Wendy’s poncho finally bit the dust. David was wearing it on
this trip and he wore it out. The reason I mention it is that it was the poncho
she took to summer camp from 1978 on and we’ve taken it on every trip on which
we’ve gone. That’s one strong piece of plastic.
As we left Belfast for the Dublin airport we were in heavy
traffic and drivers were irritable. They kept honking and honking at us and
everyone else. I just yelled out, “We’re Jewish. Leave us alone.” The car
windows were closed so I was safe. I think the best religion to be in N.
Ireland is Jewish.
We made the airport in 2 ½ hours. Estimates had ranged from
a half hour to 3 hours. Our Lux Air flight took off on time and we caught a
shuttle to a new Travelodge near the airport. It’s inexpensive but everything
is extra. WiFi is $10/hour and the shuttle was $12 for the two of us. We have
to ride it again tomorrow morning.
Just a last note on unique food over here: we eat Pringles
at home but these flavors are more interesting. They have beef and onion, Thai,
and Greek cheese with avocado.
We land tomorrow in Cleveland, Saturday the 8th,
at around 5:30 PM if we run on time. It’s been fun writing to you. I hope
you’ve enjoyed it too.
There are The Troubles and there are our troubles. David
could not find his VISA card this morning. He remembered using it in Derry but
not afterwards. We called VISA to cancel it and they told us we’d used it at a
gas station near our hotel last night. But as soon as we called VISA it was
cancelled. The hotel called the station for us and they did have it. They were
going to call VISA and send it to our address in the U.S. Very thoughtful. We
picked the now defunct card up on our way out of town and will use our American
Express card and bank debit card. There can always use cash and we need to dump
some. The confusing thing is that we’re using pounds here, will need euros in
Dublin at the airport, then pounds again in Manchester. Our itinerary is this:
tomorrow we drive to Dublin, fly to Manchester, spend the night there, and fly
home on Sat. from Manchester. It sounds complicated but we’re on free tickets.
In approaching
Belfast from the northwest we could see it’s glorious position. It is wedged
between Lough Neagh and the North Irish Sea. We took our usual time in finding
the Jury’s Inn Hotel smack in the middle of the Golden Mile, a historic sector,
and proceeded to check in. I took care of storing the bags since our room
wasn’t ready while David followed directions to the car park the desk clerk
suggested. I told her he’d be back in 20 minutes. She said it was only a few
minutes away. I assured her he’d get lost. Twenty-five minutes later she went
to look for him. She found him crossing the street to the hotel and right on
course. It was the finding of the garage and the one-way streets that had
delayed him.
Black Cab
She then helped call a taxi for a political tour of the
city. The Black Cab Tours use huge original British taxis and are well known.
It’s not recommended that tourists wander those areas unescorted. As Paddy
Campbell, our guide and driver, explained. The Troubles lurk just under the
surface. He gave us a picture of both sides of the dilemma and although he’s
half Scots we couldn’t tell which side his Irish half was. He was fair in
representing both points of view.
We didn’t realize that the animosity is alive here. In the
northwest Shankhill and Newtownards areas they have Protestant and Catholic
walled ghettos where gates are closed each night and on weekends. They’re
prisoners of their own hatred. Some Catholics would just as soon have some of
the gates locked all the time. The walls aren’t just symbolic. They keep
growing in height. The first phase was concrete like sound barriers on our
highways. To the tops of those was added corrugated metal. That was topped with
chain link fencing. As high as they build them someone manages to throw
something incendiary over. I’d guess the present walls are well over
twenty-feet high. It’s the Berlin Wall in reverse. In Berlin the wall kept
people in. Here it keeps people out.
But that’s not enough for people living on the perimeter of
the walls. Backyards are literally encased in protective chain link fencing
from roof to ground creating a cage around the rear yards. Prejudice lives on
even in death. There are walls in the cemeteries separating Protestant and
Catholic. The walls only run underground and go to a depth of twelve feet. It’s
bizarre!
It was Oliver Cromwell who started what they call the
Plantation years. It’s not about trees. He imported and “implanted” Brits and
Scots and implemented anti-Irish (read Catholic) laws. It mushroomed from
there. During the modern day Troubles Paddy said that the IRA (Catholics)
killed for political reasons and the Unionists (Protestants) killed because of
religion. If that person was also a Republican (someone wanting a united
Ireland) it was a bonus. He sees a united Ireland some day because of
demographics. There are now 35, 000 foreigners in Northern Ireland and their
voting block is growing. They aren’t tied to the old political divisions and
will likely choose the economic advantage of a united republic. Protestants
worry that a Catholic Ireland will give too much power to the papacy on issues
of contraception not so much on abortion rights.
There are murals and memorials all over the area and even
pubs are segregated. The flag of the Republic of Ireland is green for
Catholics, orange for Protestants, and white for peace. Northern Ireland flies
the Union Jack of Great Britain. But here’s a twist. The Loyalists
(Protestants) are now killing each other. A drug war is being waged. One of the
major heroes of The Troubles died of an overdose and is memorialized and
extolled on one of the murals.
Patrons have to be recognized to gain entry into pubs in
those neighborhoods we toured. Here there’s no way to tell “friend from foe.”
Segregation in the U.S. was easier using skin color as an identifier. But there
is hope. There are some areas that have mixed housing. It is in the middle and
upper class not working class neighborhoods where this is taking place.
So where do Jews live? Anywhere they want. It’s an oddity of
history that no one much cares about Jews here. They’re too busy hating each
other.
On Our Own
Paddy dropped us off for lunch where we tried to spend most
of our Ulster Bank notes. They’re only good in N. Ireland. David really felt as
if he was in England. He had a hot roast beef sandwich on buttered white bread.
We took a peek at City Hall and the Europa Hotel. The
hotel’s claim to fame is that it is the most bombed hotel in Europe. It was
bombed eleven times during The Troubles and re-built every time. When the
Clintons stayed there on a visit the phones were answered, “ The White House,
Belfast can I help you?” Across from the hotel is the Crown Bar built in 1894.
It’s under restoration by the National Trust but the interior still features
cozy stalls called snugs, walled cubicles where patrons can find privacy. They
do indeed look like horse stalls with doors.
The Grand Opera House is across the street from our hotel.
We saw that a play was on tonight, “There’s No Place Like A Home.” We asked if
we’d understand the humor since it’s a British farce. They told us it was in
English. That didn’t answer our question, but they assured us we’d like it.
Besides, we were told, the cast was stellar and extremely well known in
England. We hadn’t heard of a one but decided to go.
We had time for dinner and decided on Robinson’s, a bistro
across the street. A young man was sitting at the next table talking on his
cell about going to Chicago & Minneapolis. We didn’t comment on the
Mnneapolis part thinking it would be rude to let him know we listened in. When
he was finished with his call he leaned towards our table and excused himself
for being impolite but enquired as to whether my meal was good. I had lamb
stew. Our conversation started there and went for an hour. He offered to buy us
drinks but we had to make the show. He works for a company that supplies
retailers like Target, etc. He travels Europe and the U.S. and is rarely back
home in England. He said he doesn’t even have time for a girlfriend.
The show was actually funny. We understood most of it but
sometimes the accents and political and popular references escaped us. It took
place in a senior home that was being foreclosed. The residents were all
eccentric retired entertainers who came up with a fund-raising scheme to kidnap
Jeffrey Lord Archer. It went from there.
The theater dates from 1895 and has Victorian touches
throughout. The red velvet curtain and gilt balconies were lovingly restored,
as were the murals. We sat in the stalls (orchestra) rather than with the
“gods” as itemized on the price list. Sitting with the “gods” referred to the
third balcony near the ceiling mural of gods and goddesses. An interpreter for
hearing impaired was present throughout the performance and David said it would
have been handy if we knew sign language.
It’s going to be a long night. There are sirens going by
frequently. I see earplugs in my future.
I just permitted myself a look at the photos of our family.
I was right to wait until now. They’re gorgeous and I can’t wait to see them.
The B &B/farm stay breakfast was wonderful. I mean the
people. It was so B & B. We chatted with folks from Germany and Australia
and shared our itineraries, travel stories, and hints for travel in Ireland. We
even ran into them in the Derry City Center. It was like home.
What isn’t like home is the number of redheads. I was in the
restroom when it was invaded by a hoard of little “Vikings” and their mothers.
The women looked like sisters and the wee ones must have been cousins and
siblings. Adorable.
The Visitor’s Center in town proved to be less than
efficient. They’re the only tourist info bureau I’ve ever been to that didn’t
have public toilets. We had to run across the street to a shopping center. We’d
gotten tickets for a 10 AM tour bus and at 10:10 we asked where it was. We were
told that there was no one for the tour so it wouldn’t go until 11 AM. We
showed them our tickets and were told it wouldn’t go for just two people and we
could take the later bus. We didn’t have the time to wait. Someone else told us
there was another bus leaving just then and it was the same basic tour. Our
tickets would be good on it. We boarded and were told it wouldn’t leave with
just two people. Just then the Aussies from our B & B got on. They’d taken
a walk-around audio-tour and the audio-players weren’t working. They saved the
day.
We got a better understanding of The Troubles and the schism
that lasts even today. The houses are 100% segregated Protestants on one side
of the River Foyle and 100% of Catholics in Bogside where they’ve traditionally
lived outside the city walls. On the Protestant side the 24-acre complex of
abandoned British army barracks spoke volumes.
Murals adorn sides of buildings in Bogside and illustrate
the heroes and struggles of the uprisings. One struck me dead center. It was a
painting of a little girl who was caught in crossfire and marked the 100th
death in the fighting. Although she is shown in color the artist originally
painted a black and white butterfly hovering over her shoulder. He also painted
a red rifle to her right side. He said that the butterfly would remain black
and white and the rifle would be intact until he was sure that peace had come.
Today we saw a colorful butterfly and a broken rifle. Only a month ago the
British army handed control back to the local police. It took so very long
(1970-1998). How long will Iraq go on?
After the bus tour we walked to the Tower Museum for an
historic overview and in depth information about The Troubles. Derry was
originally Daire meaning oak grove. Oaks were spiritually important to
pre-historic people. The Pagan group in Akron calls itself The Church of the
Spiral Oak. Oak trees sound peaceful compared to the trail of tears religious
evolution has brought to this area. It was a shock to me that the Anglicans
fought Presbyterians. Both are Protestants. Together they fought the
Catholics. No wonder the seal of the
city of Derry shows a skeleton sitting on a pile of rocks holding his head in
dismay.
We wanted to get going so decided to picnic. David didn’t
like the choices in our larder so opted for Subway, a common fast food
restaurant in Ireland. We pulled into an area outside the city where other
locals were chowing down while sitting in their cars. It had begun to rain.
Much Ado
Our approach to the Bayview Hotel overlooking the ocean in
Portballintrae was breathtaking. The
cows here have the best views of the sea. We skirted white cliffs and Dunluce
Castle. The castle is a ruin. We’re through with touring castles and just
pulled off for a photo. It sits high on a bluff hanging over the sea. During a
time of prosperity the owners kept expanding it until one of the additions, the
kitchen, fell into the sea during a storm. Sounds like California.
Our room wasn’t ready so we went on to see the Giant’s
Causeway much touted in these parts. It’s a natural formation from when
underground eruptions forced molten rock through the earth to form tightly
packed columns that march out to sea. The myth is that a giant built it so he
could visit his ladylove in Scotland. We trekked a mile down along muddy trails
in the drizzle our ponchos flapping in the wind. It was much ado about little.
We overheard several tourists saying they were disappointed. Truly the coast of
California is more spectacular. People were climbing all over the rocks and I
would have too under better conditions. I decided to take a pass. One slip here
didn’t just result in a nasty spill. It meant a swim in the frigid North Atlantic.
We opted to ride the shuttle back to the car.
Our hotel doesn’t have Internet access (I can hardly believe
it) so we found a café that did. When we learned they didn’t have MSWord we
weren’t going to stay. Then we thought to ask if they had WiFi since we had our
computer in the car. They did. We have to learn to ask the right questions.
This was our day for exercise. We’d heard about a rope
bridge that spans a gorge over the sea and I really wanted to give it a try. It
was ¾ of a mile walk each way with no shuttle this time. The path was up and
down hills and slippery with all the rain. There were also 167 muddy stone
steps to traverse. They were downhill on the way there. You know what that
means. When we got to the bridge David’s fear of height got the better of him.
He stayed behind to get pictures of me on the bridge then I went back and got
the camera from him and walked across. I really bounced across. I love to put a
little wobble in the bridge as I go. Talia and I like what we call “wobble wobble”
bridges at the parks in Akron. Although it was a strenuous climb I had a blast.
The person I felt sorry for was the ticket taker at the bridge itself who was
sitting on a cold wet rock all day wearing a slicker and holding an umbrella.
We were told it rains every day of the year and we’d be
foolish to expect anything else. That’s why we didn’t want to wait until
tomorrow in hopes of clearer skies. As we pulled away from the rope bridge
parking lot the sun came out. It was 5 PM, bright sunshine, and dry.
We stayed in the hotel for dinner. Their restaurant
overlooked the ocean and we enjoyed the contrasting blues and grays of sky and
sea as the sun set. The clouds blanketed the horizon looking like mountains in
a distant land. We know that’s impossible. The next landfall is Iceland and the
Farrow (sp) Islands. The waves pounding on the rocky coast made me realize that
rocks are an essential to spectacular coastal scenery.
I gathered my courage and asked our server about a menu item
that has been puzzling me for three weeks. Most menus have chicken goujons. We
jokingly call them chicken cojones (the Spanish for testicles). They’re
actually like our chicken fingers, which likewise seem improbable.
We strolled along the shore for a short while until we were
driven inside by the wind and chill air. The temperature really drops when the
sun goes down. It was worth a chill for the remnants of the sun as it faded
into the sea. I’ve never seen a fuchsia and purple sky before. Of course we had
the camera on hand.
David is playing with our coins trying to figure out what we
have and how much to get rid of. He’s still trying to learn the denominations
and failing. Whoops! He just found a Euro hiding in the bunch.
I don’t think we’re ready to go home yet. We’re just
starting to relax and slow our pace. I don’t even have to do laundry again
before we leave. I refuse to look at pictures of the kids because I know I’ll
be homesick. Maybe I’ll peek tomorrow. We’re coming home the 8th.
We’re due in Belfast tomorrow and will make it a leisurely
drive. We hope to get there early enough for a walking tour of the city.
We had a four-hour drive this morning from Galway. It was a
gloomy day and we didn’t mind being in the car. Our car is equipped with a
read-out telling average kilometers per hour. Our scenic wanderings yesterday
netted 9 mph (I did the conversion for you) and today staying on national
highways we made about 39 mph. When we got to N. Ireland the speed limits
changed from kilometers to mph. Our speedometer only shows km/hr. I made a
conversion table so that when David calls out a speed I tell him its
equivalent.
We were amused by stenciled warnings on the road surface
saying, “SLOW, SLOW, SLOWER” as if they knew we wouldn’t get it the first time.
We also got a charge out of the huge (3500+ square feet) homes in the suburbs
that were surrounded by sheep. I’m guessing sheep are more important than cars
since these luxurious homes only had one-car detached garages.
I know that the people here love their pets but the
advertisements along the road intimate that they may practice voyeurism and
cruelty to fish: “freshly battered cod while you watch.”
David wanted to stop at the Shrine of Knock. It is in honor
of Our Lady of Knock. We missed the turn and he decided not to turn back. I
couldn’t get the song “It’s a Hard Knock Life” from the play and movie Annie
out of my head. Maybe it’s good we skipped it.
We were in Yeats country. W.B. Yeats, the writer and his
brother J.B., the landscape artist, grew up in Sligo. It’s pastoral countryside
and I’m sure it impacted their work. We didn’t stop for lunch since it was too
early. We wanted to make Donegal Town, one of the last cities before N. Ireland
and spend our Euros. Fodor’s mentioned a combination cyber café and restaurant
called the Blueberry Tea Room. It was charming and we got to send your emails.
B & Bs don’t generally have WiFi so we’re still hunting for Internet sites
in towns.
Derry Town
We had time after our arrival at the B & B in Derry to
go into the old walled city and walk on the fortifications that have never been
breached. Today the walls dripped rain but they’ve had its share of dripping
blood. Londonderry is the British name but Derry is used today. One directional
sign had the “London” part blacked out. The walls were built between 1614-18.
They’re thirty-feet thick and a mile around.In 1688 a siege began lasting 105 days when thirteen apprentice boys
slammed the gates in the face of the Catholic King James II. The siege was
broken and the throne was secured for the Protestant King William III.
The city has had its share of bad times. In 1832 the
Workhouse was built as an institution to alleviate poverty. During the famine
years 1845-49 many sought passage to America but didn’t have enough money. They
applied for aid at the Workhouse where hard labor bought them a bed & food.
Families were separated once inside and this was the last time
children saw their parents alive.
Recent history hasn’t been kind to Derry. There’s an
alphabet soup of political organizations but it all adds up to strife. From
1969-97 during The Troubles the Republicans (IRA, Sinn Fein) and Unionists
(loyal to Great Britain) killed each other to the tune of 3,636 people dead.
Now the members of Sinn Fein are firmly installed in the democratic Northern
Ireland Assembly.
We ran out of time and St. Columb’s (a Presbyterian
cathedral built in 1633) closed before we could get in. It was the place where
the man who wrote the song Amazing Grace was inspired after almost
sinking at sea and having a bullet pierce his hat while hunting. We’ll stop in
tomorrow.
We had dinner at a restaurant/pub (Happy Landings) in
Edlinton near our B & B. It had a scruffy pub up front and a fancy
restaurant in the back. We made the mistake of walking into the pub and were
quickly ushered into the more family oriented rear. The regular menu was
elegant but they had an Early Bird menu that went until closing. The offers on
that menu were half the price of an entrée on the more extensive regular menu.
We got an appetizer and main for what came to $22 each. It didn’t look so bad
in pounds at 10.95. David had soup and prime rib; I had the sweetest melon with
raspberry coulis and two goat cheese tarts served on salad for a total of $44.
I understand that it’s good for our economy when our money has a low foreign
exchange rate. We tend to spend more on goods at home but it’s hard on the
overseas traveler. Dinner tonight was a good example of how poorly our dollar
is doing.
Hi Ho the Derry-O, the Farmer in the Dell. We’re at a farm
just outside of Derry in Northern Ireland, formerly called Ulster by the
Protestants. Kilennan House, the B & B, is an award winning Victorian
three-story country house that has been lovingly restored. The hostess, Averil
Campbell, is fastidious to the point of mopping up the entry after David
checked in and again as we were carrying in our bags. Her husband takes care of
the gardens. They’re beautifully landscaped and manicured. The best part is
that we’re surrounded by cows.Averil
said in her thick British accent that they could get loud when looking for
their calves. We heard a sample tonight as we were coming in after dinner. I
didn’t know cows could be so insistent. She bellowed like crazy and trotted
around the pasture until she found her baby.
We’ll finish up Derry tomorrow and make the short drive to
the town of Portbalintrae. It’s near the Giant’s Causeway. Don’t know what that
is yet.
My, oh my what a wonderful day! Plenty of sunshine came our
way. I should add Zippedy Doo Da, Zippedy Ay.
Our host, Padraigh, is so the opposite of the ones at other
B & Bs. He’s what a host should be. He’s garrulous, knowledgeable, and
eager to help. He’s interested in us and he’s an interesting person to talk to.
He has the gift of gab and I’m sure he kissed the Blarney stone. I could have
spent the morning with him. I never did find out what he does, but he and his
wife Maureen are well traveled. They’ve been all over the U.S. going
cross-country by Greyhound Bus and visiting Florida every two years. He’s a
sweetie too calling Maureen “me har” (my heart). He asked if we didn’t eat any
meat or just pork. We told him we were Jewish. I don’t think he’s ever met any
Jews that he knows of and was surprised to hear there are three synagogues in
Galway (and a kosher butcher). He did know the term synagogue and knew of the
story of the Macabees.
Padraigh told us that if we get lost to just knock on any
door. He tried that in the U.S. but no one would open up. He learned that in
the U.S. we ask for directions at a gas station. He also said not to pay
parking tickets in Ireland. The follow-up is awful. He knows his way around
this island and gave us our directions for the day. He told us how to get on
our way making two lefts instead of rights since rights are harder here. When
we left after breakfast David asked if I thought he really spoke that way or if
he was putting on the accent for us. He’s right out of central casting.
The black cloud of the tour company followed us. Padraigh
told us that they called about a week and a half ago to cancel the other couple
who was supposed to be traveling with us. The Ciminis were never on this leg of
the trip and a room never should have been held for them. I’m so glad David
called the office in the U.S. and Dublin to straighten it all out.
County Mayo
Today lifted our spirits. We spent the day in Connemara mostly
in County Mayo. It was Joyce country as in James, the writer. We took
Padraigh’s advice and followed Galway Bay. He said that if we squinted on such
a clear day we’d see Boston. The area we entered was Gaelic. It’s the
inhabitants’ first language and all the signs are Gaelic. That adds to the
magic of the place. Alas, we’re not jaded. We’re picky. We drove all day
breaking to take pictures, eat lunch, and stroll in villages. It was ideal. The
coast soon gave way to desolate boggy flatlands and meadows of wildflowers.
Ponds and lakes popped up at random surprising us with their tranquility and
abundance. Sheep polk-a-dotted the hillsides all the way to where the grass
stopped growing on the mountains tops. Yes, there were mountains too, the
Maamturks. They bobbed and wove in and out of sight as we hovered at the edge
of the precipice. Yes, there was a sheer drop. We chose to take the Sky Road or
high road instead of the Low Road. When I first looked straight down I said,
“Holy s---t.” As I looked up to tell David how steep it was I was confronted
with a cement truck coming at us. That remark is totally expurgated. What
amazed me most were the swans. They were so plentiful they had to be more than
a flock. It was a gosh darn herd of swans!
We stopped in a grocery store to gather our picnic lunch and
heard enough conversational Gaelic to say that it isn’t as guttural as I
thought. The Irish accent is there and I thought they were speaking English
with such a thick accent it was incomprehensible. But what it really sounds
like is Irish English played backwards.
Lunch was sitting on a bench in Roundstone overlooking a
lake, mountains and playground where the kids didn’t even notice how beautiful
it was. We walked down a long hill to a music store and drum factory built on
the grounds of an old monastery. They made traditional Irish drums called
bodhrans. We didn’t buy a drum but I had a good chuckle over the sign
“Restrooms Suitable for the Disabled.” I thought that the only disabled who
should use it were blind people since it was gross. Restrooms here have been
pretty clean. That was a surprise.
I didn’t complain but it was HOT today. I appreciated every
degree of it. Tomorrow it could be gone. As we continued on away from the
precipitous drop to the sea, I noticed that the hedgerows were huge fuchsia
bushes. David used them as edge-lines. They were feelers that told him he was
too far over to the left when he heard them brush the side of the car. Did I
mention that the roads were narrow? Cars coming toward us stopped as we
approached. We stopped too. Then we inched past as if we were afraid of each
other.
Yes, there is a town called Letterfrack and we stopped at
the Visitor Center there. We wanted to see a marble quarry and were assured
there were none to see. They asked why we wanted to go to one and I said I
wanted to see marble in the wild…raw marble. The worker held up a chunk of
unpolished marble for my approval. It looked like a rock. I was satisfied. He
told us of a store in Recess that sold marble objects and we went there. There
was a workshop nearby but we’d seen marble being cut and polished elsewhere so
we skipped it. Instead, David had a lovely conversation with the proprietor of
the shop. The man asked David what he did and when told he was a rabbi he
launched into politics. When he learned David was retired he asked what he did
to keep busy now. That brought up the GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual,
transgender) issues. That led to abortion rights. Ultimately the man told David
how upset he was when at the start of summer his priest told the congregation
that he knew they’d be going on holiday so maybe they could give him their
credit card numbers. He could then charge their weekly donations when they were
gone. The man in the store told us he was amazed at how many did just that.
We had one last thing to see, a castle. When we arrived we
thought something was wrong and it was. We were at Aughnanure Castle instead of
Ashford. Heck, they both start with an “A.” We corrected our trajectory and
managed to get to the right one. It had the usual golf course surround. How
else to make money from all that royal land? Well, it wasn’t really royal. The
Guinness family built it in 1870. A busload of Japanese arrived as we did. They
do love golf. This is a hotel castle and is famous for who stayed there. Past
presidents of the U.S. including Reagan, Bush, & Clinton have stayed. John
Travolta loves it, as did Prince Ranier. Pierce Brosnan took it over for two
days for his wedding. It is huge and Gothic and the lobby is dark and paneled.
I took pictures and we left.
Dinner was in Galway City. There wasn’t much there to see so
we circled endlessly trying to park then did a quick walk through the old city.
In our circling I realized that I’d misinformed you. Speed bumps are called
“ramps” and road calming means that the road will narrow to slow traffic.
We’re going to Northern Ireland tomorrow and asked Padraigh
how we’d know when we got there. He said the roads would get better and there’d
be no more Gaelic on the signs.
Our hostess in Shannon was more chipper this morning. She
chatted a bit and introduced us to Sebastian, another boarder. He’s 21-years
old and from East Germany. He’s working for Dell in tech support. We asked him
where he learned his English. He told us that they take three different kinds
of English studies: a year each of American, British, and Australian. I know
we’re separated by common languages but I didn’t realize they were so different
as to require a year of study each.
We dropped the Ciminis at the Shannon Airport then headed
out alone. It was different having the car to ourselves. We had more room to
spread out but it there was not as much laughter. We ended up on tiny country
lanes wending our way through the Burrens. The area is named for the limestone
karst rock left behind by glaciers. Burren means “rocky place” but barren is
also a good description. The day was gray and raining and the gray moonscape
prevailed against the brighter green pastureland obscured by fog. It’s a good
thing we got to the Cliffs of Moher yesterday. Today they’d have been hidden
until late afternoon. Out of the mist peaked what could have been a castle or
grain elevators. Being we were in Ireland we guessed the former. It was Ballyporty
Castle under renovation.
We were in search of pre-Celtic Dolmens, burial tombs of the
upper class built 4,000 years BCE (before the common era). That’s 6,000 + years
ago. They are Neolithic meaning New Stone Age. That translates as very, very
old. Multiple people (men, women, & children) were buried in the tombs and
the last person interred in this one was in 1720. The one we saw stood alone in
a field of boulders and rock slabs measuring the size of pool tables. We
climbed over the stones as needle-like rain pelted us from every direction. It
was too special to miss. I held the hood of my raincoat with one hand and
clutched the camera under the coat with the other. The dolmen itself is
composed of columns measuring perhaps five feet tall arranged in a ring and
topped by a huge flat stone. It looks very Druid. In reading the information
boards at the site we finally figured out why there were so many walls built
covering what could have been open fields. They were arranged from vertically
standing slices of stone instead of piling them. It was very distinctive. The
walls too dated back to Neolithic times and were used as we do today to
delineate ownership.
Local Color
It was time to head for lunch but we detoured at the Burren
Crafts Fair. I was floored at the quality of goods being sold. It’s the best
we’ve seen here. I bought a small oval casserole dish in a deep dark green
color I’d never seen in the U.S. I asked the artist if it was lead free and he
said it was up to British standards, which are not as high as the U.S. That’s
how he could get such rich color. I won’t cook in it although it’s made to be
oven safe. The artist lives just outside of Galway in the village of Spiddle.
Perhaps we’ll drop in.
The road continued along Kinvara Bay (an offshoot of Galway
Bay). There was a town nestled by the sea around every turn. We ate lunch in a
café in Kinvara frequented by locals. At night it becomes a pizzeria. It had
WiFi, tuna melts, and lovely vegetable soup. David wasn’t so fond of his potato
garlic soup. It was too garlicky. Soups here are pureed. There are no chunks.
That distinguishes them from stews, which have also have lots of liquid and
gravy. Bagels are huge here. They don’t look great but it’s funny to hear the
Irish ordering toasted bagel with cream cheese. Smoked salmon is a staple and
always has been. I guess it was a natural for the bagel to follow. I think I’ve
neglected to mention the delicious brown bread. It’s textured and grainy and
just plain decent. It always comes with soup and can make it a meal.
Dunguaire Castle was on our route so we stopped in. Built in
1520 it’s an example of a tower house. It’s cylindrical and straight up one
three-story tower. It’s on a rocky promontory in Kinvara Bay with water on
three sides. Decsendants of swans originally imported as a food source in 1520
swim in its shadow. The original owner invited 150 poets from the surrounding
area to banquet at his tiny castle over a period of a year and a half. In the
20th century it became a focal point of an Irish literary revival
including visits by W.B.Yeats. Between 1954-1972 it was a private home.
Presently Medieval banquets are staged each night for tourists. For the first
time we heard a conversation in Gaelic. Locals in this area tend to speak it.
It’s a bit guttural.
The sun came out as we approached Galway City. The bay
glistened and the promenade followed the road right to our B & B. Paddy and
Maureen host the Shamrock Lodge on Knocknacarra Rd. She met us and welcomed us
effusively. She’s got dark red hair and freckles and is enthusiastically
friendly. She made suggestions for touring and dinner and assured us that her
husband would set us on our way to see whatever it was we wanted at breakfast
tomorrow. She suggested we take a ferry to the Aran Islands since we didn’t go
yesterday but we told her we’d sworn off small boats for the rest of the trip.
She chided that we were too tired to remember anything she said about touring
and should have a rest. We obeyed.
The room is small but our view is of the Cliffs of Moher.
Maureen says it’s five minutes away as the bird flies. That’s one fast bird.
But we can see the cliffs glinting on the horizon. We have a queen bed and
twin. There are towel racks in the bathroom but no hooks. The furnishings make
up for any lack of hooks. There is a colorful quilt on the bed and an electric
blanket beneath. We have a TV and a tea set all our own. Things are looking up.
We’re here two nights.
We followed Maureen’s suggestion and parked along the
promenade and walked to a restaurant she’d mentioned. It reminded me of our
time in Surfer’s Paradise, Australia only lots colder. The people here must be
crossed with polar bears. It was probably in the high 50’s this evening. They
weren’t wearing wet suits but were happily swimming and paddling surfboards
around. I don’t know about the surfboards. The Bay is smooth as glass. The area
where we’re staying is only 1.5 miles out of the city center and is called Salt
Hill. It’s a resort and has a honky-tonk atmosphere with an amusement park and
arcades.
Tomorrow we’ll tour Connemara National Park. It’s a place of
great beauty and marble quarries.
I won’t try to explain AOL but we tried to find an Internet
Café today. We don’t have access at our B & B. We were able to get on our
Todaho account on AOL then the Ciminis got onto their accounts. When we tried
to get into Todaho again we couldn’t. I had to send it from my tobykhorowitz
account. Go figure.
Our B & B. The wife appeared today. She’d minding the
grandchildren in Cork. By comparison he’s the friendlier of the two. David went
in to introduce himself; she looked up at him and said, “O.K” then went back to
watching TV. I’m into what will probably be a long paragraph on the B & B
so if you don’t want to read it skip ahead. I stood in the bathroom taking
notes this morning. The fluorescent light over the sink is not working. The
ceiling bulb is dim but fortunately there’s a big window. The spiders scuttling
across the ceiling don’t seem to mind the dim lighting. Perhaps they find it
romantic. We were right about the shower. They tried to scald us. It was
boiling hot at first then went to freezing with hardly a turn of the knob. It
needed a period of adjustment to find a comfortable level on its own before
settling down. I suspected that whoever cleaned the shower stall before we came
didn’t look higher than the floor. Although things appear to be clean there was
a used shampoo packet in the soap dish. There was no soap for the shower. The
hotel-sized bar on the sink was already unwrapped for our convenience or the
convenience of the previous tenant. There are no towel bars nor are there any
hooks or shelves in the bathroom. Our toiletry bags are hanging on hangers
hooked over the shower bar. And for a special surprise in the middle of the
night when we didn’t turn the light on in the bathroom, the wooden toilet seat
is cracked. That’s it for the bathroom.
The room itself has a double and a twin bed. Our bags are on
the twin. There are no pictures on the walls and no shelves in the room. Our
closet is filled with blankets, which came in handy last night. There’s central
heating but it’s off for summer no matter how low the temperature drops. I
slept in my robe with three wool blankets on top of me and David cuddling to
keep me warm. There’s enough toilet paper in our closet to supply all of
Ireland during a plague of dysentery. It could also be used as sponges to soak
up the blood spilled from falls down the killer steps. The carpeting is
conveniently blood red. The steps appear unexpectedly in the hall just outside
our door. The carpet is patterned to help camouflage the fact that there are
steps there. I took all three of them in one bound the first time I left the
room and have taken it upon myself to remind everyone to “mind the steps” each
time we leave. Adding to the ambiance, the walls are thin. I could hear a
Cimini sawing away last night and had to use earplugs.
Cliff Hanging
I managed to get rolling this morning after itemizing all of
the above lest I omit any fascinating detail and deprive you. We had clear
directions to the Cliffs of Moher but David always thinks we’re going in the
wrong direction while the three of us assume we’re on target. He decided that
the tour bus in front of us had to know where it was going and followed it. It
reminded me of the time his father was lost and followed a line of cars
because, “They looked like they knew where they were going.” They did and he
ended up in a cemetery at a funeral. The bus did great until it took a turn
that didn’t jive with our map. David kept the faith until road markers and we
three prevailed.
As we wandered onto the right track we noticed that the
sheep were still asleep. I pondered what they counted in order to get to sleep.
Perhaps they count lost tourists. There’s no lack of them. We spoke to our son
Daniel today and he remarked that we spent most of our time getting lost. It’s
true but that’s when we have lots of laughs. Tonight Karen wanted to load up on
“Digestive Biscuits” for the trip. They’re very tasty cookies and we don’t know
what they have to do with digestion. Tesco is a grocery chain in Ireland and
we’d seen a Tesco sign. We found the sign again but couldn’t find the entrance
into the parking lot. We did get lost in the wrong lot and David made several
false turns before we found the exit. We circled the block three times until we
realized Tesco was closed. David said the only way we could find it would be to
go to the B & B, find the roundabout, and start all over again. There was
another grocery open and when we went there they told us that the Tesco is in a
mall and not visible from the street.
We did get to the Cliffs but they were obscured by fog. It
was “misting” out so we geared up and set out for the Visitor’s Center. I must
confess I had on five layers having been warned about the wind, rain, and cold.
I had on a silk t-shirt, long-sleeved cotton shirt, sweater, windbreaker, and
intermediate winter jacket with hood. I also had a scarf around my neck. The
Visitor’s Center is unobtrusively built into a hill and we huddled there with
the other tourists waiting for the fog to lift. I decided to hurry it up by
standing outside and doing tai-chi breathing while visualizing inhaling the fog
and exhaling the warmth of the sun. It worked.The sky cleared and we had balmy blue skies and sun. I was sweating and
shedding layers like crazy.
Walls on the farms in the area of the Cliffs are built from
slabs of stone piled one on the other not the usual whole round stones we’re
used to seeing. At the Cliffs, large slabs of slate stand on end and form the
walls. Eel fossils are plentiful in the slate, which leads me to this theory:
St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland and into the sea. That’s where all
those eels came from. Works for me.
The wind was blowing and a woman was playing the harp. The
blue skies beckoned us along the path and lured our gaze to the 700-foot drop
to a cobalt sea. Birds flew at eye level then teased us by dropping away to
their cliff dwellings below. We were surrounded by the power and majesty of
nature and then there was the email kiosk where tourists could send photos of
themselves at the site. Commercialization is alive and well.
The Irish Coast Guard was all around us. They were
rappelling down the cliffs when I asked a park worker if it was practice. He
thought it was since there were no helicopters or boats involved. He said that
they’d lost three people over the side that year “that they know of.”
Sea Worthy
There are ferry rides to the Aran Islands that we wanted to
go on but they stayed on the island longer than we wanted. We opted for an hour-long
cruise below the cliffs to get a different perspective. We had to kill a couple
of hours so grabbed a pub lunch in the nearby town of Doolin whose existence
seems to be to feed and house tourists to the Cliffs.
A good thing it was that we had time to digest our meal.
This was the Nazca Lines debacle for David. I’d gotten nauseous on a flight in
Peru to see the lines in the desert made by “aliens” and he almost gave it up
at the Cliffs of Moher. He clutched his plastic barf bag like it was a life vest.
I went to the rear deck to take photos and got queasy from the diesel fumes so
joined him in suffering on the trip back to the dock. I didn’t take my own bag.
I thought we could share. Amazingly, he proudly walked up the gangplank
clutching his empty bag.
At dinner Karen who’s a therapist with a PhD in psychology
watched as parents permitted rowdy children to wreak havoc in the restaurant.
It was reassuring to see living proof that she will have clients in the future.
Somewhere in America parents are also messing up their kids.
It’s true confession time. We lost our Heritage Pass a few
days ago. We only missed out using it on a couple of attractions but our senior
rates kicked in and saved us some money. The Ciminis are giving theirs to us
since they leave for home tomorrow. We’ll drop them off at the Shannon Airport.
I think that airport was in search of a city and called it Shannon. We can’t
find any city and it’s not mentioned in Fodor’s. We tried to find the City
Center tonight and all the signs led us back to our B & B.
Do you want to know why Irish dancers keep their hands at
their sides? According to Fodor’s dancing was thought to be un-Christian. We
all know that from the movie “Footloose” with Kevin Bacon. Irish dancers were
taught to move as little of their bodies as possible and not to smile lest they
seem to be enjoying it.
Our day started at Muckross House a 16,590 square foot
mansion built in 1898. Although the stonework of the façade paled next to Stan
Hywet in Akron the interior sparkled with original pieces dating from its
inception through its redecoration for the two day stay of Queen Victoria and
on to the 1970’s brass chandelier that resembles the one hanging in our own
dining room. Now that’s a run-on sentence. There were too many dead animals
hanging from the walls to suit our taste but each and every hanging crystal
chandelier was a Waterford. The house has had a checkered past. At one point it
was owned by Californians who gave it to their daughter as a wedding gift. One
family had to sell acreage to keep out of bankruptcy. The present owner lives
in France and visits during the month of July to spend his birthday there. He
is 88. The original owners held over 40,000 acres. Most of the acreage was sold
off over the years but the house and last 12,000 acres were donated to the
National Park in 1932.
Jaunting through the grounds and nearby forest in a
horse-drawn cart was available.Dennis,
our driver, and Susie, his 8-year old Irish draft horse with pinto markings,
took us on our merry way. Dennis urged the mare on and gentled her by singing
songs from ABBA. We sang both of them the song, “If You Knew Susie.” He seemed
pleased. The wagon was sagging at the rear as we lurched through the forest
primeval with Susie pulling our weight. We stopped to climb up to a waterfall
and resumed our trek back with a much livelier Susie. She knew that a treat was
waiting for her at the barn.
We were told that Ross Castle is worth seeing but skipped
it. Fodor’s didn’t think it was great and neither did Rick Steves. They’re
becoming ABC’s: another bloody castle or another bloody cathedral.
The Creeps
We aimed to stop in Adare outside Limerick after lunch. It
was a cute town inundated with tourists (Israelis too). Its claim to fame is
thatched houses. All six of the houses were on the main street. We checked at
the tourist info center and learned that there was a priory and abbey to see as
well. We decided to get to our B & B in Shannon instead.
We did see a sign that wouldn’t fly in the U.S: Jap Cars
Limerick. They did indeed sell Toyotas and Nissans.
Our B & B is creepy. It’s not an old creepy place. It’s
the people in it who are creepy. There seems to be a host without a hostess
although she may appear tomorrow morning. The tables are set for breakfast and
the orange juice is poured. The juice glasses are protectively covered with
napkins. The host did not introduce himself. There are two skulking teen-age
type boys who keep going outside for a smoke or sit in the dark watching TV. We
don’t know if they’re guests or family. There is an electric shower that is
familiar to us now but it’s switched on all the time. In our other B & B
they told us to be sure to turn it off when we weren’t using it. Ron
conjectured that perhaps the owners of the B & B were cannibals. When we
stepped into the shower it would be hot enough to cook us then they’d eat us
for breakfast. So far they haven’t asked what we’d want for breakfast but I’m
not eating any meat.
I’ve mentioned the plethora of potatoes served in Ireland.
It’s even the rule to serve fries with Shepherd’s Pie. Shepherd’s Pie is
seasoned ground beef topped with mashed potatoes. Tonight took the cake. The
woman at the next table had six scoops of mashed potatoes on her plate.
Karen always wanted to write a limerick in Limerick even
though the five-line ditties aren’t named for the city. Here’s hers:
A limerick she wanted to write
T’would make her seem witty and bright.
But nothing came through.
What she’d heard was too true.
Writing limericks in Limerick was trite.
We lit Shabbat candles in our room
tonight, used leftover bread for motze, and tiny tourist sample bottles of Mead
served as wine for Kiddush. We thought that our host might be spooked hearing
an odd language coming from our room. We decided that if confronted we’d tell
him we’re Druids. Had we ordered the lamb chops at dinner tonight we could have
smeared lamb blood on our doors to keep the Angel of Death and evil away.
It’s another beautiful blue-skied sunny day. We’ve had
scattered mist but, my oh my, we’ve brought the first good weather Ireland has
had all summer. Now that I’ve written it down we should get rain. I expect rain
in N. Ireland. Every weather map we’ve seen has a dark cloud in the North.
Thank goodness I’m not the only jaded person here. David has
joined me. We took a bus tour of the Ring of Kerry. It lasted most of the day.
We were picked up at our hotel by the wobbliest bus I’ve ever ridden. It
pitched and heaved from front to back and side to side. I’m a good judge of bus
stability since I’ve taken notes for these emails while riding dozens of them
around the world.
The bus driver/guide told us that it’s peak season in
Ireland, but we haven’t seen many Americans and where have all the Japanese
gone? St. Mary’s, however, is with us wherever we go. The guide pointed to yet
another St. Mary’s Church. This is about the third we’ve seen in this country
and I’m not counting the ones in Wales. I think she’s following us.
Here’s what we saw today: mountains, streams, hills, rivers,
farms, sheep, cows, and lakes. They were blue, green, brown, and white. Were
they lovely? Yes, they were. Did they look like others of their ilk all over
the world? Yes, they did. We stopped at a model peat farm and wandered through
thatch-roofed huts looking at artifacts that could have come from Hale Farm in
Akron or Williamsburg in Virginia. I did wonder about a pile of what looked
like huge animal turds lying about. Turned out to be peat set out to dry. Bog
ponies were about (they’re a separate breed unto themselves) but not the source
of the turd piles. (Did you know that spell check doesn’t recognize the word
turds?)
The bus driver played Irish music and tapes of an Irish
comedian to keep us amused between narratives. One song, Dicey Riley, caught
our attention. We couldn’t understand most of the lyrics but it seemed to be
about a whore. We struck up a conversation with a couple from the North Island
of New Zealand, and they joined us for lunch. Gaelic spellings
are more evident in this area and I faced a dilemma when I went to the rest
room. A man went through the door to one toilet but the other was marked MNA.
Evidently that signifies the women’s room since no one kicked me out.
We lurched along the seacoast near Dingle Bay, rolled
through mountain gaps, and crested their 3000-foot high “behemoth.” There were
musicians atop one peak but when we got out to see the views I was more
intrigued by the man with lambs. He let me hold one while David took my
picture. He got a coin for his trouble and I got coated in lanolin.
It was time for a snooze so I missed the story about Herzog
of Israel whose father was chief Rabbi of Ireland. When Herzog was President of
Israel he became close friends of the President of Ireland. Herzog came to
Ireland to honor the president at his death. He dedicated a memorial to him in
the town of Sneem where Herzog grew up.
The last part of our journey was on the perimeter of a
National Park. No truck or automobile traffic is allowed in the park. No need
for traffic “calming” here. I failed to tell you about my latest favorite sign.
It warns that there will be “traffic calming” ahead. We call them speed bumps.
Welcome Change
We bumbled our way along the streets of Killarney and found
a Thai restaurant that had been recommended. None of us could face another
shepherd’s pie or fish and chips. The dinner was delicious. It was everything
we wanted it to be. As we were leaving a lesbian couple whom we’d seen at three
other cities came in. They’re from Melbourne, Australia and one of them was
here for a conference on suicide prevention. We couldn’t think of a way to let
them know we have a connection but our paths may cross again. Short of handing
them a PFLAG card I’ll try to think of another was to get the signal out.
We’d planned to take a carriage ride around the city after
dinner but the horses retire at 6 PM. We ended up playing Scrabble and drinking
in the hotel bar. We only had one drink each but we’re cheap drunks and
staggered up to our rooms at 9:30. BTW Karen won.
Tomorrow we’ll visit around here before taking off for
Shannon. We hope to arrive early enough to beat rush hour traffic.
