May 15–June 14, 2013
May 15
After leaving Urs in Zurich we make our way to Basel, a Swiss city on the crossroads of borders, Switzerland, Germany and France. Giant chestnut trees line both sides of the road, bursting with their big white flowers. Magnificent! We are traveling inside the tunnel that their branches make reaching across to the fellows on the opposite side. In Basel, we choose the Beyeler Foundation museum to visit. It is in a lovely part of town consisting of galleries and restaurants. Surrounding the museum is an old wall, and plenty of parklands. It is a pretty walk to its doors. But, most of the museum is closed for renovation or changes in exhibits so we decide to save the 50 euro entrance fee and look in the local private galleries instead.
Two really good exhibits. The first is sculpture, stressed weathered metal pieces saved and shaped into new graceful forms that are tall and thin with surprises as you walk around them. The other is the work of a woman painter. She is painting while we are there with diluted acrylic paints; the colors are premixed in bowls next to her. She has many large panels stacked against the wall, all in an incomplete state. She pulls out a few and lays them on the floor, adding to them both as she works. Her work is abstract, color and line, fresh and sure. As she makes a stroke I am thrilled at her choice, a thin line, a run of color into another, making a new color where they collide. Some parts float, some anchor. She has inspired me.
We leave to go into France, as it is our pathway to our intended ferry to Plymouth, England. We have circled 'St. Hippolyte' on our map, a suggestion from someone along the way, but our guidebook does not mention it. We will blindly head for it and hope to see signs. Tonight we sleep by a full and fast-flowing river, a medium size French river with trees at its edges, willow branches sweeping into the water. We are in a tiny village, maybe just a stop or gathering place for a few locals and travelers, a few buildings and homes and one busy dog.
May16
My, my! So this is the old established picturesque village of St. Hippolyte! We found small obscure signs to it through very rural country and forests, turning right on this road, left on that. I think we came through the back door, finally landing here in a low spot surrounded by a matrix of hills covered with soft leafy trees. A river flows through. This is a really special setting. We need to shop for groceries. The store looks strange from the outside, as though there could not possibly be much in it... but people come and go so we give it a try. It yields lots of good stuff. We are set for another week. There is probably much to learn about the history of St. Hippolyte but it is a sleepy rainy day and we are anxious to get on our way... we will have to be content with the beauty the setting offers.
As we sometimes mistakenly do, we choose the wrong road, which turns out to be the road we prefer for its remoteness and scenery. We weave through remarkable French countryside and villages, pastures and forests on hillsides, placid rivers softened by raindrops. Cows watch as we pass, their eyes riveted on us as they chew. What are they thinking with their big docile brown staring eyes?
Lilacs at their fullest; purple, lilac and white, the trees thick with blossoms. Breathtaking scenery continues on and on, soft and pastoral, and damp. We turn on the van heater, which sends me into a sleepy state. David catches me nodding, eyes closed... he laughs. “Just like a cat”, he says.
Lately WIFI accessibility has been a problem for us. We stop along the way, the Orange store, McDonalds, the Orange store again, Cora electronics. Why is this so hard? Every phone provider is in this business to make money, every angle covered. Every country is independent so we have to do it over and over. We don't need or want a phone or facsimile. We just want to be able to use our laptop wherever we choose, in any country. Is there no solution? The older I get, the less patient I am with things that I do not understand. It turns out that all provider employees do not understand it all either.
Tonight we have a lovely blend of wine to go with dinner, a 'calm us down' wine, Grenache, Syrah and Cinsault grape blend. Cotes du Rhone, Silver medal, Paris 2012. 4 euro.
May 17
We wake in the town of Vesoul. We must keep moving. Tomorrow we have a date with friends in Montmorillon. The road leads us by white cows, white sheep, white chickens, all with adorable young ones. The calves still have sleepy looks on their faces and fluffy white wooly coats. The lambs are so full of sweetness, already learning the ropes. We see dark brown colts with their mothers, just hours old. Shaky unsure legs stepping carefully.
A sporty silver Morgan passes us, convertible top is down; its driver has thick wavy grey hair and a red scarf. Rather striking!
We stop at 8:00 pm and put together a dinner salad. Torn lettuce, lots of fresh strawberries, sliced apples and pears, chicken pieces and chopped onion... dressed in olive oil, balsamic vinegar and a tiny bit of mayonnaise to coat. Then salt and pepper to finish.
May 18 thru 21
We find Montmorillon and Bert and Michelle's home. We are long-time friends, first knowing each other in Seattle, then in Spokane, Washington. Luck would have it that we lived three blocks from each other there. Michelle is French. The two of them spend half their time here in France and the other in their Seattle home. (We both sold our Spokane homes.) They have just arrived in Montmorillon the day before. We are lucky to cross paths for a few hours. Their home sits in a stately neighborhood across the street from a rectangular grassy square. The house is old and wonderful (with quirks, as they say) and a pretty garden. Two attached garages have been combined and turned into a lovely sitting room. Exposed beams and brick walls. Very cozy, very French... Michelle's touches. She brings tea to us on a tray as we enjoy each other’s company. We tell stories old and new; report on friends, etc.
The house is centrally located in the city. We each grab an umbrella and walk in the rain to one of their favorite restaurants. It is modern and spiffy with pink serviettes and grey place mats. 13 euros for three courses... just a few choices. My meal: 1) Salad of cabbage and carrots and a side of butter lettuce dressed in balsamic vinegar 2) Roast duck leg in a sauce, parsnips cubed with some scattered green beans (good colors, good textures), roast potatoes. 3) Fresh strawberries in vanilla custard. This is a lovely meal with dear friends. But we are off again, leaving Bert and Michelle to recuperate from their long trip from the USA. We might cross paths again before they head home in September.
Our route goes through Angers. Let's stop and see if our Servas friend Mireille is home. It would be lovely to visit her for a few hours. So we ring the doorbell and yes, she is home and looks at us with a great deal of surprise! She has friends visiting her for the weekend. How rude to give her no warning, but she is truly happy to see us and invites us in, and what a lovely time we have, all five of us. Mireille makes sure we get what we need... as she knows! Showers, WIFI access and a beautiful lunch with new friends in the mix.
Rain! Rain! Every day almost constant rain! We spend the night next to a fort in Guingamp, close to the ferry terminal at Roscoff, but doddle in the morning, enough to miss the one ferry per day to Plymouth. We tend to let schedules go, just take things as they come... Maybe this time we should have paid more attention to details. But, now we have tickets for the next day’s five-hour trip, leaving at 3:00. So. What shall we do today? Let's drive 20km to Morlaix.
There are artichokes in every field! It is spectacular to see as these plants are quite unique/exotic, big strong green bulbs poking into the air. And spring flowers everywhere, orange, lavender, purple and white… big orange poppies. The sky is still dull and grey but the growth of the season is wild and happy.
Morlaix is an upscale boating and fishing town. A long estuary reaches into a river mouth. The tide is out and the estuary is almost empty, boats lie dry on the mud or wait for the next tide in puddles, tethered to floats. We follow along the far edge until we come to a small fishing village. Lots of charm… the real thing… There are scow-like boats, long and low. What are they used for? Shrimping? Processing buildings are scattered on a small peninsula. They have been here forever. The homes are lovely old stone and well kept. I can see a child playing with a balloon in a front room. He probably isn't aware of this unique and stunning view; it's his everyday world. A temporary sign, in French, tells us that a mini Tour de France came though here earlier today. We bunk down for the night in the heart of this community. And in the morning, we still have time to see another town.
Pleujean: A tiny town with a perfectly kept square. The main attraction is off the square, a Gothic church of the 11th Century. This too, is well maintained. Flowers decorate the grounds, again the theme of orange poppies with flowers in shades of purple and white. A stone side-chapel has flowering window boxes. The streets are lined with very tall, very thin houses. I can easily visualize the bustled long dresses escorted by top hats and canes, strolling down the sidewalks. Parasols? We enter the patisserie. Let's take some fancy French baking to our friends in Devon... but of course we have a little nibble of something in the moment… and a baguette for our next meal. Oh, those baguettes!
Time to head for the ferry. Two cute girls have their thumbs out and pleading looks on their faces. Jump in! These two are cousins who travel together every chance they get. They had taken their car onto a local island at low tide, and because of the huge spring high tide their car is stranded for a while. They walked off, deciding to see what is in Roscoff, maybe even a good lunch, until the next low tide. You can tell they are not from an ocean city! They were fun... and having fun. We were happy to have them with us.
At the moment, we are in a huge ferry, seated at tables in the bow. Another English Channel crossing… I am reminded of the movie, “WELCOME”, in which a young man practices hard to swim the English Channel from France, alone. His girlfriend has recently moved to England with her family. This is his best chance to get to her. He is illegally out of Iraq, his home. I watch the waves and think of him. His arms and legs moving in rhythm, on and on, propelled by the swim fins on his feet. Propelled by the need to be with her. Having done some long distance swimming myself, I can feel what this challenge would be like and know that one can get into the 'zone' and keep going. The water supports you. It is up to you to move yourself forward. It is a great movie. I won't tell you the end.
On this ferry ride we meet Dan and Mo Groves from Gloucester. We exchange email addresses. Gloucester is not far from the Cotswold’s. Perhaps we will see them again.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> Not all women in France are thin and beautiful and dressed to perfection. Maybe in old Paris this is the norm, or in jobs that require you to look good, but otherwise both men and women look just like Americans... jeans and accessories on a variety of body shapes.
> For my family... it is interesting to notice that often we see Panabode construction.
> I have a habit of stretching out my hand and caressing the landscape with a slow sweep. It is a response evoked by appreciation of what I am seeing before me. David always laughs at me... or, for fun, he started to imitate me when he sees something worth the gesture. Ah, but he admitted to me that it feels pretty good.
> The French do not pick up their dog leavings.
> The French do certainly have style/flair.
> The French make pastry an art... both looks and taste.
> The French are pretty relaxed about life in a delicious way.
> In Europe, there persists the heaviness of religious name places. This is heavy and somewhat dark to me.
> When following GPS directions, how many times can you turn left without coming full circle… or chasing your own tail?
> A bumper sticker from Pastor Andy. “GOD BLESS EVERYBODY. NO EXCEPTIONS.”
> A graffiti message...'Make the banks pay. They owe us all!'
May 22
We arrive in Bovey Tracey, Devon. We have been here before and made great friends, Christine and Bob Hough. They have invited us to stay the night. But first we make a quick stop to see what is new in the Art and Craft Guild. They have such high quality work, and it does not disappoint. It is much like Bainbridge Island’s Art and Craft venue. And then we hunt for Chris and Bob. The GPS is not quite sure... but since we have been there before, we help 'her'. Such good and interesting folks! Pilots and train enthusiasts and gardeners... and worldwide travelers. We inspect the garden. We can see forever from the top, out past farms and hills and beyond to the moors. It is a good time to see everything, as there is much in flower, also, a large variety of uncommon plants. We walk down the sloped path, past two greenhouses stuffed full of seedlings. At the garden bottom a small swimming pool waits to be filled, just a few degrees warmer air temperature and it will be time.
I know that Chris is not fond of cooking, but she makes a most delicious dish for dinner. Fish pie, she calls it... ”It is so easy!” That is hard to believe because it really is special. But here is what she told me: frozen pieces of fish like haddock, cod, salmon. Cook and cool. Layer large cooked shrimp on top. Layer mashed potatoes on top... and add a sauce of bouillon and heavy British cream on top of the potatoes. Bake to heat, as everything has already been cooked.
And I have a story to tell about Christine. She cannot have dessert with us at dinner that night as she has a meeting she must attend. She is on the local hospital board and they must make some serious decisions. Of course, not everyone is in agreement so there are some unnecessary 'go-rounds'. You know the kind, hashing a subject over and over, can't give up on your own point of view even if it would be right for the overall good. Well, after a bit, Chris has her say. It is something to do with the unnecessary talk and keeping to the point. She also offers some valuable insight into the subject. When she leaves, long time board member says, “Christine, you have a lot of common sense.” Well! Chris came home high as a kite... laughing and dancing and repeating, “I have a lot of common sense! I have a lot of common sense!” She just never thought she would hear those words from that particular source or group.
We have such a good time in their home. Comfy big bed… a bath of our own… breakfast ready… good talks. They spoil us! We will meet up again, I hope several times, before we leave the UK.
May 23
We leave to visit David Hives, the owner of the home we will be house sitting in mid-June into July. We want to assure he and his wife Gaynor that we will be capable of the job. A nice fellow, all will work well.
Now the focus is pointed toward getting to Ireland by a Welsh ferry. Again, the fairytale-like countryside rolls by. Thin roads are bordered on both sides in pale green and dotted white... grass and leaves and Queen Ann’s Lace… airy and light, curving around bends. In the open, racing clouds roll over the brilliant yellow rapeseed fields, causing moving stripes of bright and subdued color. Massive oak trees stretch their twisting leaf-filled branches to far reaches. Awesome.
Monmouth, Wales. Here we meet Antonio (originally from Italy wouldn't you guess), a retired chef, married a Welsh girl and has been here 30 years. Our license plate has called him to our van window. He is sort of a self-appointed mayor of the neighborhood. He gives us advice on where to park and what restaurant we might go to. He should know, the best food, not expensive. “It is called the Wetherspoon and is just across from the statue of Rolls Stewart who invented the airplane engine. He was born here.” We find a parking place near the town center and walk to the Wetherspoon Hotel (after taking a good look at Mr. Stewart). It is a fine old timber-built building. Inside, it is crammed with folks. Dressed up girls attracting boys, laughter and giggling and visiting around. We have arrived on 'Curry Club Night'. So, lets have curry! David has lamb, me beef... with rice and chutney, pocket bread and a crisp tortilla. Beer. It is a fun atmosphere. We walk through the old streets, through the churchyard, to our 'home', roll out the bed, close the blinds. Goodnight.
May 24
We are off to St. David's, the furthest point on the lower west coast of Wales... not far from our ferry connection to Ireland. (An aside: Gas is 5.50 pounds per imperial gallon, the lowest on our trip so far) A treat is the town of Llandeilo. All the houses are attached as usual, but here they have painted each section in different colors. It is very gay. Loved the look. We travel through more bucolic country until we come over a hill and before us is a huge stretch of white sand, a sea green ocean being whipped up by a stiff wind, headlands and islands in the distance. Kites and tents are both being buffeted by the wind. It is sunny but there are lovely dappled shadows dancing on the road... wind in the leaves above.
St. David's is a wonderful vacation spot, low-key, quiet… beach town shops. We have come to see the huge cathedral complex. Old walled fort, castle in ruins. Inside the church the floors slant toward the sea. The columns are bowed, leaning outwards. 1,000 years old. It has been fortified and is still in wonderful condition and still used, Church of Wales (Anglican). We were lucky enough to be there as the church community was beginning a music festival. Today’s performance was a children’s choir. Several choirs were participating together, fresh young voices. While waiting for the concert to start I talked with the woman sitting next to me, Welsh born. She has the ability to speak the old language, as do her children. Her son married a Welsh-only speaking girl and their children speak only Welsh.
Once her daughter was in Brittany, France, and had the opportunity to speak to a Breton speaker, an old man. They spoke different dialects but could easily understand each another.
May 25
Hey, it's my birthday! Those milestones come 'round faster and faster. This one... seventy-one!
We park in a lower Fishguard boat harbor after getting our ferry tickets for a 2:25 pm three-hour sailing to Ireland. This yard seems a meeting place for young Welsh Sea Cadets, jaunty berets on jaunty bodies. They own a few boats in this yard; the prettiest is a strappy little wood sailboat. This is such a good pastime for young boys.
We have plenty of time to explore. A hike along a bay walk seems just the thing. Paths shoot off in many directions. Signposts. Take your pick. This is such a beautiful day, sunshine and cool brisk breezes. Many folks are out taking advantage of this weather. Folk music wafts out across the bay, coming from an open pub door. We stop by a headstone at path side. Raymond Lewis 1915 – 2009 “Happy memories as I too go thither my final way, the way to the sea”. And his wife Molly 1924 – 2012 “Who can fear the God who made the rose?”
There is the dearest tiny house sitting trail side, immaculate, just big enough for a few folks to stay in. The family has each of their names drawn into the concrete step. Tiny woodpile… tiny garden strip. We can see below into a sunlit glade. David says, “Well, this is an Auntie Lou house.” (Nephews, Chris and Caley will understand that comment.) And then we come to another. A man is sitting in front of his little home, coffee in hand, sun on his face. This house is attached to four others. But, this house is adorable. A Welsh man and his wife own it. The rest are owned as summer places by people from all over the world. When they bought it, it was a mess but now it is so sweet. Painted and trimmed… lovely plantings in pots… the sitting bench between them. To us, small is beautiful.
These paths are so civilized. They ramble through the best places, along the water or high above, into and out of neighborhoods. Enjoyed by all, the people's right. It is something we have to learn in North America. I remember paths like this from my childhood summers on Texada Island in British Columbia. I went back years later and they were gone, swallowed up by people who want privacy.
Another example:
There is a road-end problem on Bainbridge Island, where David and I used to live. In Washington State, the beach is not public, only the part below the tide line. It belongs to the owner of the house above. But, there are public road-ends, access points for all people to enjoy a small part of the beaches or views. But, over the years folks with privacy issues are swallowing them up. They extend their gardens and pretend that there is no access point there. To others it looks like private property. But these points are on maps. A committee was formed to reclaim them for all islanders.
My friend Virginia and I decided to help this along. Close by there was a road end not being used by the public. It had grown thick with salal bush and other island-loving plants. The road ended on a cliff. The view was amazing, looking across the sound toward Seattle. Let's clip though it and put a bench at the end of it. It was an exciting plan! The path would be narrow, just comfortable to walk through singly. There would still be plenty of growth at each side, 5-foot high growth. So, we began clipping branches and leaves and pulling roots. Day by day we progressed until we were approached by one of the neighbors. “What are you doing?” “We are opening up a trail on this road-end.” “You can't do that!” “Why not? It is a public road.” Before long we were told to stop. The neighbors had hired a very expensive lawyer to go to the city council with their grievance. The city wanted their money, came to a settlement and gave them the deed. I still get 'hot under the collar' thinking about it. Money and greed rule.
I am writing this on a super ferry from Wales to Ireland, Fishguard, to a port near Wexford, on the lower east coast. From here we drive to Waterford (I am not too interested in crystal but they do make great wood stoves) for a birthday celebration to finish off our day. Well, about all we find open in Waterford is a Chinese restaurant. The last time we tried impromptu Chinese food it was terrible, but in this case we are pleasantly surprised. The restaurant has a new and beautifully appointed interior and the food is excellent. Lots of folks were having birthdays as the 'Happy Birthday Song' was being sung. Next to us, a table of 12 young women was having a great time celebrating one friend's 30th birthday. I went over to congratulate her, since we shared the day. Soon it was known that it was my birthday. I begged the waitress not to sing! It was a successful acknowledgment of the day for me.
May 26th
The Rock of Cashel. We drive into the little town of Cashel, turn a corner and literally gasp! At the end of the straight street is a hill with a massive fort perched on top. Massive! Breathtaking! We find the parking lot and read Rick's guidebook once again. It is a seat of ancient kings beginning in 300 A.D. St. Patrick baptized one of these kings in about 450 A.D. Clans fought over this rock for hundreds of years. Finally it landed in the hands of the church in 1101 and evolved into a religious center. So in this fort we will see this latest phase. We climb the hill on easy stairs, to buy our tickets in an old entrance hall.
Who lived here then? An archbishop apparently, who was surrounded by vicars for his support, choral singers, administrators, all literate and living very comfortably. We see the vicars' quarters: original furniture, tapestries, and windows for light on white painted walls. In the center of an outside space stands a replica of the original Celtic cross (a cross with a circle said to have been added to the cross to represent the sun, to entice pagans to become Christians), the original placed in the museum, having weathered, causing loss of detail. Our guide tells us some stories... folklore. It is said that if you put your arms around the cross trunk, and your fingers touch you will never get another toothache! Another, if you hop around the cross to the left you will be married within the year. The guide assured us that it has been reported that this has come true! In fact, one woman met her husband minutes later!
We are escorted into the small Cormac's Chapel. This is Ireland's first Romanesque chapel. Over 800 years ago the Roman church decided that it needed to change the wild ways of the individually developed Irish Christian churches. The Roman church began to build new buildings in their own prescribed way, this being a basilica plan and ornately decorated. There are still faint fresco paintings, even though later the protestants removed what they could, no decoration inside a church for them!
There is a graveyard on the grounds with a view over the fertile farms of the Plains of Tipperary, once oak forests. Also, one can see the ruins of the Cistercian Hore Abbey below. We were told by locals that this abbey and path to it is wonderful, a place of peace and, free!
Close by is a round tower, 92 feet tall, a lookout and bell tower in its time, and a place to hide things. Standing between the chapel and the round tower, the cathedral was built in the mid 13thcentury, in the early Gothic style. The roof is gone but the structure is stunning. One end, shortening the nave, an archbishop’s castle was built later into the existing cathedral structure. A pathway, high inside the thick walls, allowed the bishop to walk entirely around the sanctuary, unseen but seeing. The very tall, very skinny windows are unusual. The story goes that glass was very expensive and the bishop refused to pay for a regular sized window.
We need to find an ATM so we can get out of the parking lot! We walk into town. It is a very cozy nice town. Beer stop! Outside table! David's Guinness on tap is so smooth. Incredible. My lighter Irish beer is delicious. I overhear a conversation extolling the beauty of British Columbia. “Hey, I'm from there!” And the conversation with the man from Toronto goes on. Honora and Mark are also here with their beautiful dog, Doberman-lab mix, so sweet and good. Mark says that his dream is to move to Canada, live in a log house and watch the whales go by. “Well”, I said, “I am now about to make you jealous!” I tell him about our wilderness hideaway, the creation of Klee Wyck, a beach cabin on the open British Columbia coast...reached only by kayak. No roads. And then he says, “Now I suppose you are going to tell me that there are whales.” I guess you know my answer.
Our destination next is Cork. We position ourselves for the night, close to a phone store so we can purchase an Irish computer WIFI chip for our existing dongle. It seems that our Turkish dongle (to plug into our USB port) is not 'locked' so we can use it anywhere as long as we buy new chips in each country we go to. That is good news!
May 27
Kinsale. It has an almost closed harbor that goes dry with the 10-foot tide. A lot of important history happened here. Copper was mined in Kinsale to add to the tin in Cornwall to make bronze. Also, England needed this harbor to 'rule the waves'. But, Spain fought for Ireland against the English, under the auspices of saving and protecting the 'dear Catholics'. The Chieftains from the north of Ireland saw their chance to rid the island of the English so joined the Spanish. The English managed to win this important skirmish, making peace with Spain and beginning the plantation of Scots to Northern Ireland (Where my ancestors enter the picture and also the beginning of the 'TROUBLES' between the North and the South). And one more thing of interest; the passenger ship Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk off shore in 1915.
Besides it's history, the town is the brightest yet, along the small old streets, each attached two-story slim store is painted in a different color, a great combination of colors from one to the next, a pleasure to see the happy effect it has when looking down the street. Good art galleries. Good fish and chips, and Heineken beer. Hey, where is the Irish beer? I was happy to find good fodder for my camera. There are snippets of walls, posters, graffiti and signs. There is so much inspiration for painting! Where do I start, and when?
David is out inspecting the Charles Fort, built to protect the harbor, using the new artillery. The English occupied it until Ireland won its independence in 1922.
There is a stone circle within an easy distance drive. The image that impresses us along the road is a white horse and a white swan at a small millpond in the late sun shadows. We reach the ancient space of spirit and mystery, Drombeg. As usual, the stones are placed so that on the winter solstice, as the sun sets, it cast its light across the reclining stone and between the two tallest entry stones. When it was built the circle of standing stones would have started with the tallest stones at the entry, the height decreasing to the opposite side. Today, the stones are varying heights, pieces buried in the grass beside them, probably a result of freezing and cracking. Off to the side there are remains of two huts and a cooking area from the Bronze Age. We stand and look across an incredible view, farmlands and forest, out to the sea. I suppose when people inhabited this spot in the past, trees, with no long view, surrounded it. These sites always quiet us and we are silent in our own thoughts as we walk down the path to our car.
May 28
Darn! Back to Cork. We need some help with our WIFI access.
That errand successfully completed, we continue on, this time on the road to the Beara Peninsula. Zillions of tiny white flowers sit on a placid river pond. We pass through Glengarriff, an area that is so much like home. Inlets and islands and forests and boats, tightly enmeshed in moisture-laden air and areas like the San Juan and Gulf Islands, though the mountains are stark and bare slate and sandstone. The roadsides have that island feel. Sort of messy and comfy and of another time, though periodically we hit pockets of 'posh' areas, big homes, long high stone walls, and ornate iron gates. And then there are the oyster and mussel farms. Rhododendrons love it here. Rhody trees, not bushes! Wild and purple and thick, even out on little rock islands. This is a place to grow stuff, a place for rich elegant gardens and lawns or riotous family vegetable gardens or nature's amazing offerings. And something new, we see a rainbow without the bow, horizontal flat wide stripes.
May 29
It’s another sunny-rainy day to enjoy the Ring of Kerry. It is all very beautiful, like everyone says. Cars drive in one direction around this peninsula, buses in another. The roads are narrow. This helps the traffic flow. We are a bit earlier than heavy summer tourist season but there are plenty of full tourist buses. I think this has a magical lore about it that draws folks from all over the world. It is beautiful; ocean, islands, mountains, farms, cows, sheep, pastures, boats and villages. We stop at Sneem, a small welcoming roadside village. David finds a corduroy 'drivers' cap and a soft woven dark grey scarf. It is still cold! He looks Dutch-Irish now. In the late afternoon we head for the Dingle Peninsula, now called An Daingean. All these great southern peninsulas are wonderful, but I am sick and getting sicker. In the town of Dingle David explores on his own, the port and some galleries. We find a private spot, put up the pop-top and sleep in separate beds. I have the flu again.
May 30
I am still in bed. Luckily, An Daingean is a place I have been before, 30 years ago. The town has changed and grown but the important sites remain protected and untouched. David explores alone, first at Dunbeg Fort. There are hill forts like this all over the coast, at one time 400 of them; Celts, Vikings, Normans and English all used them. They are the most significant relics from the Iron Age. Two hearths are placed in the center of a beehive stone structure. We pass by the famine cottages and the beehive huts.
Pink flowers grow profusely on top of old walls and hillsides, anywhere the sheep cannot get to them. From the car, they look like wild onion but on closer inspection they are not. It is a gorgeous sight. We pass the Blaskett Islands where the Irish Gaelic language was always used and therefore saved, to be brought back to use on the Irish mainland. All along this coast there are cliffs and often,sand beaches at their bottoms. The black rock cliffs are striking against the buff colored sand. A turquoise ocean, with stripes of white surf, is slowly and gently lapping at the land. David takes his camera and descends to the beach. From where I sit, there is a rock wall in the foreground, covered with a thick skin of grass and wildflowers, protecting hikers and sheep from a fall. Sheep graze with their heads down and keep moving, not paying any attention to where they are and will eat right up to the edge, so the coastal cliffs have stone walls or berms of sod and growth along the edges. Some of the land has been striped in rows; it is peat for the cottage stoves, stacked in squares to dry.
From here I can see the peaked form of Skellig Michael, a Monks' cold stone steep island retreat with a series of 300 stone steps carved from bottom to the top. The monks were literally hiding and saving the skill of writing and books that was denied to the common people for many years... but most importantly, their perch allowed them isolation and simplicity... a way to be close to God. They caught rainwater to drink, ate fish and birds and traded what they could with boats passing by for some of their necessities. This was maintained for 500 years.
We continue north, taking the coastal route. We stop for lunch late in the day. Three children are playing in the schoolyard and in the main street. They chase and chase... two girls against one boy. Chase and scream and laugh, fall and roll on the grass. Climb the swings, walk the ledges. Their clothing is simple, almost Amish-like. Sensible dresses of color… leggings. The boy is in sturdy brown oxford boots. What fun. How can they keep it up? Their bodies are in constant fast motion. Twice, late-working teachers comes out to quiet them.
We find a deep harbor near Ballyduff. There is a sailboat race going on. We pick our favorite and watch its progress. During the last leg colorful spinnakers are brought out. To me, it looks like a celebratory parade. Our favorite boat comes in fourth, sort of the underdog, a smaller boat with shorter sails. It has done well. The last boat has engine trouble. It needs this power to get back into the sheltered breakwater. The coastguard is called. They are there in minutes. I smile as I watch their procedures. My brother is a coastguard volunteer, who is called to the same duties in Canada.
Night falls. We are now alone on the dock. It is quiet and the view is great. There are a couple of fisherman still fishing from the pier in the dark. They have headlamps on and that is all we see as they tend to their lines... irrational light flashing and bouncing. It rains hard all night, a lullaby to a sleeper.
May 31
In the morning we watch the action. People leave their boats for showers provided on the dock, perhaps long distance sailors. A crab boat, Arctic Dawn, pulls up behind us and checks his pots. He empties all five back into the ocean... undersize catch.
We are on our way again. Most houses are kept up here, but they have the mindset of 'showing their best faces' as only the front is freshly painted. Different colors: peachy yellow and terracotta trim… natural warm grey stone with dark brown trim… white walls with black trim. Plantings are sparse: plain and simple, uncomplicated, easy to look at.
We take the Shannon Breeze ferryboat across a narrow pass in an extremely strong current fromTarbert to Killimer, then on to the Cliffs of Mohre. You have all seen these cliffs in beautifully filmed movies about Ireland. The real thing is quite scary. We walked for quite a ways along the cliff edges, mostly fenced off now for our own good! People have died here. People who went too close to the edge and sometimes it has been the very strong winds that gave the great fatal push. Several times the wind nearly knocked me to my knees. It was exciting and beautiful.
Stone walls are built in a different pattern than the norm, the stones placed vertically. Why? Somehow we find out that it is easier for a farmer to take down and rebuild. White blooming hawthorn trees are one of the all-time splendid sights of nature. The trees grow wild. Castles and hill forts seem to grow wild also… they are in abundance. We pull in to take a look at one. Whoops! This one is lived in!
The Burren. We must go through the Burren, a unique carboniferous limestone area. It used to be a sea bed. Glaciers rounded off the stone, which became riddled with potholes, ditches and underground caves. There are hills and hills of the same formations. The Aran Islands, just offshore, are made of the same material. You can imagine the fossils here. The little bit of dirt that does form gets caught in the cracks and crevasses of the main stone and provides a place for a huge variety of wildflowers to grow. Flowers that usually grow in far-away places from the Mediterranean to the Arctic, all here! Evergreens were removed so long ago that I cannot imagine they were ever here. But this is the look of Ireland. Peaceful, wide-open, pastoral land. This Burren is a powerful unique place. We read that there is a Dolmen up the road. These are simple structures made of huge stones, usually one large stone laying horizontally across the top of two tall vertical stones... looking like a doorway or entrance... to nothing. We find Poulnabrone Dolman. It has at least four vertical legs and a wide flat top rock, looking like a table that is about 10 feet tall. It is certainly impressive on this lonely site. The theory is that it was a tomb at one time.... stones built up to the tabletop roof. The wall stones have fallen and what is left is this massive table!
We find a beach on Galway Bay, just 12 km from the town. In bed, breezes waft across our faces. Another lullaby for sleepers.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
>Fun place names: Tintinhull, Cockadilly, Soloman's Tump, The Pludds, Pontypool, Pen-y-banc, Dyn-Bych, Clonakitty, Ballylickey, Wookey Hole, Kens Bottom.
> “Make the most of your time on earth” Rough Guides
> 'Clamping'. That is what happens when you do not pay for a parking spot. You come back to your car and there is a bright yellow device locked around one tire.
> We see signs in many towns advertising Turkish Barbers. They must have a reputation. I have never had a better cut.
> Daniel Defoe wrote Robinson Crusoe after the incident of Alexander Selkirk, leaving Kinsale and soon finding himself marooned on a deserted island. (Selkirk assisted the journey of my Mackenzie ancestors from Scotland to Canada.)
> HURLING: A popular Irish game of sort of a combination of field hockey and rugby. Kids carry hurling sticks with them along with their school bags and beyond that there are national teams. It is more popular than rugby.
> OFF LICENSE. If a store displays a sign like this on the outside of their store, it means that you can buy liquor and take it away from the store.
> I saw a sign pointing toward the town of Quilty. I wondered it there were any Chicks there. (Sorry, an inside joke)
> In the Irish English language, Throat is said 'troat' and Tree is said 'three'.
Saturday, June 1
We spend time at the beach watching a windsurfer and a para-foil surfer. There is a good stiff wind and white-topped waves to play in. The para-foil seems to give more opportunities; the boy is very agile. Recoveries are quick and easy for him. He reaches ten feet when he jumps into the air. Both wind-driven surfers give us a good show.
I sometimes tire of castles and towers and forts... we have seen so many. I think I need a break. I do not tire of sheep and goats, cows and horses in idyllic fields, nor the stone walls that surround them, nor small huts and homes and the flowery window boxes they display, nor the magic standing stones.
Now on to Galway, through lilacs and snowy hawthorns. We are hoping for some music here, maybe a choir, maybe some real Irish music. Just the name Galway congers up the spirit of fun! Magee University is here, 12,000 students. City traffic is very slow. Oh, it is because there are people wearing yellow, with buckets in hand; to collect money from cars... it is for lifeboats. An inflatable boat is being pushed along the street with yellow balloons tied to it. Everyone is handing money out his or her car windows.
We park where we can and walk to Tourist Information, a few blocks away. As our luck would have it we are very close to the town center where everything happens. Eyre Square is the center and starting point for those of us on foot. From here the High Street goes down to the Corrib River, which empties into Galway Bay. The street is busy, bustling with shoppers. Musicians/Buskers are entertaining us as we walk past the Lynch Castle (now bank) and find a Saturday market set up, surrounding St. Nicholas Church. We buy cheese, humus and olives. Oh, oh...a French bakery booth. We buy baguettes and add rhubarb tarts for immediate consumption. Oh my gosh! How do the French bakers do it?
While we are here we pop into the Collegiate Church of St. Nicholas. It is old, large and stone but so warm and inviting inside: warm wood pews, locally quarried marble floors, and a wooden ceiling (Canadian Cedar). The stained glass windows are quite recent and depict stories in a different, maybe more relatable way. Mary is knitting. Jesus is offering Joseph a cup of tea. JFK has been turned into a saint as he kneels and prays. There is a college choir performance tonight that we return to.
Wisconsin Lutheran College Choir. Sixty-five voices led by Dr. James Nowack since 1994. You can tell his choir members love him. Over the years, David and I have attended many college choir performances. I have come to the conclusion that these groups are among the best I will ever hear. The blend of the youthful voices and their exuberance for life come together for an amazing sound. Adult choirs can be awesome but in my opinion, they can never top these performances. The participants will look back on this college singing experience forever. After a chat with choir members and a cup of tea following the performance, we head out to find a different kind of music.
This time it is Irish music we want, in a pub with a beer in hand. And we get what we want. People fight to get in the pub door, into a packed noisy laughing crowd. Soon we are seated next to the performers. We couldn't be positioned better to see and hear the three fiddles, guitar, accordion and Irish drum. Conversation is hard, but we make friends and yell in each other’s ears to be heard. I have a long talk with a local woman who is here with friends somewhere in the crowd! We talk of Ireland, of America, of Canada. Ireland is in very bad financial trouble. I tell her that I have not noticed poverty...no broken down shacks with cars in the yard. She replies, ”Our homes, our property is all we have. We are not poor in lifestyle; we have food and shelter, family and friends. We don't have money as a country. We thought Ireland's good fortunes would never fail. We blew it!” Now, Kate and her mom, Theresa, sit down next to us. Kate married an Irishman and lives in Dublin. Her mother comes from the US to see her often. We are all squished together. Such fun! Keeping time to the good old music, everyone clutching a beer, sometimes splashing on other folks! Yak! Yak! Sing! Sing! Laugh... we get 'home' at 1:00 am.
Sunday morning. At 11:30 we walk into the Methodist church down the street. Peter the pastor greets us. This is a small very old church. It seems to be the church that the black people in the community have chosen to call their home. We get a good long praise sing... bongo drums, 3 women leading us. The melodies and words are 'catchy', a little bit of swaying. Irish Peter has a good sermon. He is tall and thin and rusty... his smile is huge and radiant. A woman from Oregon is also in the congregation. She is a theater professor at University of Oregon in Corvalis (did I get that right?) and has been here for seven weeks working on a project with Irish theater folks. She is a spirited and interesting person.
Now it is time to see the harbor where we watch kayak (canoe, for Europeans) polo. These guys and girls are out to win! Maybe they are college teams. A rubber ball, just small enough to catch in a player’s hand, is thrown and caught by a shortish paddle that has a bit of a scoop and rounded blades. There are nets up high at each end of the water field. Unlike a basketball hoop, these are large and box shaped. Points are made by throwing the ball into the net with the paddle. A goalie uses his paddle, held vertically, to stop the ball from scoring. In their exuberance the boats smash into each other... sometimes the occupants are upside down, sometimes one boat ends up sitting on top of another. Fast and fun to watch… before long we are vocal!
We lunch in a pub… fish and chips. Galway is really a wonderful place to be. But, we need to keep moving to keep a date with friends in the furthest north of Donegal. There is a lot to do and see before then so we move on to Cong where there is an abbey and castle once lived in by the Guinness family. (I guess I have to tell you that the Movie, The Quiet Man, was filmed here. John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara.) First we dip into the ruins of an Augustinian monastery, which is said to have held the holy relic of a splinter of the true cross, now in a Dublin museum. The architecture is Romanesque mixed with Gothic. We walk on paths by rivers and lakes... swans, fishing seagulls, cormorants with wings spread, their feathers drying. Hawthorn and rhododendrons are breathtaking in their peak. Viburnum Davidia, flat, wide-branching with lovely white flowers. An idyllic park land, people are walking in fields and woods across the wide river from us. Finally we reach the estate. There are rooms within for rent, meals to be had in the restaurant... all too steeply priced for our budget. No estate tours today. The landscape was worth the price, free.
We drive along to an inlet and boat canal for the night. No-see-ums! Midges?
June 3
Connemara! We move within its beauty. Black-faced sheep move high above on mountain slopes that have been reclaimed for pasture. From green pasture up it is bare rock, powerful mountain shapes. This is a place of strength and peace… a wild place and a watery place. Rivers, canals, ditches and fingers of the sea. Roads wind around any obstacle, there are no straight routes. We turn a corner and, yikes! Sheep are in the road. They panic, scurrying everywhere... the lambs staying with their mums as best they can. The adult's coats are sprayed identifying colors… some red and blue, some red and green. We cross into county Mayo and send a card off to Rita and Dudley Mayo, former neighbors.
June 4,5 & 6
I am on a hunt. My McKee family has traced its roots back to 1755 in Donegal, the family listed as Irish flax growers in 1796. I am hunting for the church and graveyard that William and Sarah McKee were married and buried in. Dunholm Church is somewhere between Ballyshannon and Donegal town. I think Dunholm is a town... but it is not on any map. We try the library in Bundoran, where we find a display about the Bundoran fighting men and we read that one young man, in 1938, joined the Irish army, and was assigned to the McKee Barracks. This is an interesting aside that may or may not be relevant to our family.
The librarians couldn't be more helpful. Paula, one of them, says, “Drumholm is not a town but a landholding. I live in Drumholm down the road from a very old graveyard. I walk my dog there often. Here are the directions. Maybe it is the one you are looking for.” We follow her directions, driving north on the main highway and look for GMG Plumbing. “Turn left there, past my stone house with green shutters, and keep going, left over a bridge and right at some red roofs... keep going and you will get there.”
And we do. It is really 'out in the sticks', a very beautiful setting in hills and farms. There are two sections; one is more taken care of than the other. One is catholic and one is protestant. Perfectly and beautifully overgrown. One wall of a stone church stands alone. Could this be the church my ancestors were married in? David and I split and walk up and down rows looking for the names McKee and, Sarah's family name, Thompson. Neither of these names is Irish. They are Scottish. We do not find McKee, but there are many Thompsons. I want this to be the right place, it feels so, but we have no proof. We must keep looking.
We visit Balintra, where there are churches in town and on the outskirts, always looking for names on the gravestones. There is a Methodist Church, no graveyard. The churches are locked, no one around. No new information here.
We visit Laghy. This would probably have been their village, being in Drumholm. Their church would have been Protestant (they would have been Presbyterian), McKees coming from Scotland to Northern Ireland originally. (We have learned that the name McKee is uncommon in this area and have seen it spelled M'Kee, much like O'Malley) By now we know that the Presbyterians would have been buried in a section of the Anglican Church of Ireland graveyards... at this time, they were not allowed their own. We wander the Church of Ireland graveyard in Laghy... the dates are not old enough. We talk with the guys lined up at the bar in The Seven Arches Pub. They all get into the conversation trying hard to help us. “Go and see Margaret, she knows all the history. Cross the bridge, first house on your right.” Margaret is not home, but with the help of Mairead’s B&B owner across the street, we leave a message.
When we do receive a message from Margaret, she tells us yes, the old church- yard with the one church wall standing is the right place. There is a book listing those buried here, and William and Sarah are on that list. I have asked for a book to put into the hands of my family. I am so happy to have found this lovely spot. (William and Sarah's son, Robert, married Anne Elliot and came to Canada with their son, Samuel / Samuel 2 is Samuel 1's son / George I, Samuel II's son, is my grandfather / and George II (Bill) is my father.) I am so grateful to have solved a bit more of the family puzzle. I have to thank David for some of this. He is patient and interested.
We head north and stop in Donegal town for good maps. It is a lovely small town. Busy interesting streets. But we can't stay long. It may be a push to get to Malin Head.
Malin Head. We are so far north in County Donegal. We are as far north as one can go in Ireland. We explore the area with its vast sea views, mountains, cliffs and bays and inlets of farmlands. I wonder what it would be like to live on a farm here. You would know everyone, could walk anywhere, row the coastline... and constantly look at this amazing quiet beauty. Worth the hard work, so connected to land and sea. We find a lofty, little used, picnic place where this wide scene is set before us. Lucky us. A million dollar view and a quiet place to sleep.
In the morning we find Rose and Robert's home. It has a wide view over the town of Malin, the valley, water and mountains. They worked hard and long to have this living space, building most of it themselves. All the more appreciated. Inside there is warm woodwork. Solar panels provide just enough energy for regular day use in the kitchen. Rose brings us tea and cake and we have a good visit. Years ago they were in our Spokane home with their relatives, our friends Bert and Michelle. We have always remembered them as being good people we didn't want to lose touch with. Well here we are.
Rose is an Irish girl. She grew up here in Malin. As children, their family and friends worked hard to help the farmers in the area. At that time there were many crop fields of corn and potatoes. Since becoming part of the European Union, each country does what they do best to supply the rest. Here, at this time, the fields are now for grazing cattle and sheep. In the old days there was always a gathering of singing and dancing and playing of instruments. Rose became a nun and remained so for 20 years until the politics of the Church became too much for her personal beliefs. She is fun and feisty... and genuine in nature. She told me a few tales of local belief:
~ If a robin comes into your home, someone in your family will die.
~ It is bad luck to see just one magpie. You must wander around and find another before you can proceed with what you were doing. One for sorrow, two for joy.
~Warning of approaching death; a pigeon staying close to home / a frog near someone’s front door / flashing lights near the home / Banshee or fairy lady who wails in the night.
Robert is Dutch. His family is in the Netherlands. There are annual visits there. When he met Rose he fell in love with her and her homeland. He tells us stories of being a POW in WW II in Indonesia and how it felt to see the soldiers coming to free them. He is in the process of setting up his train-set in the attic on a standing height shelf around the whole room, as big as the house. He runs the train around its course for us. Next project is the landscape and buildings, etc. His grandsons love it too.
Rose has invited us to lunch and of course we say yes. We have not enjoyed their company long enough! David asks for the recipe. He has finished off all leftovers!
At 3 pm we say goodbye. We have had such a nice time together. Now we will be able to imagine them in their Irish home as we move forward, and then take the image home with us. We drive to Derry.
June 7
We find a free parking lot next to the River Foyle for the time we stay here. It is within close walking distance of the old town of Derry so in the morning we begin our explorations of a new and important city to me. My father was here during WWII in the Canadian Navy. Also, I am sure our ancestors walked these streets. The town extends across the river, becoming Londonderry.
We walk by the Carlisle Road Presbyterian Church. The minister is outside and invites us in. “I am speaking to a group of school children in a few minutes, if you would like to listen also.” We do and we learn the basics of the Presbyterian Church, after which we have a good discussion with the minister, Robert Buick... so we learned more. Did you know the US Constitution was patterned after the structure of the Presbyterian Church laws?
At the tourist information office we talk with Jane. She gives me a poster, THE SCOTS IN ULSTER (North Ireland), 1600 to 1800. The McKees fall into that category. The poster has a list of the names of many of the Scots that came to Northern Ireland at that time... I eagerly look to see if we are listed... and we are, under the First Scottish Migration to Ulster! Pretty exciting.
We opt to take an hour-long walking tour with Martin McCrossan. He is an excellent and passionate leader. We walk on the old town walls (built 1613), still surrounding the city. He is able to point out all the important sites to us... and give us background on them. The most impressive to me is a view of the Bogside Artist's works inspired by the Irish 'Troubles', nasty skirmishes over the treatment of the suppressed Irish Catholics and the Church of England, Anglican Protestants. The Bogside is the poor Catholic area within Derry where the blood flowed, particularly on one day. This is what the Bogside Artists tell in their illustrative stories painted on the sides of buildings along the streets where the very sad event took place.
We meet a couple from South (North?) Carolina. We chat on the walking tour, and see them again at lunch (where I have Shepherd's Pie, just like my mother's recipe!) and again later in the evening at a fun city-wide event. In and out of each other's lives, leaving behind a good memory.
In the afternoon we drive out of town to the Ulster-Scots Center in Carriagans village. We tour the museum of artifacts and displayed stories of the time. A volunteer, Colm Clarke, lives down the road and knows this area well. He offers to show us to a unique fort, Monreagh. It is unique because it is built differently from other forts we have seen. High on a hill, we see the round fortress in the distance as we approach. (“Gasp!”) It is a large, partially hollow-walled structure of stone. 150 feet across and about 22 feet high. Colm tells us it was built 3,000 years ago! This is difficult to comprehend. Inside, there are sets of stairs going up a many-tiered structure, then on to the very top of the wall. Colm used to play in it as a twelve year old, crawling inside stone doorways and then standing to follow the passageways in two places. He takes us down a path to a 'holy well' where people came to heal themselves (and probably still do). There is a spring at the side of the hill banked by submerged stone walls where water collects. Grass and wildflowers grow from the sides. Colm could not have been nicer to us. It is the way of the Irish.
“The city-wide event.” What we want to see happens in the evening. It is a festival having to do with the return of St. Columcille from the island of Iona. He is the monk who brought Christianity to this part of the world. Irish magic has been woven into the story of tonight’s enactment. He is coming back to see what has happened in Derry over the last 2,000 years. He will be approaching by the river and is bringing a gift, something in a very large box. We reach the designated area... the landing area, and watch with much of the crowd, from a vantage point on a walking bridge above. Boats! Here they come!
A long boat of twelve oarsmen approach up the river, red-orange mists swirling about them. Columcille is seated straight-backed with staff in hand. A mysterious darker, larger boat accompanies them and carries a huge box. What is in that box? The Saint's long boat docks and the oarsmen disembark to form a covered passageway up a gang plank with their oars. Columcille walks through it. He is in a grey monk’s robe with hood covering his face. He disappears from our view into the crowd.
Oh, but look! A crane is positioned further along, above the accompanying boat. High up on the crane an angel on a trapeze in dazzling light performs for us. Then the crane picks up the heavy box from the boat, and swings it out of sight on to the land. Tune in tomorrow when the box will be opened.
What a great event! The magical story is the pivotal vortex from which all events will happen this weekend. This is believable in its way. After all, this is Ireland. As we walk back along the river there is a parade at our side, a parade of colorful and weird carnival characters. Music, dancers, floats. Our favorite is a very large moving horse, well, not a real one, who prances along propelled by the movement of his rider's legs, pushing like bicycle pedals. The city officials and dignitaries follow, the community joining in behind. This is a fine celebration of the triumphs over the city's many adversities and troubles. It is a fine place to visit, and, I think, to live. No 'troubles' for years and it feels to the citizens that those days are now in the past, turned into part of their history. No borders, no guns... it feels good.
June 8
We have had a wonderful time here in Derry. We will not know what is in that gift box from St. Columcille. We cannot wait that long. Again we have a date to keep, on June 17th in England, so we push forward, this time to the Giant's Causeway.
Oh, my gosh! This place has changed. I was here 30 years ago when we parked above and climbed all over the hexagonal rocks. Maybe four cars parked with us, perhaps about 15 people. Now it is a tourist destination. There are hundreds and hundreds of cars and many tour buses. An information center has been erected, incorporating a long and high black wall. I cannot see the causeway. I do not need to do this trek again. David goes alone. He enjoys it.
On to Bushmills Distillery. We wander through the plant to see each part of the process with a guide. It smells good! The older equipment is beautiful, brass and gleaming. Some still in use, some not. Bushmills has been sold to a giant, Diageo, who owns Guinness and Smirnoff and a bunch of other name brands. But we are assured that the product has remained the same. At the end we taste. I choose their newest product, less alcohol content and sweetened with honey. Yuk! Not good! But we buy a bottle of 'Black Bush'... “Matured to perfection in sherry casks”. All their whiskey is made in used barrels, bought mostly from the United States! We have enjoyed the 'Black Bush'. I am not sure who said this, but here is a quote. “Good whiskey has a sweet taste and slides down easily to warm the heart.”
We finish up the day with a drive to Belfast. Tomorrow is Sunday. We park near a Methodist church and attend the next morning. The most memorable part…the old fellow sitting next to David told him that Lenin said ‘religion is only for the enthusiasm of the young and the comfort of the old’.
Sunday lunch... we learned this term and this ritual on Cyprus, so once in a while we get the craving for meat, potatoes and the trimmings. Today we find Ivanhoe Inn... here is what goes into my mouth: Pork chops, mashed potatoes (mash), chard, mixed carrots and turnips, and there is a huge gravy boat on the table. Oh yes, and the brownie ice cream chocolate sauce desert! I seem to report to you only the very unhealthy food we eat!
We drive and walk through parts of Belfast before we leave. I suppose we do not give it enough time to tell it's current story. I would not move here.
The east coast is calling us, our way to more sights and cities before we leave this green island. AtPortaferry the choice is to ferry across or go a long way around. We ferry across to Strangford. This seems to be a Sunday drive sort of thing for the locals. Everyone is out enjoying the sunshine. Picturesque harbors, sand beaches, boulder beaches that empty with the tide, lots of playground. Sporty cars with soft tops folded down... driving caps accompanied by lady's scarves whipping in the wind. We stop in the town of Mourne for a walk on the hard sand, which in places turns soft and muddy. The sand and air smells like clams. Boats of all shapes and sizes are waiting for the tide to come back in, scattered and tipped, except the sailboats that stand straight on their two keels.
June 10
We continue along the coast to Newcastle. It is smallish, picture beautiful on the sea. Busy. Amusement parks, trails and parks. There is a charming strip of attached gabled cottages, quaint and cozy, each with a different color of trim, each with brightly flowered window boxes; a place to live in happiness. A place to watch the world go by… in this case a 'skidoo' is pulling a big inflatable yellow banana with five people seated in it, all bouncing in the waves.
Derrymore House, a National Trust site. We read that there is a thatched roof cottage near so a quick side trip is in order. Unfortunately the house is closed but the setting is lovely. And the roof is really what we came to see!
Back in the Republic, our route now leads us winding around and between perfect little hills that are many shades of green. Crows are quick to grab food in the newly harvested hay fields where a variety of bugs has been disturbed. Patches of leafy tree-tunnels give us dappled darkness, then like moles, we creep out into the sunlight. Hedgerows along the road-edge, purple lilacs. We stop for lunch under an unusually high church spire.
Trim. Now, this is a 'must-see' town to visit. It is trim, every bit manicured and in order. We anchor ourselves by Trim Castle and a ruined medieval community and take advantage of the public walkways along a river, through stone village remains, over grassy hills, through a farmer's field of hay with fresh mown pathways for the public to use. It is truly blissful, all the time the castle is in view. We meet folks on a bridge. They look like they are taking care of the flowers that decorated it, but in fact they are just checking them out. She has grown all the flowers! Wonderful like-minded people to talk to, but once again, we must say goodbye and will see them only in our memories. Continuing on, we find a short cut trail through woods, then over a style into a field of six sweet donkeys. We finish by walking around the castle...we do not need to see the inside... for the moment, we have seen too many!
June 11
Today we are in the Boyne River Valley, rich with ancient Celtic sites. Someone has planted flowers along the grassy road edge. Mixed in with the natural growth are phlox, foxglove (which we have not seen much of here), bluebells, delphinium, cosmos and more. A pleasant sight as it has rained all night and into the day. The sun has gone. The garden angel in charge of the color green said, “If you want this Island emerald green, you need an abundance of rain!” Those of us who live on the northerly west coasts of the US and Canada understand. Our natural beauty comes with a goodly amount of rain, too. Today, even in the rain, this area feels like 'all is right with the world'.
We visit the ruins of a monastery, Monasterboice. Here standing among gravestones, there are two very tall sandstone Celtic crosses, nearly 20 feet tall, ornately carved with stories from the bible. The monks were trying to bring the unbelievers into the Christian fold by visually illustrating the stories, as their audiences were illiterate. The crosses are visually astounding. Among the headstones we find this inscription… Rev. Henry McKee, put there by his sister and friends. Died 1991. And on another stone we find this lovely epitaph:
Memories of holding hands
And red bouquets
And twilights trimmed
In purple haze
And laughing eyes
And simple ways
And quiet nights
And gentle days
With you.
From your loving wife.
Maura XX
Now we head for another site full of long ago mystery and a few answers to the lives of a much earlier time. The area has been designated a World Heritage site. At a marked bend of the River Boyne the world's most important ancient landscapes are found. Here there are three burial passage tombs. Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth. The tombs show themselves in current times as very large gently sloping mounds, covered in grass. When one becomes accustomed to seeing these shapes, mounds can be identified all over Ireland. Many stand untouched in farmers' fields.
We buy tickets to see Newgrange. A bus takes us to the site. A guide takes us through. When facing the entrance there is a large stone 'curb' reconstructed to resemble what might have been there, using the example of stone found in the rubble. On the curb wall are patterns of granite and quartz. This is a balance of light and dark, alive and dead. The glittering quartz was found in the south in Wicklow County and is referred to as the 'life stone'. The granite was found in the North in the Mountains of Mourne and is referred to as the earth stone or 'death stone'.
As we approach the entrance we come across the 'entrance stone', a large stone lying on its side, decorated with the spiral icons that appear frequently in the area. It is quite beautiful and begs for your imagination to solve the shapes, the paths, somewhat like a myriad of little labyrinths. Above the door is a 'roof box' that lets in light from the sun on winter solstice which floods the normally black-dark cruciform chamber for a short time. Perhaps this is when burial rituals were performed. Or perhaps this is the time for celebration of light, when the farmers can begin their growing cycle once more. In 1969, the discoverer of this box, Professor M.J. O'Kelly, said these words. It was December 21st and he was in the chamber.
“At 8.58 hours, the first pencil of direct sunlight shone through the roof-box and along the passage to reach across the tomb chamber floor as far as the front edge of the basin stone in the end recess.”
Imagine, seeing this vision again. The chamber is 5,000 years old!
The inside of the chamber is decorated with spirals and other symbols. This is called 'megalithic' art, art made on big stones. The 3-spiral image, attached to one another, seems most important; the one on the entry stone and the other inside on the end recess wall. They are the only two images like this found in the world. On closer inspection I noticed that the spirals do not all begin and end in the same direction. Is this an intimation that the sun at this time begins its journey from darkest winter to the light long days of summer, starting from the inner part of the spiral to the outer? And, in the spring, the sun travelling in the opposite direction from the longest days toward the shortest, toward the center?
In each recess, the top end and the sides of the cross shape, there are basin stones, which it is thought were used for the offering of the dead. Some answers come easily; others are speculation. It is thrilling!
So thrilling that we go back to the tourist center and buy tickets to Knowth. One cannot go into the Knowth chambers but there is a good facsimile to enter, and an opening to a view of a passageway. There are two passageways here... the east and the west, but they do not meet in the center. There is a wall 3 to 4 meters thick between them. In this mound, a flint mace head is found, tiny size, mask-like with spiral eyes and an open round mouth. There are standing stones at this site, and many smaller mound tombs... with settings of exotic stones before them, stones from other places. Village hut remains have been discovered. We are able to climb to the top of Knowth mound. It has seen several phases, used by herders or farmers who had no idea what was beneath them!
What a day of rich experiences. We are told that we should not miss the Old Mellifont Abbey. So we make our way there and sleep the night in the quiet parking lot with a motor home beside us for company. French license plates. Tomorrow we will take a guided tour.
June 12
Lindsay Brady leads us through the tour. She is an art teacher by profession but her love of Irish history keeps her busy also. We discover that both of us use the inspiration of stone in our art work. She is beginning her art path, just establishing her way, but she is very good at teaching us because she is so interested herself.
St. Malachy, who spent time in Applecross, Scotland also, founded this Romanesque abbey, the first of its kind introduced into Ireland, in 1142. Up until this point Christianity had made its way locally, no rules or regulations from 'on high'. This marked the end of its organically grown way of worship. Cistercian monks came to show the Irish “how Christianity should be done!” These monks came from the Benedictine Order in France. As usual, their site was chosen because it was far from most of civilization... a place to meditate and pray, and to balance that with manual labor, “In a spot far removed from the noise and bustle of the world”.
On the site today, most of the walls have been uncovered, to show the abbey layout. Some of the walls, though in ruins, still stand. The jewel is the Lavabo, dating to the beginning of the 13th century. This is the structure where the monks would come to cleanse themselves before meals... both spiritually and manually... both hands and feet in a two-tiered fountain that is still there in part. The building is a hexagon shape that at one time had a vaulted domed ceiling. The eight sides each have an archway to the inside. It is truly a sturdy and beautiful reminder of life in this compound.
From here we drove into the Wicklow Mountains to see the Powerscourt Gardens, an estate of the past, with extensive gardens still in the present... Italian and Japanese, lakes and ponds, a pet cemetery, a round tower, walled gardens and rhododendron and rose gardens. The works! The most impressive were the trees! The variety and size, monster trunks with huge leafy spreads! A lone Asian man came up to me, bouncing and smiling like an old friend... and he wanted to talk! He was originally from Malaysia but had lived in many places. He was animated and fun and full of stories. I had to finally say goodbye to my 'old' friend and find David! He did seem like someone I knew before. He hugged me goodbye.
To Dublin! We will be on its outskirts, ready for the city in the morning.
June 13
We begin our day at Kilmainham Goal (jail). This was a suggestion to us that we pass along to others visiting here. It tells a huge story about the history of Dublin... all the men who risked or gave their lives (incarcerated, shot, hanged) to make Dublin the really fine city it is. All the history that brought Ireland to its Independence is inside these walls... not tampered with, one easily stands in the ghosts of the past.
There is an amazing park where we had been the night before, lost in the darkness, a huge park on the edge of the city. Phoenix Park. Last night we saw a large group (30) of small deer feeding in one spot. We learned that they are in two herds, running freely, unafraid. That is how large the park is! We leave the car here, as it is free, and catch the Hop-On Hop-Off bus to see the attractions all at once. Then we 'hop off' to see some art.
The Hugh Lane Gallery and the National Gallery. I come away with some names of women painters I loved, not known to me before. Mary Swanzy 1882-1978: Landscape with Red Gable and Pattern of Rooftops... and Letitia Hamilton c1937: Snow in County Down.
An anecdote to share. Sir John Laval was represented in both museums. Posted beside one of his paintings, a snowy picture of his wife and daughter, were these words (paraphrased): I was trying to finish up this painting before we left our vacation for home. My models were fidgety and anxious. I heard my daughter say to my wife, “Muzzy, isn't it a shame we married an artist!”
Today we saw multiples of: Rembrandt, Pierre Bonnard, Jean-Baptiste Corot, William Scott, Renoir, Berthe Morisot, Boudin, Pissaro, Courbet, Manet and Degas, and a good modern painting by Tony O'Malley, Mid Summer Winds with Moths, 1992.
Another suggestion, this time from a construction worker on the street, “You must go to Johnnie Fox's Pub!” So we do. We have to drive quite a ways to find it. It sits alone in the country hills. We enter to find wall-to-wall folks, pub-memorabilia on the walls, straw on the floor and plates of good food hustled from kitchen to tables. A sign says, “I DON'T WEAR GLASSES, I EMPTY THEM!” We wait an hour for a table that will put us close to the live Irish music... but the wait seems short. We have seats, great beers (Guinness and Smithwicks) and happy people to watch. When we are seated we order Irish stew and lamb shanks and the music begins. One fellow, great voice, guitar, harmonica and foot drum beat... he sings his Celtic stories. We leave at a late hour and sleep in the parking lot.
June 14
Hop-On Hop-Off again, second day of our two day ticket. This really makes things easy. Today we take a short tour of Trinity College and visit the Book of Kells displays. Our tour leader is funny, really funny, and she wears an old brown scholars gown that used to be black. She has Irish red hair and a loud understandable dialect. I ask if she writes her own lines. “Well I am given the basics and I make up the rest. I was the youngest of 16! I had to be loud and funny to be noticed.”
We wait in a queue for half an hour to get into the Book of Kells. All the pieces are displayed extremely well, the originals, the explanations and history. St. Columcille (whom you met before with me in Derry) began these gospel books on the Island of Iona in the early 9th Century. The books have had a few homes, Iona, Kells, Ulster and Dublin... finally landing in the best-protected spot, Trinity College. Besides these books there are smaller hand calligraphed and illustrated 'pocket' books used for teaching while traveling. Calligraphy and illustration. Both interest me. There are displays of pigments and what they are made up of, paper which is scraped calfskin called vellum, quill nibs that are beautifully shaped from feathers of swans or geese, martin fur brushes. The pages were ruled with bone or wood impressions. Ink was made of oak galls, iron-sulphate and wine or vinegar.
From here we walked up into the 'Long Room' library. Oh, my gosh! What a beauty! Warm wood barrel vaulted ceilings away above two open floors of old antique books, their covers and bindings made by hand. Marble busts of important learned people progress down each wall, starting with Shakespeare. At one point, Trinity was given the rare distinction of receiving one of every book published in the UK and Ireland. That must be a burden!
A snack of the most amazing heavy and dense oat buns and soup before we find our way to St. Patrick's Cathedral for Evensong, first walking along the busiest shopping district, Grafton Street. Many carry fancy shopping bags, some of them gifts for those at home, wherever that may be in this world. There is music on the streets, Mutefish... the best group! Celtic Rock?
At St. Patrick’s we find that Evensong has been replaced by a drama-concert about the life of Jonathan Swift of Gulliver's Travels fame, who was once the Dean of St. Patrick's! We followed already-paid tourist groups inside to find a seat! Here are some Swift quotes:
~ Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover everybody's face but their own.
~ I never knew a man come to greatness or eminence who lay abed late in the morning.
~ Words are but wind; and learning is nothing but words; ergo, learning is nothing but wind.
~ Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.
~ Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.
~ Under this window (in St. Patrick's) in stormy weather I marry this man and woman together; Let none but Him who rules the thunder put this man and woman asunder.
It is wonderful to come across such opportunities as we travel. We certainly don't pack it in like this at home.
We have arranged to park and sleep at the ferry dock, ready for tomorrow’s ride to Holyhead, Wales. Goodbye Ireland. Your beauty and your warm genuine people will be held in our hearts.
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