak with the costume designer. She asked where we were from. When we say we’re from Ohio people ask if it’s near California. But she had relatives in Toronto so knew the Great Lakes region.

  

We’ll hop back on the bus tomorrow and see where we end up. Kilmainham Gaol is our first choice. It’s at one at one of the stops.

Toby